Dirty Little Midlife Mess: A Fake Relationship Romantic Comedy (Heart’s Cove Hotties Book 2)

by Lilian Monroe

  “In here,” I say to Sean and Alina. “I’ll give you a few moments to freshen up, then you can join us for a drink on the patio.” I turn my smile to gigawatt-blinding levels and close the door on the two of them.

  Eli slips into the driver’s seat, and I don’t have the bandwidth to ask him where the heck he’s going to stay.

  Scampering to the kitchen, I find Wes staring at two bottles in his hands, seeing nothing. “Hey,” I whisper.

  He jumps when I touch his arm again. We’re going to have to work on that. “His new girlfriend is my ex-fiancée.”

  “He’s a dog,” I whisper, glancing over my shoulder. I clear my throat. “So…what’s the plan, here?”

  The sound of my voice seems to jog something loose inside him, and he shifts his gaze to meet mine. For the first time since Alina stepped outside of the car, I see the Wes I recognize. He lets out a long sigh. “We have to pretend we’re dating.”

  “You say that like it’s a totally normal thing to do. Just pretend we’re dating like two regular people would do when hosting your family.” I lean in. “You do realize this is insane, right?”

  “Please, Simone.” His brows draw together, desperation nipping at the edges of his voice.

  Something softens inside me. Anger flees from my heart and my shoulders drop. I’m way too nice a person for this. I bite my lip and glance over my shoulder. “Fine. Just for the week.”

  He lets out a breath, gaze returning to the two bottles in his hands.

  I point to the bottle in his right hand. “Champagne, definitely. I’ll get a cheese plate ready. Go sit on the deck, stare longingly at the ocean, and look pretty. You’re good at that. Okay, babe?”

  “Babe?” Those pine-green eyes meet mine again, face blank. Damn this man. He’s handsome even when he’s overwhelmed and confused.

  I shrug. “Would you prefer honey? Or sugartits?”

  “I would prefer nothing.”

  “Sugartits it is.” I flash him the kind of smile that always makes him scowl.

  His brows arch a fraction of an inch, fire flaring within his eyes. Finally, a reaction.

  I shoo him away and get to work.

  Drinks on the balcony are tense. Wesley mostly just sits there—and fine, he does looks pretty—and I natter on about Heart’s Cove and the locals and the wildlife. Uncle Sean and Alina pick at the food and scan the house and surroundings like they’re assessing cattle at a country fair.

  Finally, we all decide to get freshened up before dinner. We’re going to go to the restaurant Jen works at during the week—the one in the next town over with a Michelin star. Rich people love fancy food.

  I drag Wesley toward the staircase. He walks a step behind me, his presence a solid wall of warmth at my back. Throwing the door to the bedroom open, I usher him in and let out a sigh. “Okay. We have an hour or two before we have to go down for dinner.”

  He nods. “Thank you. For everything.”

  I wave my hand. “You want me to pretend I have woman troubles so we don’t have to go downstairs? I can talk about being premenopausal and include lots of gory imagery about blood.”

  Wes glares at me, and I grin. There he is. “You should go home and pack a bag.”

  I freeze. “Excuse me? Pack a bag for what?”

  He spreads his arms. “If you were my girlfriend, you’d be staying here. You wouldn’t be in that shithole apartment in town.”

  “Shithole apartment?”

  He rakes his fingers through his hair. “That’s not what I meant.” He sucks in a breath. “Look. This is…complicated. It would be better if we pretended to live together. My uncle will be looking for weaknesses in our relationship.”

  “Well, I can think of one weakness: it’s not real. We’re not dating, Wes. You just sprang this on me this afternoon with zero warning and no explanation.”

  Wes leans back on the bed, laying sideways across it. He groans, scrubbing his face. “Fuck. Fuckety fuck, fuck!” Then, pulling himself together, he sits up. “The terms of our deal have changed, so it’s only fair we renegotiate.”

  My frown deepens. “Renegotiate.” I taste the word, trying to understand what he means.

  “I’ll pay you.”

  I pause. We’re on opposite sides of the room. He’s sitting, I’m standing with my arms crossed. I consider his words, chewing the edge of my lip.

