Annabelle, will you marry me?
I hear her gasp as she turns toward me and I get down on one knee.
“Jaxson! What . . . are you . . . ?”
Tears are starting to well in her eyes and if I don’t say what I need to, mine will soon follow.
“Annabelle, from the first time I saw you in this coffee shop, I knew there was something different about you. I tried to stay away, but I couldn’t. And even when I tried to push you away, you wouldn’t let me. You fought for us through everything, and I thank my lucky stars that you’re the real fighter in this relationship.”
Her hand is covering her mouth, trying to contain her sobs.
“Annabelle, will you marry me? I promise you, from this day forward, and for the rest of our lives, we will fight together. We will make it through what life throws at us, because you make me stronger. You make me a better man. I love you, Annabelle. Marry me?”
I open the box to show her the engagement ring I thought I’d never see again. As soon as Stan told me where he tried to pawn it, I rushed to the shop, praying it was still there. Because it wasn’t an eye-popping ring, no one had bought it. I purchased it back for probably more than the guy ever thought he’d get, but it was worth twice that to see the look on Annabelle’s face right now.
“Is that my mom’s?”
I nod. “Yes. Your dad gave it to me. He said she wanted you to have it.”
She’s a complete mess now, but she’s never looked more beautiful. And although I’m pretty sure she thinks she’s said yes, I haven’t heard the words, and that is kind of fucking with me right now.
“Tell him ‘yes,’ Annabelle! Don’t make the poor guy wait!” Tori yells from the back.
Annabelle chuckles between her sobs. “Yes, Jaxson. A thousand times yes. I will marry you.”
I place the ring on her finger and scoop her up to me, needing to kiss the woman I’m going to get to call my wife.
“I love you, Annabelle. So much. Thank you for fighting for me.”
“I love you, Jaxson Kelly. Thank you for saving me.”
Fake Boyfriend
SOUTH SIDE BOYS SERIES
BOOK 2
A Novel
By
Alexis Winter
I’m the guy you don’t take home to mom.
Ex-con, hothead, broken beyond repair.
She may need a fake boyfriend,
But you better believe the way I'll have her screaming my name is real.
* * *
The moment she made that stupid bet with me I should have walked away.
Instead, I gave in.
* * *
With her cocky mouth and enough attitude for an entire sorority,
It’s all I can do to keep myself from bending her over my knee,
Before having my filthy way with her.
* * *
So I gave in…
I claimed her in ways you can only imagine, devoured her.
Made her mine.
* * *
What I didn’t expect?
To fall for her. To crave her. To need her.
* * *
But the demons from my past are kicking down my door,
And they’ll stop at nothing to destroy me.
* * *
There’s only one way I can keep her safe,
Break her heart.
Make her hate me.
And walk away.
* * *
We agreed it was only pretend,
I’m nobody’s happily ever after.
1
Tori
“Never have I ever had a one-night stand.”
Of course my best friend Annabelle would say that during her turn of Never Have I Ever. I swear the only thing she loves more than her fiancé is trying to embarrass me.
Too bad it takes a lot more than admitting to hit-it-and-quit-it sex to get under my skin.
This game started as an icebreaker when Annabelle brought my sister, Scarlett, and me to meet her now-fiancé, Jaxson, and his two best friends, Kalum and Maverick. It’s now become our go-to drinking game that gets downright inappropriate. And that’s coming from me, who is inappropriate about 99 percent of the time.
So yes, I tend to drink a lot during these questions. Annabelle does not, because my sweet and innocent best friend has been with one man, and she’s now wearing his ring.
Though I sometimes think she’s holding back when the sex position questions get tossed out.
Everyone grumbles at Annabelle, who is now full-on laughing, as we take a sip of our drinks.
“You bitch. One of these days I’ll get you for something,” I tease as I nudge her and take a swig of my vodka cranberry.
“You know I’ve tried,” Maverick chimes in. “I thought I had her last week with having sex on a motorcycle. I still think both of you are lying on that one.”
Jaxson and Annabelle take rides on his bike all the time—it was actually one of their first dates. But they swear they’ve never christened it. We all call bullshit.
But as they look at each other with mischief and love in their eyes, we won’t press them on it. We are all so damn happy they found each other, we’ll let them be liars with their pants on fire.
“Nope. You had us wrong,” Jaxson says before taking a pull of his beer. “Little did we know that Kalum over there was the only one who’d ever gotten busy on a hog.”
I look over at Kalum, who grunts something at Jaxson’s remark. He might be in a pissier-than-usual mood tonight, but it doesn’t temper the heat that goes through my body anytime I’m in the same room with him.
Kalum West is without a doubt the sexiest man I’ve ever met in real life.
I remember the first time I saw him in the ring. I was speechless. And that doesn’t happen a lot with me. He and Jaxson were sparring at The Pit, Jaxson’s gym that specializes in boxing and MMA fighting, and I’m pretty sure my eyes came out of my head. Masculinity oozed off of him with every punch he threw and every movement he made around the ring. His dirty blond hair was pulled away from his face in a sexy-as-fuck man bun, and until that day, I thought man buns were for hipsters and surfers who eschew showers.
