Claimed By My Pretend Boyfriend: Blackwater Pack Book Six

by Liam Kingsley

  Claimed By My Pretend Boyfriend

  Blackwater Pack: Book 6

  Liam Kingsley

  Contents

  1. Decker

  2. Tripp

  3. Decker

  4. Tripp

  5. Decker

  6. Tripp

  7. Decker

  8. Tripp

  9. Decker

  10. Tripp

  11. Decker

  12. Tripp

  13. Decker

  14. Tripp

  15. Decker

  16. Tripp

  17. Decker

  18. Tripp

  19. Decker

  20. Tripp

  21. Decker

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  Claimed By My Pretend Boyfriend

  1

  Decker

  September in Blackwater was my favorite time of the year. There was still a warmth in the air but a crisp chill started to move in on the breeze as the sun set each evening. I loved being outside in the weather, but standing outside the Tuck It Bar and Grille on Main Street waiting for my friends also made me feel like a massive loser. I awkwardly shuffled aside to let tourists walk past, and looked out into the oncoming traffic for any sign of my friends. By the time they were fifteen minutes late, I was on my phone checking the notifications on my latest workout videos, and I heard a fan calling out to me.

  “Hey, handsome!”

  I spun around on my heel and felt a hand clap me square on my back.

  “Owen!” I breathed in relief, and he gave me a wink before bringing me into a firm hug.

  “Thought I was one of your social media stalkers, huh?” he laughed, wrapping an arm around my shoulder. I gave my older friend a playful punch to the guts which only made him laugh more.

  “Nash will be here soon, should we wait for him out here?” he asked as he looked across the busy street for our friend. The early evenings were still bright, and almost all of Blackwater was out and about, making the most of the long days before we all fell into the deep, dark winter.

  “You think he's actually going to make it this time?” I raised my eyebrows.

  “Yeah, I'm forever optimistic,” Owen grinned. “We should cut him some slack. He's got nineteen-month-old twins, so he's basically working three full-time jobs right now.”

  “Yeah, yeah...” I sighed.

  “Oh my god, is that you, Decker Savage?!” a high-pitched voice wailed from behind me. I instinctively bristled and tried not to look, but Owen's arm was around my shoulder and pulled me towards the voice as he took a peek at whichever weirdo follower it was that was frothing at the mouth for their fan moment with me.

  My heart raced as we wheeled around and I prepared to put on a fake smile. Instead, a real one came way more easily when I spotted the beaming face of my best friend.

  “Fucking hell, Nash! You scared me,” I laughed.

  “Was that a good impersonation?” our friend laughed, reaching out and wrapping us both in a big hug.

  “Flawless, actually,” I groaned.

  “Much better than my effort,” Owen gave him a pat on the back.

  “C'mon, losers, we're going drinking,” Nash said as he led the way into the Tuck It.

  We headed straight for the bar. Owen jumped onto his usual stool and spun a couple of times, getting settled in. I grabbed my own seat and took a moment to really look at the three of us, finally back together at our local bar. I let out a sigh of relief. Things had changed, but maybe not too much after all...

  “Hey, Tucker,” Nash called out to the owner and bar man. “You remember our order? Three beers, and three shots.”

  “Hey, I can't do shots tonight –” I started before Nash put a hand in my face.

  “You're doing shots tonight,” he said, and nodded at Tucker.

  “Yeah, wait a minute, I might be on an early shift tomorrow,” Owen said, scratching his neck.

  “I've got to record a new video tomorrow and I don't want to look like shit,” I said.

  “Excuse me, fuckers,” Nash insisted. “Owen, I've lost count of how many times you've been nastily hungover at the precinct. Deck, put on a hydrating cucumber face mask and take a bath before your video, put a filter on it, make it an expose´ of your real life, I don't fucking know – your fans won't notice if you're a little crusty for once. We all managed to get out of the house at the same, and that's something we should celebrate.”

