Fake It Till You Make It

by Anne Harper

  Brady brought her head down to his and kissed her hard.

  Then he moved her panties to the side, put on the condom he’d brought, and moved her on top until he was deep inside her.

  Both parties voiced their pleasure as one thrust turned into a rhythm that brought Sloane to climax. They kept up their noise as Brady readjusted for better leverage. Sloane faced the steering wheel as he moved in and out, her knuckles turning white as she held on.

  Brady was incapable of holding on too much longer—Sloane had been calling out his name, and if that wasn’t fucking hot, he didn’t know what was—so they ended their tour on the floor they’d just cleaned, Sloane maneuvering so she was on top again.

  This time it was all her as she moved up and down, eyes on him and only him.

  Brady didn’t have a hope in the world after that.

  He came in tandem with her, both as loud as loud could be.

  If the neighbors heard, they decided not to say anything.

  …

  Sloane bounced from foot to foot. Her black heels clicked on the concrete outside of Cassidy’s. It had been the soundtrack to her impatience for the last five minutes.

  It was Friday night and a half hour before the party was set to start. The last two days had been a whirlwind of decorating Roger’s boat and then decorating the bar.

  And sex.

  Sloane and Brady had been doing a lot of that, too. Not like too much but enough to change their dynamic. Brady had spent the night before at the house, and Sloane definitely had a go bag in the bar’s office, ready to use at his apartment after the party.

  It was new.

  It was exciting.

  It was the reason why Sloane was grumbling outside the front door, waiting for Emma to show up.

  Thankfully, she didn’t have to wait until the cows came home. Emma’s green Volkswagen barely had time to pull in before Sloane was upon it.

  “I had sex on a boat!” Emma’s eyes widened at the loud greeting. Sloane hadn’t meant to yell the information, but she opened the driver’s side door wider and kept on. “Brady and I. This week. We had just finished cleaning it, and then, well, we had sex on a boat.”

  Emma laughed. “And I’m guessing by your clear excitement that it was light-years better than doing it on Derrick’s dad’s boat.”

  Sloane nodded so much that one of her hooped earrings popped out and hit the ground. “Sonofa—”

  Emma beat her to scooping it up.

  “Well, I’m glad boat sex with Brady is so good it knocked your earring out.” She handed it over, then looped her arm around Sloane’s waist as they started for the bar. “You know, I like him, but I think I like you around him more.”

  “Um. Rude.”

  “What I mean is, I haven’t seen you like this in a really long time,” she said with a hip bump.

  “What? Clumsy, loud, and bad at windows?”

  “Enjoying yourself.” Emma smiled at Sloane’s raised eyebrow. “You just seem to be really digging you lately. I mean, you published your secret blog, all but clinched a contract with a literary agent, brunched and boated with the Robertsons and survived, played spy, became judge and jury of perhaps the most embarrassing sex stories I’ve ever heard in my life, and you are out here right now rocking a dress that shows more cleavage than I’ve ever seen you rock like it’s nothing. Yeah, Brady might have helped push you out of your comfort zone, but, Sloane De Carlo, you’re the one out here dancing through it all.”

  Sloane started to deny the observation but decided there was some truth to what Emma said. The last few weeks had shown her a different side to herself, and she was starting to enjoy it. And the man who had been mostly by her side through all of the awkward mishaps and slight chaos.

  “You forgot to add really good boat sex to the list,” Sloane said, passing a gentle shoulder bump over.

  “Ah, you’re right. We mustn’t forget really good boat sex.”

  Sloane shook her head before both devolved into a fit of laughter. A few cars swung into the parking lot behind them. It made Sloane ecstatic.

  And nervous.

  Brady, Dixon and his parents, and Santana were all inside, bracing for what they hoped would be a party that reminded Arbor Bay of the sense of community a small-town bar could offer.

  Sloane was now completely invested in that hope. Which meant her excitement and nerves had her insides buzzing and her over-the-top nature one step away from having her make a fool of herself.

