Fake It Till You Make It

by Anne Harper

  Brady didn’t comment, but when he opened the truck door for her, he was smiling for all he was worth.

  “Oh, sweet cakes, how big your teeth are,” Sloane said, surprising herself with some sass. She was about to hop into the cab of the truck just as Felicity and Marcus came into view. They were going to their car but made a point to look at Sloane and Brady as they passed. Both smiled, no suspicion in their expressions.

  And Sloane wanted to keep it that way.

  Apparently she wasn’t the only one.

  She moved up onto her tiptoes to give Brady a peck on the lips to solidify they were indeed a couple, just as Brady moved to do the same thing.

  What could have been a nice, quick kiss turned into a somewhat-loud headbutt. Brady’s nose went into Sloane’s eye while her forehead hit his eyebrow. She sucked in a breath, but Brady was determined for the kiss. His lips found hers, and the pain was momentarily forgotten.

  Warm. Soft. Bellini.

  “Get a room, you two!” Their kiss dissolved like wet cotton candy as Carol bounded by them on the way to the main house. She was all smiles.

  Sloane didn’t bother trying to recover after that. The best she could do was take her heated cheeks into the cab of the truck and get a few deep breaths off before Brady had the engine running.

  “That was a disaster,” Brady finally said as he drove them out of the estate.

  “It’s not my fault you’re tall,” Sloane defended. “Next time don’t swoop down with so much speed! You were like a dang hawk!”

  Brady shook his head. “I’m talking about the lunch. We went in there for sandwiches and rich-people drinks, and we came out with plans to be in a pageant, throw a party for the town, and make a parade float? All in two weeks? Dear God, woman.” Brady shook his head. “Why stop there? Why not headline the Arbor Bay concert, too? I don’t know how to play any instruments, but we have just as much time to do that as the rest.”

  Considering everything Sloane had learned at the table, she definitely didn’t like his tone.

  “First of all, I panicked. Lies are like dominos. Once I knocked the first one over, the rest just kept falling. I tried to think of a way to get out of the pageant and couldn’t, and then Missy was all about floats, and Carol was right behind her and, well, panic.”

  He huffed. Actually huffed like she was the most frustrating soul in the world.

  Which only turned her annoyance up a notch.

  “Secondly, you wanted press for the bar, and all that nonsense is going to get you a lot of it. Which is why we agreed to this arrangement in the first place. Press. And the party? That was to help you out. Your ex, the same one you didn’t bother to tell me about, which, thanks, given where we were eating lunch, just— Well, she just had a tone, and I didn’t really like it.”

  Sloane had been surprised at just how much she’d disliked the way Felicity had talked to Brady about the bar. It had almost sounded frustrated. Like it was an old feeling between them. An old fight. One that, judging by what Ruby had revealed, Brady had lost.

  So Sloane had said the first thing that came to her mind to defend him.

  The same thing that was now making him angry with her.

  “Felicity always has a tone,” he said, still staring out the windshield with a soggy expression. “Especially when it comes to the bar.”

  “Well, how the hell was I supposed to know that? I’ve never actually met her before. If I had known we were going to be dining with your ex, I might have asked for some fun facts.” A thought popped into Sloane’s head that made her inhale. “Or wait, did you know that Felicity would be there? I mean, did you know that she was Marcus’s fiancée before today?”

  Had Brady been just as surprised at seeing her as Sloane had been at finding out that they had dated?

  “Yeah, I knew.” He shrugged, nonplussed. “I found out last night, right after he showed up at the bar.”

  There Sloane was, almost feeling sorry for the guy, and then the truth finally came out.

  “That’s why you wanted to pretend to date!” she exclaimed. “It wasn’t just for the bar; it was to make her jealous? What, are you trying to win her back? Steal her from Marcus? Because if so, I don’t want to be a part of that.”

  Brady turned long enough to roll his eyes at her. “Calm down there, sweet cakes. I’m doing this for the bar.”

  Sloane wasn’t buying it. She crossed her arms over her chest and stared.