  Owen and I glanced at each other and shrugged in acceptance. If Nash was known to be anything, it was that he was convincing.

  “Three beers,” Tucker said as he served up our beers, and a smirk broke across his face as he served up our three whiskeys. “And three shots of three wise men for the three amigos. Good to see you back in here together, boys.”

  I chuckled and grabbed my shot. I raised it up high and made a toast, “Here's to the three amigos getting out of the house!”

  “Here, here!” Nash and Owen cheered, and Tucker even raised a glass.

  We knocked back our whiskey shots and it immediately went to my head.

  “Oh, god,” I said, grimacing and wiping my mouth. “That's, uh, stronger than I remembered.”

  “Yeah, it's been a while,” Nash took in a sharp inhale and smacked his lips.

  Owen just shrugged and mumbled, “Lightweights,” as he reached for his beer. “So how is life inside, Nash?” he asked.

  “You make it sound like he's in prison,” I laughed, already a little loose from the booze.

  “Deck, you don't have kids – trust me, it can feel like you’re in prison,” Owen said as he raised his eyebrows, taking a sip of his beer.

  “Hey now, fatherhood is the best thing that's ever happened to me,” Nash said as he sat back and nursed his beer.

  “But...” I urged.

  “But nothing!” Nash insisted. After a moment he confessed, “Except yeah, wow, I love those kids but it is really fucking hard to get a moment to yourself.”

  “I'm glad you both made it out,” I said sincerely, putting a hand on Nash's shoulder.

  “Me too,” Owen agreed.

  “I feel guilty as hell, but I made it!” Nash said, raising his beer.

  “Uh, guilty for what?” I raised my eyebrows and then squinted suspiciously. “Is Holden make you feeling guilty for going out with your friends?”

  “It's not like that,” Nash insisted. “I just know how hard it is when he leaves me home alone with both of the kids, and now I feel guilty for doing the same to him. And anyway – lay off Holden, he's a fucking angel.”

  “Hey, I've got no problem with Holden,” I said, holding up my hands. “I just still have a little whiplash from you suddenly becoming a family man after a lifetime of being the greatest party-boy player this side of Helena.”

  Nash scoffed and took a drink.

  “It's weird right, Owen?” I asked, trying to pull in some back-up.

  All I got was a shake of his head.

  “Nah... I get it,” Owen said. “Finding your fated mate changes everything about your life. Just like that,” he clicked his fingers. “You go from being a hard-ass cop who refuses to acknowledge his own feelings, to being a total softie sweetheart baby-crazy father. Or a mean-spirited businessman playboy to the most devoted, loyal dad ever. Or a social media sports star to, I don't know... Maybe you'll fall in love with your fated mate and suddenly get a real job.”

  Nash and Owen broke out into hysterics and I rolled my eyes.

  “Very good, very good. You know I coach a football team, right? Your remember that? Your good friend, Deck? The coach?”

  They kept laughing
and didn't show any signs of slowing down.

  “Ah, fuck you guys,” I laughed with an edge of bitterness. “I don't think fated mates is a real thing anyway. You might knot someone, but that doesn’t mean the relationship is going to be special. True love isn’t a thing.” I realized my tongue was way too loose from the three wise men, and I was sounding more like one stupid idiot. I took a sip of my beer and told myself to calm the hell down.

  “Aw, c'mon, little buddy,” Nash said, slapping my back. “Don't be so pessimistic about fated mates. You never know what's coming for you. It always happens when you least expect it.”

  “Ain't that the truth,” Owen agreed.

  “You'll find love soon,” Nash said in a rare moment of sincerity. “Oh – speaking of which, here comes trouble...”

  Just then, the door to the bar flew open with a certain, unnecessary gusto. I glanced over Owen's shoulder to see what Nash was talking about and immediately regretting it. Tripp Ingram was sashaying into the joint like he owned it.

  “Oh, fuck,” I groaned, lowering my head and trying to hide behind Owen's bulk.