  “I just hope people really dig this party,” she admitted as they both stopped before the front door. “Cassidy’s is a good place.”

  “And one you might want to stick around?” Emma adopted a hopeful look. She cut her own questioning off with a hand held up to stop Sloane from answering. Though Sloane had no idea what she would have said. “I should say, I’ve already made peace with you moving and staying away, and I won’t for a second try to guilt you or beg you to come back into my orbit. But I like seeing you happy, and, well, I just like seeing you. So, for tonight, why don’t you do me a favor and pretend you live here again. Then tomorrow, remember that you’re leaving. Then after the pageant, tell me which felt better. What do you say?”

  Sloane opened and closed her mouth because she didn’t know what to say. Not because Emma had never pressured her in any way, shape, or form to move back to Arbor Bay—especially not asked her to imagine she was back—but because for the first time, the weight of realizing she was leaving hurt. Way more than it had a few days ago.

  Maybe she didn’t want to go.

  But she wasn’t going to tell Emma that. Not now with everything else going on.

  She nodded instead. “I can try.”

  …

  Missy Robertson was drunk and swearing she wasn’t, Ms. Peggy had an eye patch on, Dewey’s shirt was wet from the impromptu men’s wet T-shirt contest out on the patio, Callum and Emma were talking in rasps after their karaoke set, and Sloane had kicked off her shoes beneath the table she was sharing with Marcus and Felicity, since she’d damn near worn her feet out after dancing for over an hour.

  Brady, sexy-as-hell and smooth-talking bartender extraordinaire, was in his element, slinging drinks and vibing with every person who stood across from him.

  “He really loves this place, doesn’t he?”

  Felicity was wearing a cute yellow dress that did everything for her tan, perfectly applied makeup, and a nice smile. She nodded toward Brady, and Sloane could tell there was some wistfulness there.

  That should have made Sloane feel some kind of jealousy, she guessed, but it just wasn’t there. Maybe because she felt she understood Felicity and the reason why she and Brady hadn’t worked. Neither one had understood the other, and they didn’t seem like they wanted to now.

  While Sloane had been staring at Brady, he’d been staring at her, too. He’d also laughed with her, danced with her, and even kissed her beneath the horror-movie-styled antler chandelier. During that time, Marcus and Felicity had done more or less the same things, just within their own bubble.

  Plus, Sloane understood that wanting someone and a small part of you wishing you’d done things a bit differently weren’t the same things.

  Felicity hadn’t really gotten Brady’s love for Cassidy’s, but now? Now it was easy for everyone to see just how much the bar meant to him.

  “I think we’d be extremely lucky to be as passionate about something as he is about this place. He’s lucky,” Sloane said.

  Felicity nodded slowly. Then excused herself. Sloane had to admit she got a teensy bit worried when the woman headed to the bar and in the direction of said bartender, but then Felicity cut right and went to the bathroom.

  Marcus, who had been finishing his conversation with the local mechanic, Dina Morris, took a swig of his beer and turned his attention to Sloane. Just like she thought it was
okay for Felicity to feel a bit of remorse for her and Brady’s failed relationship, Sloane knew there would never be a day that she didn’t think Marcus Robertson was a pure, genuine, and nice guy.

  “Hey, can I tell you a secret?” he asked, trying to whisper over the music and chatter.

  “Sure!”

  He quickly scanned the crowd until he found the person he was looking for. He pointed to his twin.

  Carol had been weirdly absent from Sloane’s personal space since she’d arrived. It was nice not to play mind games, but bless Brady’s heart, he’d been serving her all night.

  “Carol tried to overthrow this party by putting together her own.” He shook his head. “But guess what? Everyone she asked already said they were coming here. Even Ruby said she wanted to be here.”

  They took a moment to find Ruby in the crowd. For once she wasn’t stuck to Carol’s side and had her lips stuck to the mayor’s metaphorical ass instead. They’d been talking since the moment after he’d finished telling Sloane and Brady that he couldn’t wait for the pageant.

