by Anne Harper
“There I had been, for years, writing about Marcus and how I felt, and then bam, he’s engaged. Just like that, all those words became, well, just words. No action was ever taken. No one else ever knew. So, what had I been doing all those years other than just wasting time?” She gave a half-hearted shrug. “It was just a lot to question and realize all at once. Add in the alcohol, and I guess I decided to finally do something. It was only during the hangover portion of the next morning that I realized I might have made a slight mistake.”
Despite the fact that Brady wouldn’t keep a blog and definitely wouldn’t publish it if so, he had to admit to himself that he understood Sloane’s need to let it out. Sometimes what you didn’t say ended up being more of a kick to the gut than the things you did.
Take his relationship with Felicity. They’d been happy, but then, day by day, that had changed. He’d catch himself saying something and stop, not wanting to fight. There were more frustrated “never mind”s than there should have been, just like there were more times than not that Brady escaped to Cassidy’s Place to avoid telling her exactly what was on his mind.
Brady hadn’t seen the breakup coming…but he damn well should have.
Still, what could he have really said to save them?
Their fights and resentments revolved around the one thing they never could agree on.
His love for the bar.
“I don’t think that’s pathetic,” Brady said, pulling himself out of the past. “It’s a little awkward, but it took guts. A lot more than most people I know have. Drunk or not.” He grinned. “Plus, if you hadn’t gone viral, would you be right here, right now, enjoying the sun and water with me?”
Brady used his arm to help him lean in a little. He wiggled his eyebrows again, teasing her. Sloane’s dark eyes widened, but she didn’t move.
“No, I guess not.” Her voice went soft. Almost like a whisper, but not something she’d done on purpose. Maybe a reflex instead.
Just as his reflex to hearing the sultry change was to lean in just a bit closer.
“Now that would be a shame,” he said, lowering his own voice. He dropped his gaze to her lips. They parted, but no words came out. All thoughts of plans, good or bad, fell away. “You know, as your date, I think it would be strange not to kiss you.”
Once again, Sloane De Carlo went for another round of surprising him. She nodded.
“I agree.”
That’s all Brady needed.
He cupped the side of her face and pulled his lips to hers. They were sticky and sweet. Smelling of coconut and warmth. It was a combination that begged him to try for more.
Brady tilted Sloane’s head back a little to get a better angle. She made a noise of surprise as he paired the move with a flick of his tongue along her lips. She didn’t rebuff him, though. No. She reciprocated in kind until their simple kiss started to evolve into something else.
Something more.
Something that had nothing to do with faking it or spiders in the garage.
Sloane dropped her hand down to the brim of his swimming trunks and used it to try and pull him closer. He obliged, not for a second breaking their kiss.
Her body felt so good against his.
It made him want more, and by the way Sloane’s hand started to slip beneath his trunks, she definitely wanted it, too.
But where there was even a hint of a good time, there was Carol Robertson to ruin it.
“Hey, lovebirds,” she called, pausing in her walk with Ruby not more than a few feet from them. “We’re about to leave, so maybe don’t start something you can’t finish!”
Sloane broke the kiss, eyes hooded and lips dark. She was already politely smiling. “Okay! Sounds good!”
Sloane’s face was the color of a fire truck. Slowly, she slid her hand up and out of his trunks. She met his gaze. If they didn’t have an audience, Brady knew exactly what he’d start next. And what he’d finish, too.
As it were, he watched as Sloane tried to regain her composure. When she spoke, her voice was breathy again.
“Good plan.”
Chapter Sixteen
Sloane was hot.
Really hot.
Her face, her hands, her body. Every part of her radiated. The cool sheets on the bed beneath her did nothing to help.
Brady peered down at her. His hair had dried all messy, but his smirk was on point. He gave another long, leisurely look down her body. Then he shook his head a little and whistled low.
“Hate to say it, sweet cakes, but looks like you should have let me apply the sunscreen this morning.”
Sloane groaned, but she wasn’t accepting total blame for the sunburn that had her burning up.
“For almost five hours today, I talked to you and you alone. Did it not occur to you to give me a heads-up and warn me that I was getting a little red?”
Brady put his hands up in self-defense. “To be fair, you’re red almost all the time,” he said. “That’s, like, your thing.”
“My face is usually red. Not my entire body.”
Brady was smart—he didn’t say anything else. Instead he backed up from her bed and casually looked around the room. It was the second time he’d been in her childhood bedroom, and, once again, she didn’t have the time to be self-conscious about it. That ship had sailed the moment they’d gotten back into his truck and realized her skin was a different shade than it should have been.
At first, Sloane had thought it had to do with their second heavy make-out session at the bay. The same one where she had gone trouser fishing because Brady had made a normal conversation somehow sexy as hell. Sloane had gone from talking about her job to being teased to wanting to rid the man of his clothes on the same beach Carol and Co. were lounging.
It had been a good plan. Definitely something a real couple would do.
Which made the fact that she wanted to do it again a bit of a problem.
Then again, right now, she wasn’t in the mood for anything. Fake relationship or not.
Footsteps in the hall made Sloane turn her grumpiness to the doorway. Callum popped his head in. He also whistled.