  He sighed. “Proving to my ex that I don’t need a trust fund to be worthwhile, yeah, fine, that’s an unforeseen added bonus, but that’s all I want when it comes to her. I’ve already been there, and I’ve already done that. And I don’t want to do any of it again. No thanks.”

  Sloane narrowed her eyes. “I don’t know you well enough to know if you’re lying or not.”

  “Well, you’re about to really get to know me.” He came to a stop at a four-way and swept his gaze over to hers. There was something mischievous there. Something intriguing just behind his eyes.

  “I am?”

  “Oh yeah.” He leaned over, not breaking their eye contact. Sloane could have sworn her body started to vibrate in response. The corner of Brady’s lips slid up slowly, but what he said was meant as punishment, not pleasure. Much to Sloane’s immediate and frustrating disappointment. “Because there’s no way in Hades I’m doing any of this by myself. As far as I’m concerned? You, Sloane De Carlo, are not leaving my side for the next two weeks.”

  Chapter Eight

  Peggy Parker-Calhoun was absolutely the woman you talked to when the art supplies in the county ran out, putting you in dire straits, but every Arbor Bay local worth their salt knew it was Marsapan Parker-Calhoun Junior, her Siberian Husky, who you really had to win over before getting near any of the goods.

  Sloane had only met Marsapan Junior once, but she had been an avid fan of his father when she was younger. She just hoped the two shared the same love for peanut butter biscuits from Paws & Tails. She had one in her pocket and two in a baggy in her purse.

  Brady had none.

  He had refused to hold them and, what’s more, had tried to get out of going to Ms. Peggy’s in the first place. Even now, standing on her front porch in the morning heat, he was straight-backed, arms-crossed, and frowning.

  It was an intimidating look.

  Also a stimulating one.

  His five o’clock shadow had grown a bit more, and the effect paired nicely with his rough-and-tumble outfit of a worn tee and jeans.

  Though, after the disaster of a lunch the day before, Sloane wasn’t about to trust the man or her libido for that matter. Not fully, and definitely not with gathering the art supplies they needed.

  “She’s a hoarder.”

  Brady did that thing where he leaned over and whispered just above Sloane’s ear. She had to fight her eyes from fluttering at the whisper.

  “She’s prepared.”

  “For what? The apocalypse of crepe paper and chicken wire?”

  Sloane tilted her head at that. She gave the doorbell another push.

  “I’m impressed you know what crepe paper is.”

  “Clearly you’ve never come to the bar around Valentine’s Day. It’s the one holiday Aunt Clara dives in deep with crepe-paper everything. Streamers, random circles, twisted monstrosities, giant flowers. You name it, she’s forced us to crepe paper it.”

  “And, clearly, it’s scarred you.”

  “It sure didn’t enlighten me,” he grumbled.

  Shuffling feet on the other side of the door preceded the sound of the deadbolt sliding. Sloane put her hand in her pocket, fingers around the biscuit. Then they were looking at coiffed silver hair, cat-eye framed glasses, and a heaping dose of skepticism. That expression did a one-eighty when the older woman recognized Sloane.

  “Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eye
s!”

  “Hey, Ms. Peggy.” Sloane was enveloped in an invisible cloud of cinnamon and coffee, Ms. Peggy’s long-standing, trademark scent. “It’s been a while.”

  “It’s been too long! I just told your brother the other day that we were going to have to take a road trip if we ever wanted to see you again.” They broke their embrace. Then a curious fluffy face and wagging tail rushed through the door. Sloane happily went into a crouch and pulled the dog biscuit free from her jeans.

  “Marsapan Junior, you’re just as handsome as last time!”

  The husky lapped at her face before turning his entire attention to the treat. Sloane threaded her fingers into his fur while he munched.

  “I’d have to say the same about Mr. Knox here,” Ms. Peggy said coolly. “Though last time I saw you, you were downright disrespectful.”

  Sloane popped her head up and stared daggers at her fake date. Brady sighed.