  “Oh, my, there's a superstar in the house,” Owen chuckled.

  “Remember how much of a shithead he was in high school? Remember all those terrible practical jokes?” Nash mumbled.

  “You bet I do,” I groaned. “I was the butt of most of them.”

  Nash choked on his beer and let out a good belly laugh. “Oh, yeah, you were. Remember when he convinced you that spaghetti grows out of trees? Oh fuck, and remember that time he got the cops involved – Owen, did you hear about that?”

  “Huh?” Owen looked back at us from where his eyes were fixed on Tripp.

  “Tripp got the cops involved in a prank on Deck,” Nash went on, barely able to talk from laughing so hard. “Wait - was that for...?”

  I groaned and put my head in my hands. “Yes. It was...”

  “Hang on,” Owen said, leaning back as realization flashed in his eyes. “I think I have heard about this. Deck, I didn’t know that was you! You got strip searched?!”

  “It wasn’t a strip search!” I insisted.

  “No, but you were naked,” Nash burst out laughing and barely controlled himself enough to explain to Owen, “So Tripp gets a couple of cops to bust into the locker room after gym one day and to retain Decker and pretended to search his locker…”

  “Can we change the topic?” I groaned, covering my face with my hands.

  “Decker’s there in a towel, being interrogated by a cop about some piece of paper they ‘found’ in his locker, and everyone is staring. Decker’s losing it, with this like wild scared look in his eye, and at the end, the cop goes, ‘Think you better look at this, son,’ and hands him the evidence they ‘found’.”

  Owen was leaning forward on his stool, transfixed by this story of one of my most humiliating moments. “What was it?!”

  “Well, first of all, I want you to know that I was scared shitless too - I’m like, if Deck’s in trouble for something, then I’m implicated too,” Nash added.

  “Thanks for the support,” I said, taking a big gulp of my drink.

  “So I rush over and snatch it out of his hands. It’s this badly handwritten note.”

  “And he reads it out loud,” I added.

  “I had a reading thing with my dyslexia, so I had to read stuff out loud to fully understand it,” Nash explained.

  “What did it say?!” Owen demanded, thumping his hand against the bar.

  Nash cleared his throat. “I remember it as clear as day. It said: ‘Got your attention. Want to take a Tripp to prom?’”

  Owen barked out a howling laugh and Nash joined him. I couldn’t help but let out a chuckle. The memory had faded enough for me to enjoy it without feeling like I was going to die of embarrassment. I remembered the aftermath too, of everyone laughing their heads off. Maybe they were laughing at Tripp, but at the time it felt like they were just howling at me.

  “So did you take him to prom?” Owen coughed as he started to calm down, setting Nash off on another round of belly laughs.

  “No!” I hissed.

  “You were bright red, and you got so mad,” Nash said. “That's when I first suspected you were into each other...”

  “Into each other?” I growled. “I hated him! What planet were you on?”

  “Sure you ‘hated’ him, that’s why you were always picking on him and beating him up. I’m sure that had nothing to do with wanting his attention,” Nash countered and raised his eyebrows at me as he smugly took a sip of his beer.

  “Well, I wouldn’t have blamed you. I don’t know what he was like as a teen but damn, he’s hot now,” Owen said, then looked at us like he was offended when I scowled at him. “Um, he is!” he insisted.

  “Yeah, but who cares?” I said. Sure, Owen was right. Tripp had grown up into a flat-out gorgeous hunk, which was probably why his social media accounts were so popular – by which I mean, he was famous. Maybe not a household name, but he was a minor celebrity for his Pilates and yoga “workout” videos where he told his one million subscribers how to stretch while using cool yoga terms and wearing tight pants. I hated him with all of the passion in my body, and he was walking right over to us.

  “Oh, hi, Officer Owen,” he fawned, “And Nashville Nash, so good to see you out and about!”

  “Hey, Tripp,” they both grinned and raised their beers in greeting.

  “And if it isn't Decker Savage,” Tripp breathed.