“Wow. Someone still sucks at applying sunscreen.”
Brady chuckled. It made Sloane’s grumpiness double down.
“If it wouldn’t hurt, I’d throw a pillow at you,” she ground out.
Callum seemed amused. “Let’s be real. You’re bad at throwing things, too.”
Sloane rolled her eyes.
“What do you want, oh pain in the backside brother of mine? Here to point out that I’m also still really bad at math?”
“I was actually going to see if y’all wanted to eat dinner here tonight. I’m watching Justus, so I thought about turning it into one of our old movie parties. But you are really bad at math, so that still stands, too.”
It hurt, but Sloane popped her head up. Excitement pushed out all vestiges of grumpiness from her.
“Really?” she asked around a smile that almost hurt. “We haven’t done a movie party in a long time.”
“You haven’t been home for this long in a long time.” He turned to Brady. “Plus, this is probably the fastest way to really get to know Sloane. I mean, you might think you know her now, but just wait. This one here shows her true colors when we go old-school.”
Sloane was already sitting up, sunburn be damned.
“I’m not that bad,” she said to Brady’s raised eyebrow. “I mean, do I yell a bit? Maybe. But it works for most parties.”
“And what exactly is a movie party?”
Suspicion lined his expression. It only stoked her excitement.
“We pick an older movie—it doesn’t matter if we’ve already seen it—get snacks that pay tribute to that movie, and then—”
“Then this one here talks through the entire thing, telling you what sh
e would have done in the characters’ places,” Callum jumped in. “My personal favorite is when we do a scary movie and she points out every time she would have jumped out of a window to her death to avoid a scarier death. Spoiler alert: No matter the movie, the answer is usually a lot.”
“I’m sorry I’d rather die instantly than be dragged into an unknown hellscape by a demonic long-haired girl.” She shook her head. The motion was uncomfortable. “No thank ye.”
“Well, I don’t know if we’ll do super scary tonight because of Justus, but we can probably find a fun one he can watch.” Callum might have given her flak, but Sloane knew he liked when she talked during the movies. Especially since he was usually the one talking right back. “If you two don’t have anything else planned.” He looked at Brady. “And fair warning, if you do join, just know we will not meet the Robertson standards you might be growing accustomed to. You will be responsible for the snacks and your drink of choice. That goes for you, too, Sloane. I already told Justus I’d bankroll him, and he will definitely take advantage of that.”
Sloane had gotten so caught up in her own excitement that she forgot for a moment that Brady wasn’t actually her boyfriend. That the only reason they were together so much lately was because of a deal that benefitted them both. That they were playing pretend, regardless of a few wayward kisses.
He might have been in her childhood bedroom, wearing his neon swimmer shorts and an easy grin, laughing at her and talking with her brother, but their daily dose of being out in public had more than been filled.
But you still want to be around him. Sloane’s face grew hot.
It was almost cruel to be able to blush while sunburned.
“As much as I’d enjoy seeing Sloane yell at the TV, I have to work tonight.” Brady gave them each an apologetic smile. “Dixon’s already agreed to cover for me while I work on all the festival stuff. Or else I’d just play hooky.”
Sloane tried to mask her immediate disappointment. She didn’t know if it worked.
“I keep forgetting you two signed up for all of that.” Callum shook his head. “Bless you guys.”
They shared a laugh of understanding at the pain of social obligation before Callum went on his way. Sloane stood and looked anywhere other than Brady. It made no sense, but she felt dejected.
Like she had asked Brady on a real date and he’d given her an aggressive thumbs-down. A thank you, next. When in reality her brother had asked them both to watch a movie. In their living room. With a ten-year-old. And Brady had declined because of the extremely valid excuse of having to work.
There was no logical reason her feelings should have been hurt.
Then again, there was no logical reason for the extremely long blog post she’d written about the one Blue’s Clues episode she’d watched in college where it had been too hard for her to solve. As a twenty-year-old.
“Speaking of the festival, I don’t think we actually landed on a plan for decorating for the party or the parade, or what we’re doing for the pageant,” Brady said, unaware of her slight emotional spiral. “But Cassidy’s is closed tomorrow. Maybe we can get some dinner and figure out a game plan then.”
The sound of screeching tires filled Sloane’s head. First kissing in public, now dinner, too? “Dinner?”
Was he talking pizza and paper plates in his living room? Cute outfits and cutlery at a restaurant? Noodles and naked in bed?
“Yeah, I figured I could pick something up from Crowley’s and you could meet me at the bar.”
Ah, no noodles and naked, then. Just beers and the bar.
“I thought you said it was closed.”
Brady grinned. “It is, but, lucky for us, I know a guy who has the keys. I figured hanging out there might help us brainstorm without distractions. I’ve already shown how susceptible I am to Carol’s weird voodoo. Our luck if we went out would be her finding us, and then suddenly we’re on a hot air balloon ride with the entire Robertson clan and several of her terrifying sun hats.” He shook his head in mock severity. “Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me. Fool me three times? Well, shit.”
Sloane couldn’t help but laugh. “No distractions at the bar is probably the smart play,” she agreed. “And a break from Carol never hurts.”