  “Wow, that’s big,” Sloane said, meaning it.

  Marcus laughed and threw his arms out wide. “This party is big! I mean, y’all really just killed it!”

  Sloane felt her lips curve up into a smile. Warmth spread across her heart. Though it wasn’t from the compliment; it was from the fact that a Robertson had given his stamp of absolute approval.

  The Golden Boy of Arbor Bay had endorsed Cassidy’s Place.

  Which meant the rest of Arbor Bay who had been sleeping on the bar since The Drinking Spot opened might now wake the hell up and help support their own.

  Which would make Brady happy. And that’s what she wanted.

  Something she couldn’t get back in Nashville.

  Brady and Brady’s happiness.

  Sloane bathed in that inner warmth until Felicity came back to the table. She was also smiling but, apparently, for a very different reason.

  “Sloane, have you seen what’s in the women’s bathroom?”

  “You mean the tampon platter?”

  Felicity hit the table with her hand in a rare hoot of laughter. “Yes! There were three of us in there just staring at it. I mean, it has labeled sections and the really nice name-brand ones. There’s even a drop box next to the sink that asks for suggestions on how to make the bathroom experience even better.” Felicity laughed again. “I’ve never seen that before, and, honestly, I’d come back to drink here just for that kind of service.”

  Sloane was about to tell her that she wasn’t the only woman there who had praised the selection, but the sound of Dixon yelling out as he walked by and pumped his fist in the air caught her attention.

  “I knew it!”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  So, it started with me jumping off a cliff.

  It was amazing. I ran. I leaped. And I didn’t even notice for a while. There was the sky, and it was nice and warm and weightless. Suddenly, I couldn’t remember what anything else felt like.

  That’s when I saw you. Right next to me, smiling.

  You didn’t know it, and you still don’t, but you did something I’ve only dreamed about for years.

  You made life easier.

  But easy isn’t real, right? It’s an illusion.

  This feeling will fade.

  But it didn’t. You didn’t.

  The ground never met me after walking with you through the clouds.

  Years later and I’m still here.

  Waiting for you again.

  Waiting for another smile.

  Waiting for it to be easy.

  Brady wished he hadn’t read it. He wished he’d just stayed in bed, arms wrapped around Sloane’s sleeping form, and stayed happy in the fact that the night before had been one of the best of his life. The party had been a total success, he’d been surrounded by every person—except his parents, who couldn’t get out of work to come—he cared about, and he’d had a beautiful woman who had danced awfully to eighties music like there was no tomorrow.

  But then there was a tomorrow.

  Just like there had been a Carol Robertson.

  “I finally read it,” she’d said offhandedly, while he was making her drink. “You know, the ‘fan-favorite’ blog post about you. About Guy. I get why it made so many people go back and try to solve the mystery of who he is.” She’d smiled that smile. The one that’s a warning to any other predators around. This was her kill. Not theirs. “Short and sweet and, considering she only wrote it—what?—five months ago, extremely intriguing.” She’d over-sighed, all dramatics. “The rest of us would only be so lucky to feel a love like that.”

  Then Carol had looked pointedly behind her at the table Sloane and Marcus were alone together at. Laughing and smiling.

  It didn’t bother Brady.

  At least, it hadn’t.

  “I guess we are lucky,” he’d told her then, ending the conversation. After that, he’d shaken the comments off and enjoyed the rest of the night.

  But, in the light of the next morning, Carol “Destroyer of Worlds” Robertson’s words had pulled him from the bed and to his computer. There he’d made quick work of finding The Girl Who Said Nothing and the blog post that had been the catalyst that made Sloane go viral.

  And Brady had hated it.

  Just as much as he hated that Carol had goaded him into reading it.

  She’d poisoned him with the truth, and you couldn’t cure the damn truth.