  Money would help. I sold my house a couple of months ago, but then sank all those funds in the Four Cups Café. My copywriting business is keeping me afloat, but I’m not exactly comfortable. My car, Bertha, died last summer, and I need some cash for new wheels.

  I can’t believe I’m actually considering this. “How much?”

  “Three grand for the week.”

  Let’s see how desperate he is. “Ten.”

  He scoffs. “Five.”

  “Deal.” I grin and extend a hand. “Nice doing business with you, sugartits.”

  He shakes, his large hand swallowing mine. “I’m going to regret this, aren’t I?” He flops back down onto the bed.

  The…bed. The bed we’re supposed to share. Something I must have realized when I agreed to this, but haven’t had time to completely internalize.

  I’ll be sharing a bed with Wesley for a whole week.

  Gut clenching, I gulp. I can handle holding Wes’s hand. I can deal with his hand on my lower back. I can grind my ass against him to make him regret putting me in an awkward situation. I can probably deal with a peck on the lips to make it seem like we’re together. But sharing a bed?

  My body will riot. My hormones will go on a rampage.

  Wes must read my mind, because he jerks his chin toward the other side of the room. “I’ll take the couch.” He starts grabbing a couple of pillows off the bed.

  “Okay,” I squeak. I duck down the hall into the bathroom. My reflection stares back at me, just as frumpy and tired-looking as I’d expected. My hair is pure frizz, like an orange-red halo around my pale moon of a face. Lovely. I look down at my chest. No headlights to speak of, at least. I splash water on my face and head back to the bedroom, poking my head inside. “I’m going to head to my place to grab some clothing. Be right back.”

  When I get back, Wes is lying on the couch in his bedroom, feet propped on the armrest and phone in hand. I managed to make it out and back without Sean and Alina seeing me, which is some kind of miracle. Wes looks at my little suitcase, then at me, and his chest seems to cave in. “We’re really doing this.”

  “Don’t blame me,” I say. “This brilliant plan was your brain-child, not mine. I need to get ready for dinner.”

  After a quick shower, I find a blow dryer and do my best to tame my hair, swipe some makeup on, and look around. I left my clothes in the bedroom. Shit.

  Wrapping the towel around my body and tucking it under my armpits, I exit the bathroom.

  Wes looks up from his makeshift bed on the couch, dropping his phone into his lap. His eyes widen slightly as he takes in my face, my shoulders, the towel, my bare legs.

  I just…stand there.

  His eyes are hungry. When his tongue slides out to swipe his bottom lip, fire ignites deep in my core. When was the last time a man looked at me like that? When was the last time I stood in front of a man feeling like I deserved to be wanted?

  It’s been a long, long while.

  That’s my excuse for standing rooted to the floor. I’m just not used to that kind of attention. That kind of hunger. Neither of us moves, and a small part of my brain wonders what would happen if I dropped the towel.

  As soon as the thought pops into my brain, I stuff it down somewhere very, very deep, and shuffle over to my suitcase. Wes mumbles something unintelligible and when I turn around again, his nose is pressed up against his phone screen. I scurry to the walk-in closet to get changed.

  Dressed in a pair of jeans and a flowy white blouse, I emerge from the closet to find Wes wearing jeans and a white shirt.

  “Damn it,” I say.

&nbs
p; He turns around, buttoning the shirt. I catch a glimpse of his chest, the edge of his tattoo peeking over his pectoral muscle. He arches a brow. “What?”

  “We match.”

  He looks at me, then at himself, then back at me. “I’ll change.” With his fingers moving in the opposite direction, it only takes him a few seconds to unbutton the shirt and slide it off his broad shoulders.

  Unlike Wes, I’m not polite enough to pretend to look at my phone. When there’s a sexy piece of man-meat forced to share a room with me, and when he happens to be changing in my vicinity, I stare. I ogle, even. I might even drool a little bit.

  Wes’s eyes flick up to mine as he chooses a dark burgundy shirt instead. “Enjoying the view?”

  “Very much, thank you.” I give him a grin. “There may be a lot of things wrong with you, Wes, but your body isn’t one of them.”

  Still holding the shirt, his brows tug closer together. “What’s wrong with me?”