  “Cutting you off at the bar wasn’t disrespectful, it was responsible. It was also private. No one heard me do it, and I even had Santana drive you home.”

  Ms. Peggy scoffed. She fixed Sloane with a look that clearly said Brady didn’t know a damned thing.

  “You’d think I drank an entire shelf the way this one is yammering on,” she said. “Are you sure this is the fellow you want to be attached to? He’s kind of a grouch.”

  Sloane stood and laughed. “Even grouches need love, Ms. Peggy.” Marsapan Junior stuck his nose into Sloane’s purse. She patted his head and got down to business. “So, I know it’s been a while, and I should have called more, but I was wondering—we were wondering…”

  “If you could browse my craft stash because everyone in town has bought up decorations for the festival and you don’t want to spend your entire life savings by going to Mobile to get ’em, since you have to do a party and a float?”

  Sloane laughed again. “Exactly,” she said. “But how did you know? We only agreed to both of those yesterday.”

  Ms. Peggy turned back into the house and waved them in after. “Which was a day longer than Missy Robertson needed to spread the news.”

  Sloane and Brady followed Marsapan Junior and his owner into a house filled with cold air, the smell of cinnamon, and an exorbitant amount of plastic bins.

  “Hoarder,” Brady whispered at her ear. Sloane pushed him off.

  Sure, Ms. Peggy had a lot of stuff, but that was only because she loved couponing and sales. She used the former to gobble up crafts, wall decor, and gnomes. It made her eclectic, not necessarily a hoarder. Especially since, from time to time, she’d been known to give up some of her stash.

  Ms. Peggy led them to her spare bedroom. The bed had long since been taken out to make room for more storage. She went to a stack of bins with labels on the outside.

  “You’re in luck that JOANN had that huge sale last year and I made out like a villain.” She squinted at one of the labels, then tapped the bin. “This one has metallic fringe out the wazoo in it, and this one”—she moved to the one next to it—“has a lot of nautical items.” She turned to Brady and was back to skepticism. “I’m assuming you are going to decorate the bar for the party, right?”

  “From what I’ve been told, I have no choice.”

  If Sloane wasn’t peeking into the bin closest to her, she would have taken the moment to be in awe at how his grumbling baritone was still a welcome sound to her. Trust or not. Instead, she lit up at one of the bins she spotted.

  “Is this thing filled with blue and green streamers?”

  Ms. Peggy nodded. “I’m pretty sure there’s a few pirate-themed things somewhere in here, too.”

  “And why do you have all of this?” Brady’s tone wasn’t disrespectful, but it wasn’t aboveboard, either. When Sloane had said they needed to go to Ms. Peggy’s, she hadn’t specifically spelled out how much she liked the woman and how he had better get his act together around her. A conversation she would have with him the next moment of alone time they got, that was for sure.

  Ms. Peggy put her hands on her hips and gave Brady another don’t cross me, boy look.

  “Because we live in a town obsessed with the pirates, mermaids, and sailors theme. That’s why. I’m a one-stop shop when it comes to the people I care for. But you know what, Brady Knox? I don’t know if I care for you.”

  “Ms. Peggy,” Sloane started.

  The older woman raised her hand. She kept her gaze on Brady, who kept his mouth, thankfully, shut.

  “But since I’ve been a fan of this girl here since she was a teen and she must think you’re worth more than just that muscled snark, I’ll make you a deal.” Ms. Peggy motioned to the room as a whole. “You can take whatever you need to decorate your bar and float if you do me a favor.”

  “A favor,” Brady deadpanned.

  “That’s right. One little ol’ thing you can do, and then you can take whatever you need for free.”

  Brady might have been a grouch, but free sounded good even to the grumps of the world.

  “And exactly what are we talking?”

  Ms. Peggy grinned.

  Two hours later and Sloane was finishing off her second glass of sweet tea, vibrating from all the sugar in it, and completely satisfied with the collection of plastic bins she’d organized in the middle of Ms. Peggy’s living room.