  I grimaced. I hated Tripp's lilting voice and how he’d tried to change his accent from the poor-kid way he used to speak. I hated his stupid social media presence that did an injustice to all real workout videos by giving unqualified health advice, and I hated that his followers were fawning over his good looks and being fooled by his bullshit “yogi lifestyle”. I hated that he’d had dental work done to fix his crooked teeth and now he had the brightest, more gorgeous smile. I hated that I recognized how good-looking he was. I hated that he had a million subscribers while I was still scrabbling around, trying to crack 500,000. I kept my eyes on my beer and prayed that he'd go away if I just ignored him.

  No such luck.

  “What's wrong, big boy? Not going to say hello?” he asked with a pout in his voice.

  I felt my stomach turn and – worse – I felt a rush of heat move over my neck and cheeks. My heart was pounding out of my chest and I willed myself to stop blushing. I felt my wolf pawing at my chest and scowled at it to settle the hell down.

  “Hello, Tripp,” I said through gritted teeth as I slowly looked up to meet his eyes.

  “Hello, Deck,” he purred. “That wasn't so hard, was it?”

  In the moment where our gaze met, the world seemed to stop moving. His eyes had this odd mix of gray, green and blue – they were never just one color. I wished they'd stopped changing, the same way that I wished he'd stop rushing around looking for attention at every moment of the goddamn day ever since we were in high school. But my wolf surged forward in my chest towards those eyes, and almost knocked me off my stool. I barely caught myself.

  “Hey, Tripp!” someone called from a table at the back of the bar.

  Tripp kept his eyes on mine as he called back to them, “I'll be there in a moment!”

  “Don't keep them waiting,” Owen mumbled.

  “I'd best not,” Tripp agreed. His pert, pink lips smeared into a happy smirk and he gave me a wink. “I'll see you soon, big guy.”

  I watched as he walked away and my stomach churned as a wave of self-hate washed over me. I couldn't stop watching his ass.

  “I'm telling you,” Owen emphasized as he took a drink. “He's hot.”

  “Who cares? He's an asshole,” I growled and snapped my gaze off Tripp's perfectly round, pert rump.

  “I care,” Nash said with a grin. “Looks like he wants to keep giving you all that attention he’s been throwing your way since high school.”

  “Please, god, no,” I breathed, and took another gul
p of my beer to try to wash away the unpleasant taste in my mouth... and the burning in my cheeks.

  2

  Tripp

  Weaving through the tables at Tuck It, I sighed in frustration and immediately scooped up Sutton's glass before I even sat down. I literally slipped onto my seat as soon as my butt made contact with the booth, thanks to my silky yoga pants, and immediately sculled what was left of Sutton's beer. I let out a hiccup and ran my fingers through my shiny shoulder-length locks. I felt my wolf shake out its fur and preen its coat with long licks.

  Without saying a word, Sutton cocked his head to the side as he gave me a curious look with a raised eyebrow.

  “Decker,” I grumbled by way of explanation.

  Sutton's curious look changed to an amused grin.

  He shook his head as he groaned, “Again?”

  “Yes, again,” I affirmed.

  “I can't imagine having a crush on someone for as long as you've been into Decker Savage. You'd think it would have either fizzled out or come to a head by now.”

  “I guess I'm hopeless then! 'Cause this is never-ending!” I said with a dramatic sigh. “Look at him, would you! Cut physique. The face of a fashion model. Scientific knowledge of the human body. Leadership skills coming out of his ass -- oh my god, that ass is like two perfect round bubbles, by the way. Yet he blushes and trembles like a tentative young fawn when I push his buttons. He can't stand me.” I sighed again and put my chin into my hand for further dramatic effect. I felt my wolf flop down too, resting its chin on its paws. “It's a perfect storm,” I added, my yearning eyes still pointed toward Decker.

  Sutton laughed as he appraised my wanton state and declared, “You've got it bad, dude.”