  I let out an exaggerated sigh that would rival one of Clancy’s. “Gosh. Where should I start?”

  He levels me with a stare, then slides his arms through the sleeves of his shirt. It’s hard not to notice the way his shoulder muscles strain against the fabric, or how his hands move deftly to work the buttons closed from bottom to top. I ignore the pang of disappointment when his bare flesh disappears beneath his clothes. He leaves the top two buttons undone, then combs his fingers through his hair. “I’m still waiting for all the things that are wrong with me. So far all you’ve done is stare at me like a wild dog stares at a juicy steak.”

  I tilt my head. “Did you just compare me to a dog? Although I don’t know if that’s more insulting than referring to yourself as a juicy steak.”

  His lips crack into a smile—the first full smile I’ve seen since his uncle and Alina arrived. It does something to my insides. Liquifies them completely, turns my knees to jelly. The man is attractive on a regular day, but when he smiles, he turns from handsome to divine. It takes all my self-control not to throw my panties at him.

  I’m just here to honor my end of the deal and make a bit of cash while I’m at it. I’m building up my car fund, that’s all. Sleeping with him would be a bad idea. A really, really bad idea.

  He extends his hand toward me, and I slip my palm against his. His hand is warm and comforting, the heat of it sending a jolt through my body. I glance down at my blouse and yep, I’ve got headlights now. Great.

  Wes starts walking to the bedroom door. With his other hand on the doorknob, he glances at me. “Ready?”

  I shrug. “Sure. How bad could it be?”

  6

  Wesley

  Simone and I walk downstairs to find Eli in the kitchen with my mother’s frilly pink apron on. He’s cracking pepper onto a plate full of steaks when he lifts his head to see us approach.

  “Wesley,” he says in a deep baritone voice. “Mr. Byron thought he’d rather stay in tonight and asked that I prepare your meal. I hope you don’t mind me helping myself to the groceries in the refrigerator?”

  I glance at Simone, whose face is completely neutral, then shrug. “Sure.” How typical of my uncle to change plans for a full group of people on a whim. I don’t mind, though. I’d rather stay home today.

  I reach for a bottle of wine, then pause. “Hey Eli, where are you staying? Did my uncle mention it to you?”

  The only room available in the house is my parents’ old room, and it remains closed at all times. I haven’t been in there since the day of the funeral, and I have no intention of letting my uncle’s butler stay there. I’ll pay for a hotel if I need to.

  “Mr. Byron mentioned there was a lodge I could use.” Eli nudges the lever on the faucet with his elbow and starts washing his hands. He glances over his shoulder at me. “I hadn’t realized he didn’t discuss it with you beforehand.”

  My eyebrows inch upward. Simone looks at me, tilting her head. My uncle told Eli he could stay in Grandpa’s lodge. As soon as he steps inside, it’ll be more than obvious that I’ve been living there. Alone.

  This whole charade could fall apart before it even begins.

  Simone puts her hand on my arm, and I ignore the heat of her palm and how it makes my heart beat a little bit harder. Her touch makes my body react a little too violently, and I don’t want to acknowledge what that means. She smiles at me. Damn, this woman is gorgeous. She nods to the door. “I’ll go over there and get it ready. I’ll be back in no time.”

  My shoulders relax ever so slightly, and I give her a small nod. “Thank you.”

  With her hand on my arm and her side almost touching mine, it’s easy to forget we’re supposed to be pretending. It would be so simple to lean down and brush my lips over hers. Wouldn’t that be the natural thing to do if we were really dating? I could slide my arm across her lower back and give her a kiss that shows my appreciation, my gratitude, my affection.

  Instead, Simone clears her throat and nods at the two of us before slipping out the front door. I watch her leave and try to ignore the sensation of the walls closing in on me.

  “She’s not your usual type.”

  I turn to see Alina entering from the back porch. She’s changed out of her skin-tight yellow dress and sky-high heels into a sort of gauzy, easy ensemble that’s loose-fitting and somehow refined and sexy at the same time. After being in Heart’s Cove for so long, I’d almost forgotten how wealthy people dress and carry themselves—like they own everything in sight.