But on Kalum, grouped with his tattoos and penetrating blue eyes that have intrigued me since the first time we met, it’s a kind of sexy that should be illegal.
Which is why I have to make sure my vibrator is charged every time we have our now-frequent group get-togethers.
“I don’t know why we play this goddamn game. It’s fucking ridiculous,” Kalum mumbles.
“Maybe someone—and I’m talking about you in case you’re wondering, Mr. Grumpy Pants—shouldn’t have started it. Really, this is all your fault because you wanted to know how to get in my pants, so don’t blame anyone but yourself.”
He shoots me a look that would make most people cower. But not me. I’ve become immune to Kalum’s attempts at intimidation, though I have not become immune to seeing him in tight-as-hell T-shirts.
“Whatever. I wasn’t trying to get into your pants. You’re delusional. And on that note, I’m leaving,” Kalum says as he throws $20 on the table. “See you at the shop, Mav. Jaxson. Girls.”
“Bye!” I say, overexaggerating my movements. “Make sure to take the stick out of your ass before you go to bed!”
The others laugh at me as I try my best to get under Kalum’s skin. But it’s pointless. He’s already out of the bar without looking back.
“One of these days, Tori, you’re going to finally crack him. And I can’t wait for that to happen.”
I give Jaxson a small smile at his words, though I’m starting to seriously doubt if that day will ever come.
Yes, I give him sass when he’s being particularly moody, like tonight. It’s my way of flirting with him these days. I’ve tried sweet; I’ve tried being forward. Every attempt has landed me in the same place—on a date with my battery-operated boyfriend and the vision of a shirtless Kalum.
It wasn’t that
long ago I would have sworn our flirting was going to lead to something. Not a relationship or anything—I don’t do long-term and Kalum doesn’t either—but something fun for longer than a few nights.
The first night we played Never Have I Ever in this very bar, it was his idea. And he can deny it all he wants, but he was totally trying to feel me out. He was the one throwing out questions laced with innuendo.
But it never went anywhere.
That was months ago. And recently he’s been . . . well, not the Kalum I first met. Gone is the flirty, outgoing guy who made my panties melt with the twinkle of an eye and the flash of a smile. Now he’s an aloof, distant asshole who barely says two words when we’re together.
Yes, I miss the old Kalum. But this version is a whole new challenge. And I’ve never been one to back away from a challenge. Plus, the whole brooding thing somehow makes him sexier.
“It’s fine, Jaxson. It’s his loss. Let’s be real: who wouldn’t want this?” I say with a hint of humor as I draw an air circle around my face. “And I’m pretty sure that if the day were to ever come, he wouldn’t be able to handle me anyway.”
I normally don’t have to put up bravado when it comes to men. I’m a flirt. Always have been. In high school, my mom called me boy-crazy and teachers caught me more than a few times making out in the auditorium sound booth. I’ve never had a problem finding a guy to occupy my time with when I’ve so desired.
So why doesn’t Kalum West want anything to do with me?
And why do I care so much?
“If that day ever comes, Tori, I don’t know if either of you will be ready for what hits you.”
I let Jaxon’s final words roll around in my head as we pay our bills and make our exits. I have no clue what it would be like to be with a man like Kalum, but ready or not, I’d sure love to give it a try.
2
Kalum
The best part about running my own business is that if I don’t want to be around anyone, I can shut the door to my office—the international sign for don’t fucking bother me.
And today I really don’t want anyone to fucking bother me.
Luckily, I have plenty to do to keep me busy away from the usual grind of the garage, which if I think about it is kind of amazing. Never in my wildest dreams did I think a business I owned would be not just successful but thriving.
When my brother and I got out of prison for stealing cars, we had no idea what we were going to do with our lives. We were ex-cons who’d barely passed high school, and the only skill we had was that we could boost a car in 10 seconds. The only smart decision we’d made in our lives up to that point was testifying against the guy who was running the stolen car ring we’d gotten involved with. It cut down our sentence to a few years. Hell, we could have done 30 easy if we hadn’t made that deal.
I’d do it again in a heartbeat. Especially because it guaranteed that Maverick got out before I did. It was the only way I’d flip.
Cars were the only thing that ever came easy to me in life. It’s like they speak to me. I know what makes them tick, what makes them purr, why something isn’t working properly. So when I suggested to Maverick that we open up our own custom garage, tricking out cars and making old ones sing again, he didn’t completely laugh me out of the room. He’s just as good with cars—if not better—than I am.
That’s how M.K. Custom Cars was born.
We opened, in part, to appease our parole officer. Over time, he was impressed to see we could operate a legitimate business without tapping into our illegal roots. Now here we are, nearly eight years later, getting ready to open a second location. Sometimes it feels overwhelming. But other times, like today, I’m grateful for the extra work, because it keeps me away from people.
And being around people isn’t what I need right now.