  Brady wasn’t Guy. He’d just been the bartender who had used a woman’s secret to his advantage. Sure, she was naked in his bed right now, but what did that really mean?

  They had an attraction, and they were both benefitting from that attraction. But it didn’t change the facts.

  Sloane had to still have feelings for Marcus, no matter what she’d promised him earlier. Why else would the last post she made be about him? About loving him? That couldn’t just go away, could it? Plus, she had dreams she loved back in Nashville. Brady had a job he loved in Arbor Bay. She wouldn’t stay, and he wouldn’t leave.

  Which meant their future started when Sloane woke up and ended when the pageant’s curtains closed.

  It just took Carol and her need to wound to remind him.

  He closed the browser with the resolution to put on a smile and make it through the last of the festival. Sloane had come through with helping the bar, and it was only fair he keep up his end of the bargain. He’d be Guy until he wasn’t even a guy in her life anymore.

  That’s what she wanted, and that’s what he’d do.

  So Brady tried to push his bad mood to the back burner and smiled when Sloane woke up and said good morning. He kept that smile going as they went to her house to meet up with Emma and get ready, and that smile was still there when they went to Main Street and hooked his truck up to their float.

  It was only in the lull between everyone getting into place and waiting for the procession to start that Sloane asked if he was okay.

  “You seem kind of quiet,” she added. “I thought you’d at least comment on the Movers and Shakers’ float.” She nodded to the float directly in front of them. The Movers and Shakers was a historical club that was big into doing reenactments. They’d taken that kink and made a hodgepodge of weird decisions. For some reason, they’d tried to make a miniature Lincoln Memorial by putting papier-mâché around a lawn chair and pretending that Brett Townsend was Lincoln…if Lincoln had been into holding stuffed dolphins and squids. There was blue construction paper everyone—was Lincoln supposed to be in the middle of the bay?—and a three-person poster board sign that read, It’s time to get moving! Join us next Thursday! that was being held up by men who looked twice Brady’s age.

  He’d definitely had thoughts about the float. Same as the local accounting and tax firm’s cheekiness in trying to
make a Jaws-themed float, where they were the sharks and for some reason Nell Bennett, a client, was supposed to be the one in terrible danger. He’d also almost been jolted out of his pissy mood long enough to ask for a selfie with the absolute shit show that the Rotary Club put up. They must have run out of time or funds or just the will to care. All they’d done was take their winter-themed float that they parked outside of the grocery store the week before Christmas and added rolls of blue streams around snowflakes and painted fish on the paper they’d wrapped around the still-erect fake fir trees.

  Of course he’d wanted to talk about it all—even the good floats he’d seen when they were walking up—but that stone that had formed in his stomach after reading Sloane’s blog post had been keeping a lot of his words down.

  And now he was going to have to roll it out of the way if he had any chance at seeming normal.

  “I’m a bit tired after last night is all,” he finally said. “I think I talked to more people at the party than I have all year.”

  Sloane searched his expression, but he didn’t know what she found. It was hard to read her, thanks to the eye patch she had over one eye, the mustache she had drawn over her lip, and the pirate hat that was almost too big for her head. In any other situation, he would have teased her for all of that and the billowing shirt, insanely large-buckled pantaloons, and boots she had on, but what could he really say?

  He was the one lying across the front of Roger’s boat, wearing a crocheted mermaid’s fin that hung low on his hips and a coconut bikini top that barely covered his nips. Not to mention a vat of glitter on his exposed skin. Between the night before, the parade, and the pageant, Brady was pretty sure he’d be finding specks of glitter for the rest of his days.

  A bell sounded somewhere up the street. Cassidy’s float was, surprisingly, smack-dab in the middle of the lineup. With Carol and her mother in charge, he bet they’d had to compromise to put them there. Missy had been vocal about showcasing Sloane and Brady, while Carol had been vocal about them not having any special treatment. Not that they were complaining at their slot. One look at the monstrosity that was the Gardening Club’s float and Brady was glad to be leagues away from it.