  Alina nods to the bottle of wine on the counter, and I find myself pouring her a glass. Damn it. I’m not sure it’s me playing the host or some holdover of another life when I was happy to serve her in whatever way she pleased.

  “I wasn’t aware I had a type,” I answer as I hand her the glass. I pour myself one as well, if only to ignore her searching stare.

  “You used to. Tall, thin, willowy. Someone that would fit into your family’s social circle.” Someone like me, she leaves unsaid.

  I snort. “My family’s social circle isn’t what you think it is.” If only she knew Dorothy and Margaret, she wouldn’t be talking to me about fitting in. Simone was probably born to fit in with those crazy old ladies, if only because they seem to collect eccentrics and artists like Alina collects suitors.

  My ex-fiancée leans against the counter, casting her eye over the living room and kitchen. She sips her wine, every movement graceful. I wonder if it’s innate, or if she learned it growing up. Did her fancy prep school teach her how to move through the world? Or is it just some deep sense of knowing that your superiority is absolute?

  My heart squeezes to a painful ball in my chest. I remember meeting her when we were both in our thirties, working professionals in tech. I met her at a conference, where she was perpetually surrounded by panting men. She was so unbelievably beautiful, and I thought I was the luckiest man in the world. When she deigned to date me, I felt like I’d been blessed.

  She encouraged me to pursue my dreams, to make my business work. She charmed my investors and probably had as much to do with them signing on as I did. Then she turned her back on me as quickly as the investors did, too.

  “You look sad, Wes,” Alina says, pulling me from my thoughts. “Your eyes are dull.” She takes a half step toward me, her hand reaching for mine. When her fingers brush my palm, an electric jolt zips across my skin, like an elastic band snapping. Unpleasant.

  I pull back. “When did you and Sean…?”

  “About a year ago.” Alina holds my gaze but makes no move to touch me again. “I wanted to tell you, but I thought it would be better in person.”

  “Right. Showing up on my doorstep is a much better tactic. Can’t react, otherwise I look like an asshole.”

  “That’s not what I meant.” Alina’s brows draw together, and I can feel her charm weaving around me like a drug. I want to forgive her. I want to walk toward her and let her put her arms around my neck. She’s the kind of woman who makes you forget yourself in an instant. Tilting her head,
she gives me a mournful smile. “I want you to be happy, Wes. Even if it didn’t work out between us, I still want the best for you.”

  Her words are sweet and sad and they sound sincere, but how true are they? When she left me, she said I was dragging her down. I’d taken a chance on building a business—an app that was supposed to be a massive platform for all kinds of services. A virtual phone book for hair stylists and barbers and personal trainers. I had angel investors and business plans and I was living in Silicon Valley like the rest of them. It was going to be the next Uber, the next AirBnB. I had the support of my parents, my fiancée, and all the right connections.

  But I didn’t have customers. The app didn’t take off the way I wanted it to, and I ended up hundreds of thousands of dollars in debt with investors pulling out at every turn. Doors that were once wide open were shut in my face.

  I was disgraced.

  An oily feeling slicks over my skin as Alina tilts her head, tucking a strand of chocolatey hair behind her ear. Her eyes look into mine, and if I were still a fool in love, I’d think she were being sincere. She’s not, though. It’s an act. As soon as she saw my ship was sinking, she ran for shore. Then, what? A few years later, she found my uncle by chance?

  “There you are!” Sean walks into the room, shoulders back, steps sure. He slides his arm around Alina’s waist and accepts a glass of wine from Eli. “Have you two put the past behind you now? We can move on and have a good vacation?”

  “Sure,” I answer, pinching a smile. A few words exchanged under duress, and the past is water under the bridge. At least that’s how it works in my family. I motion to the living room and take a seat in an armchair, watching them sit side by side on the sofa.

  My uncle and my ex-fiancée, happy together.

  I want to be sick.

  Sean looks around the room. “I’ve always loved this house, but I told my brother he could do better. This piece of land is worth a fortune now that Heart’s Cove is growing. It could be a real moneymaker. A hotel, or maybe vacation cabins. A bed and breakfast…” He glances at me, arching his brows. “Now would be the time. Heart’s Cove is growing, and in a year and a half it might be too late.”