They agreed on a time, and Sloane walked him, stiffly and slowly, to the front door. Her mind wandered to the aloe beneath her brother’s sink and then to calling Emma over for the movie party. She’d been avoiding her best friend just a little bit. Lying to Emma wasn’t as hard as lying to Callum, but that didn’t mean she was a fan of it.
Yet, telling Emma the truth?
Well, that truth felt weirdly worse than admitting their lie.
It made no sense, and Sloane needed to accept her emotions were just trolling her. She’d gone from a mostly quiet life to The Girl Who Said Nothing, who ate in gardens and boated with the Robertsons. It was a lot to handle.
And you’re just going to have to get better at it. Take a page out of Brady’s book. He’s clearly a pro at this.
It was the tiniest of mental pep talks, but it did enough. She pulled on a smile she hoped sold how absolutely fine she was with their arrangement, their future, and their eventual demise.
Fake it till you make it.
“So tomorrow at six thirty,” she confirmed. “I’ll bring my handy-dandy notebook of ideas for everything we need and try to come up with a few more by then. We can also make some posts to the ’gram and talk up the bar on Facebook.”
Brady nodded. “I’ll work on a list of ideas, too. Though I’ll probably have a handy-dandy bar napkin instead of a notebook.”
“Anything will work as long as the words juggling, singing, and dancing aren’t on it. That goes for the party and the parade, too, not just the pageant.”
“Roger that.”
Before Sloane could shut the door behind him, since the conversation had clearly found its close, Brady did something that completely scrambled her thoughts all over again.
Like they were back on the beach, Brady kissed her. Kissed her real good. Going to have to tell my vibrator about this good.
For a second, she forgot a lot of things. Like she was sunburned, for one, and the reality that the man who was making her weak in the knees wouldn’t be coming back with her to Nashville, for another. That Brady was a one-time deal and she was getting caught up in a sham of her own making.
That she should probably step away and remind them both that he didn’t have to put on a show when no one was watching.
But then the kiss was over and Brady left like he’d finished their normal, nightly routine.
Aloe’s definitely not going to help with this heat.
…
“Well, shit.”
Brady didn’t realize what he’d done until he was driving from his apartment to the bar two hours later. There he’d been during the whole damn two hours, oblivious to the fact he’d kissed Sloane.
Not just kissed her but kissed her when there wasn’t a damn soul around. At least at the beach, he could blame it on trying to keep their cover as a couple going, and even in the kitchen after the spider incident, he could blame it on adrenaline or something like that.
Now he was standing behind the bar at Cassidy’s and shaking his head, side-eyeing his cell phone on its top.
Should he call her? Text her? Say “my bad, I was still thinking about your lips and wanted another taste”? Send a string of emojis and a big ol’ “whoops”?
Or maybe he could just leave it alone.
It wasn’t that big of a deal. In fact, it was kind of like they had been rehearsing.
Brady shook his head again and grumbled at himself. What the hell, Knox?
The main door to the bar opened, and two men came in. Brady decided not to decide on what to do about Sloane and pocketed his phone, ready to get lost in th
oughts about the bar instead. Not thoughts about how warm Sloane’s lips had been.
Derrick Kennerly, a local who had recently moved back to Arbor Bay, came to the bar with Dewey Royce in tow. Brady was friendly with Dewey but hadn’t seen Derrick in a while. He greeted both with a nod as they took over the barstools across from him.
“Well if it isn’t our very own Casanova in the flesh!” Dewey exclaimed, throwing his hands wide. Most would think he was making fun of Brady, but Dewey was some kind of hyper at any given moment. He no more meant to mock someone than Brady meant to randomly kiss someone. “You know, I was at the grocery store today and ended up hearing the cashier and Mrs. Buckley talking about you and Sloane. Then I looked at your Facebook and saw you changed your status to In a Relationship with her. I guess I was living under a rock because I didn’t even realize y’all knew each other.”
Brady didn’t have to ask Dewey what he drank. He went ahead and started pouring a light ale from the tap.
“Now, don’t you come in here looking for gossip, Dewey. You know the only thing I like serving is alcohol.”
Dewey laughed at that. He took his drink with a hand up in defense.
“I’m just happy for you is all. I know Sloane is a good one, and that prickly attitude of yours could always use some good.” Again, Dewey didn’t ever mean anything he said to offend, so Brady took the comment with a smile.
Derrick, on the other hand, seemed a little too aggressive when he spoke.
“You know, we were friends in high school, Sloane and me,” he started. “I thought I knew her pretty well until I read some of that blog. I don’t get why she felt the need to post all of that. Seems embarrassing to me.”
Brady decided, right then and there, he didn’t like Derrick all that much. Not his smug expression or his condescending tone. Still, Brady was a professional and trained in the arts of customer service, AKA not kicking everyone’s ass when he felt like it.
But that didn’t mean he couldn’t pull a Carol and go the passive route.
Brady quickly dug in deep and tried to remember the limited knowledge he had of Derrick Kennerly. It wasn’t long before Santana’s voice popped into his head, along with the story she’d told him and Dixon a few months ago. Brady was a hypocrite, because all it was was gossip.