I’m so lost in paperwork, licenses, and permits that I don’t even hear my brother come in before taking a seat across from my desk. He’s the only one who’s allowed to enter without knocking. And in true Maverick fashion, he just sits there for a few minutes. Not talking. Waiting for me to initiate.
“Are you going to say ‘hello’ or just sit and watch me like a fucking stalker?” I ask without looking up from the form I’m reviewing.
“Nope. I’m content looking at your ugly mug all day as you try to read all those big words.”
If he wasn’t my blood, I’d punch him. Not only is Maverick ridiculously skilled with cars, but he’s also a damn-near genius. If he’d ever actually applied himself in school, he probably could have gotten a scholarship to some big college. But instead, he got wrapped up with me and cars and well . . . look what that got him: a stint in prison just after his 18th birthday.
I set aside the form and look at my brother, who’s still trying to use his non-existent x-ray vision to see through me.
“What in the fuck are you staring at?”
Maverick tilts his head, examining me from another angle.
“I don’t know. I’m trying to find my brother. I think he’s in there, but I still only see an asshole who can’t seem to treat our friends with decency.”
I let out a huff and look at the ceiling. I really don’t want to be getting into this right now.
“Don’t start, Mav.”
“No, Kalum, I am going to start,” Maverick stands up, pacing around the room, clearly frustrated that he has to take this tone with me. “What’s gotten into you? You can be an asshole to Jaxson and me. Hell, we’ve been used to it since we were kids. But the girls don’t deserve it. And I thought you liked them? Hell, at one point, I thought you and Tori were going to get together. So, whatever your problem is, get the fuck over it and start treating them with the respect they deserve.”
And there’s the name I was hoping he wouldn’t bring up. Tori Brennan—with her sleek black hair, legs for days, and a set of tits I could get lost in—is a walking wet dream that could be my kryptonite if I got too close to her.
So I’ve made sure to stay far away. If not physically, than damn sure emotionally.
Did I flirt with her when we first met? Hell yeah, I did. Have I jacked off more than a few times to a fantasy of her on the hood of my car? Fuck yeah, I have.
But that’s where it has to end. She’s young—nearly 10 years younger than my 34, and she doesn’t need to be getting involved with the shit in my life.
So am I an asshole to her now? Yeah, I am. But it’s the only way I can keep her at bay. Though it hasn’t stopped her from trying.
I almost chuckle when I think about how she screamed at me to take the stick out of my ass last night. It’s something I would have said to her a few months back had the roles been reversed.
“I’m not getting together with Tori,” I say to my brother, who just shakes his head at me like I’m full of shit. “And I’m no more of an asshole than I normally am.”
“That’s where you’re wrong, big brother. You’re normally stubborn with a quick temper. But the way you’re now treating the people you call friends is downright fucking rude.”
I know he’s right, but I can’t let it show.
Over the last few years, I’ve started to become the more laid-back guy I was growing up. I was still stubborn, and I definitely acted first and thought about the consequences later, but I was more mellow. But things have recently changed, so the walls are back up.
It’s for everyone’s good.
“Thanks for the advice, Dr. Phil. I’ll work on my manners the next time we’re out. Now, if you don’t mind, I need to get back to work so we can finally open this second location, which means you’ll finally be out of my hair.”
Though I give him shit and say that I need him away from me, I can’t imagine not working next to my brother every day. He’s going to oversee the day-to-day operations of the second shop, which means we’ll spend less time together. Since we were kids, it’s always been us. And Jaxson. But Maverick and I, even though I’m four years older, have been inseparable our entire lives. We�
�ve never spent more than a few days apart.
“You’ll miss me. You know you will.”
I crumple up a piece of paper and throw it at him as he stands. It misses him. Barely.
“Work on your shot, big brother,” he says with a chuckle as he exits my office.
“Work on your advice, little brother.”
Those might have been the words I said, but I know he’s absolutely right.
At least for now, this is how I have to be. For everyone. Including Maverick.
3
Tori
“That will be $4.50, please.”
“I thought it was $6?”
“It is, but you’re getting my discount today. It also comes with my phone number, if you’d like to use it sometime.”
I hand the good-looking customer his coffee, making sure I accidentally brush his fingers in the exchange. He’s visited Perks, the café I manage, a few times, and shy smiles have been exchanged. I told myself the next time I saw him, I’d be giving him my number.
Before he makes his exit, he turns around and gives me a smile before leaving.
Yeah, I’m pretty sure he’s going to call.
God, I love this job.
I’m sure when I go back to my small hometown in Wisconsin in a few weeks for a class reunion that some people will probably talk shit about the fact that I moved to Chicago and only manage a coffee shop. Well, I have one thing to say to those people:
Fuck off.
I’m sure I could have stayed in Smithville, a town with barely 30 kids in each graduating class, and married someone I’d known since kindergarten. It probably would have been Billy Matheny, who always had a thing for me. I could’ve had dinner waiting for him every night when he came back from his used-car dealership that he took over after his dad retired.
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