  “I can’t thank you enough,” she told the older woman, meaning it. “I can pay you back as soon as—”

  “Oh hush,” Ms. Peggy interrupted with a wave of her free hand. The other had a half-eaten sugar cookie in it. She’d been taking a while to finish it, distracted by the sight taking place out of the window that showed the front yard. The sound of a lawn mower had become like a white-noise machine while they’d worked. “You know your money is no good with me.”

  Sloane stood, smiled, and walked up to Ms. Peggy. There at the window, she finally understood the concentration the older woman had been giving outside.

  Brady had agreed to help out with Ms. Peggy’s yard work, since her grandson was away. At first he’d grumbled but still gotten to pulling the weeds in the back, clearing some sticks, and even situating some pine straw. He’d been okay while filling in a few holes from what they hoped was a mole. He was even civil after being asked to spray the backyard with mosquito repellent.

  But when Ms. Peggy had asked if he could mow the lawn out front—the very massive front yard—Brady had just about thrown a fit. Sloane had pulled him aside, reached for his hand, and looked him square in the eye.

  “We need this,” she’d reminded him. “Plus, she’s good people. If you won’t do it to help her, I will.”

  That had, remarkably, worked. Though he’d grumbled about it, too.

  Since then, Sloane hadn’t peeked outside.

  Now she regretted she’d missed most of the show.

  Wherever the man’s shirt was—which definitely wasn’t on him—it wasn’t missed.

  Brady Knox wasn’t built like a superhero in a movie with a six-pack carved from stone, but he sure was blessed. There were lines and curves and definition that hadn’t just appeared overnight. It was built by exercise, toned by use, and maintained by discipline.

  And then there was the happy trail.

  Audible gulp.

  The light dusting of brown hair led down to the brim of his pants and disappeared from the eye before switching over and continuing in the imagination. Sloane didn’t want to think about what was under there while she was standing next to Ms. Peggy, but she damn well couldn’t stop the thought hardening into desire while she was trying and failing to pretend to be uninterested.

  “Aaaaand he’s shirtless,” Sloane said, a little breathy even to her own ears.

  Ms. Peggy took a bite of her cookie. “Praise the Lord.”

  Brady must have sensed that two women were ogling him. He cut the engine on the mower, looked thei
r way, and wiped some sweat off his forehead with his arm. The movement started a fascinating ripple of muscle and sweat.

  “I think I better take him something to drink,” Sloane decided.

  “He’d probably like that,” Ms. Peggy agreed. She didn’t follow as Sloane hurried into the kitchen. She raised her voice so it carried into there instead. “You know, for the pageant, you should consider doing something that requires him to be shirtless for the talent portion.”

  “Hey, now!”

  “I’m just saying, I think the female judges would appreciate that,” she called back. “I mean, I’m no fan of the grouch, and yet, here I am, trying to picture him naked like some kind of schoolgirl.”

  “Ms. Peggy!”

  Sloane pulled a glass down and reached out for the Brita pitcher. There she went again, wondering about the same thing.

  “I know he’s your man and all, but you can’t blame me for wondering. I’m old and senile.”

  Sloane filled the glass and went back into the living room. Ms. Peggy tore her eyes away from shirtless Brady. Sloane smiled.

  “You’re older, not old,” she corrected. “And calling yourself senile doesn’t senile make.”

  Ms. Peggy laughed. “You’re too sweet for that boy, Sloane. You know that, right?”

  Sloane kept smiling and went for the front door. “I know.”

  “So he must be really good in bed, huh?”

  “Ms. Peggy!”

  The older woman cackled as Sloane pushed into the heat of the day, her own heat coursing up her neck. Brady finished wiping away as much sweat as he could and watched her with a raised eyebrow.

  “I brought you some water,” she announced unnecessarily. “I thought you might like some.”

  “What I’d like is to not be out here in the first place,” he grumbled. Still, he accepted the offer. He took a long drink, and, even though she didn’t want to, Sloane’s eyes couldn’t help but drink him in again.