Best Fake Fiance (Loveless Brothers 2)

He stops next to me, a huge pink puff of cotton candy in front of his face, and suddenly looks lost.

I’m not sure I’ve ever seen Levi look lost before.

“Silas. Daniel. Charlie. Rusty. Ma’am,” he says, forced casualness back in his voice.

Every head in the circle turns toward Levi.

Did he just call June ma’am?

He’s blushing. Behind the beard, I swear he’s blushing.

“Miss,” he corrects himself, standing stiff as a statue.

June cocks her head and narrows her eyes.

“You forgot my name again,” she says.

“Of course not,” Levi says quickly, lowering the cotton candy a few inches. “June. It’s June. I know your name is June. I was being proper.”

“Nice save,” June says, laughing.

“It wasn’t a—”

“He thought my name was Julie for like six months,” she explains to Daniel and me.

We’re still holding hands. He hasn’t let go. I haven’t let go.

It’s starting to feel… normal?

“When Silas was in Afghanistan and they were writing each other letters all the time, Levi would ask how Julie was doing, or say he’d seen Julie in the market and said hi, stuff like that. Silas didn’t bother telling him that my name was actually June until poor Levi actually called me Julie and I corrected him,” she says. “So the moral of the story is that Silas is a jerk.”

“Levi’s got bad handwriting,” Silas protests.

“It’s not that bad,” Levi says. He hasn’t moved a single muscle since June accused him of not knowing her name.

“It’s pretty bad,” Daniel says.

“And Julie’s not that far off,” I point out.

“Oh, it’s a really close guess,” June says, still laughing. “And, to be clear, I’m making fun of Silas for not correcting him. Because Silas definitely knows my name and just felt like being a dick.”

“What do men need to know your name for?” Silas says, and June rolls her eyes again.

“Ignore him, he thinks it’s the middle ages and sisters should be traded for several goats and a brood mare,” she says, stabbing more funnel cake.

“I’d trade you for more than one brood mare,” Silas teases. “Shit, June, you’re worth a couple hogs, too. Don’t go undervaluing yourself.”

“So,” June says, pointedly ignoring him. “You guys buy your duck for the regatta yet?”“He’s got a mask and a cape so he can be sneaky and sneak past the other ducks in the water,” Rusty explains excitedly, drawing on her rubber duck with a Sharpie. “And then I’m going to give him laser eyes so that he can zap them out of the water and win.”

“That sounds like a good plan,” I say. “You know, they say the best defense is a good offense.”

“And stripes,” she says. “Because stripes make things go faster.”

“Exactly,” I agree. I’m pretty sure Seth’s the one who told her that, once, when he was explaining why his mustang had a single racing stripe down the side. The real reason, of course, is that Seth thinks it looks badass, but he and Rusty both get a kick out of his tall tales.

“Lemonade,” Daniel announces behind me, and a second later, we’ve got plastic cups with straws in front of us.

“Thanks,” I say, as Daniel moves to sit next to me at the table.

As he does, he puts his hand on my upper back, his fingers alighting on bare skin, cold from bringing us drinks.

I swear the shiver courses through my whole body. My toes clench in my sandals. I sit up a little straighter, sharpie still in hand where I’m decorating my own rubber duck, and before I can stop myself, I turn my head and look at him.

He looks back, eyes blue as the Caribbean Sea.

There’s a moment, a single tiny moment when I think what if? and then he sits and takes his hand off my back and drinks his own lemonade and the moment’s gone, only the cool spots on my spine lingering a few more seconds.

“What’s your strategy?” he asks me, leaning both his elbows on the folding table in front of us, the top strewn with markers, other people sitting around decorating their rubber ducks.

“Mostly to just act normal,” I tell him, bringing my own lemonade to my lips.

And to keep pretending that it does nothing to me when we touch, I think.

Daniel raises one eyebrow.

“I guess that’s a start,” he says. “How about your duck regatta strategy? Looks like Rusty’s got laser eyes, so you’re gonna need shields.”

Right. Obviously that’s the question he’s asking, my mind is just somewhere else.

“Well, you know,” I say. “We’re gonna go out there and give it our all, really focus up and lay it on the line. Give a hundred and ten percent. Do our best. Stick to the inside lines.”

I take a sip of my lemonade, trying to recover some dignity as I also try to remember more of the pep talks my high school field hockey coaches liked to give out.