by Anne Harper
And, in that moment, he loved that he had it.
“I don’t get why dudes send women dick pics and expect to be banging them at the end of the night, either, but a lot of dumbasses still do.” Brady shrugged. “I guess everyone has their reasons for how they act online. Some people truly think their naked schlongs are appealing to the opposite sex, or any sex, really. That’s way more embarrassing than what Sloane did. At least in my humble opinion.”
Dewey sputtered into his beer, confirming the gossip Santana had heard held weight. Dick-pic-sender Derrick was nowhere near amused. He tried, instead, to play it off by pretending he wholeheartedly agreed before ordering a pilsner. Then he asked Dewey if he wanted to head out to the patio and enjoy the night air.
The night air was sticky and hot and total shit to sit in, but Dewey was ever the accommodating guy. He followed Derrick through the bar to the side door, but not before catching Brady’s attention and all but laughing again.
“I didn’t know they were friends,” Santana said, emerging from the kitchen. She had her phone in one hand and a fry in the other.
“Why does everyone in Arbor Bay think they should know everyone’s business?” Brady griped back. “Who cares who’s friends with each other?”
That earned a laugh from Santana. “Because it’s Arbor Bay, that’s why.” She stuck the fry in her mouth and handed him the phone. “We’re limited in the unknowns around here. And, speaking of things I didn’t know: You hung out with the Robertson twins, Ruby, Sloane, and your ex today. On a boat. Wearing those shorts.”
Santana had a picture on her screen of their earlier party sitting on Marcus’s boat. It was one of several group shots that had been taken at Carol’s insistence. She’d brought an honest-to-God tripod for her phone and put it on a timer before scurrying backward to her spot in front of the group. On two separate occasions, her sun hat had nearly poked Brady’s eye out.
The picture he was looking at now, however, was a good one, all things considered. Marcus and Felicity were holding hands, Marcus looking as annoyed as Brady had felt but still playing along, and Felicity smiling, ever the politician’s wife, while Ruby was up front next to Carol, trying her damnedest to copy the socialite’s signature teacup pose. Sloane, with her definitely sunburned skin, was leaning against Brady’s side and giving her small I feel awkward smile.
It was cute, and, in the present, Brady couldn’t help but grin.
That was until he saw himself.
He didn’t remember why, or even that he had, but there was no way around it— In the picture, he was staring at Felicity.
Not only that, he was smiling.
“And I’m guessing by the look on your face right now that you didn’t mean to stare lovingly at your ex while holding your supposed current girl,” Santana said, lowering her voice. “Am I right?”
“Felicity cussed under her breath at Carol’s damn sun hat because it got in the way, and I guess this was right after I laughed. I mean, Sloane and I had already complained about that damn behemoth hat, like, five different times,” he said honestly. “Carol took about fifty pictures and never once took that damn thing off.”
Santana tapped the username at the top of the screen. “Well, this is the only one Carol posted from the day so far, and—” She moved her finger to the text beneath the picture. “It already has two hundred likes.”
Brady instantly became grumpy. “I swear that woman tries to stir more pots than a cook.”
There was no denying that Carol had chosen that picture for a reason. And considering her bread and butter was passive-aggressive with a heaping dose of drama, and Sloane had stumbled into a spotlight way bigger than Queen Bee ever had? Brady knew she had done it at Sloane’s expense.
Santana nodded, sympathetic. “She sure knows how to hit all the right spots to make you go oomph.” She patted Brady’s shoulder. “You better give Sloane a heads-up before other people start speculating to her rather than behind her back. Because you know the next time Carol sees her, that’s all she’s going to talk about.”
Santana was right. Brady got her to cover the bar while he took his phone back to the office. He didn’t know exactly what he was going to say, but he felt oddly nervous about it.
Anxious.
Like he’d just cheated on Sloane somehow, even though A) he absolutely hadn’t meant to look lovingly at anyone, and B) he and Sloane weren’t actually dating.
Still, Brady started to pace a little as the phone rang.
And rang.
And rang.
Brady cursed beneath his breath and hung up after the automated voicemail listed off the number. Maybe he was overreacting. Maybe Santana was, too.
It was just a picture, taken by Carol of all people. Their shared enemy.
Maybe Sloane wouldn’t care.
Or maybe she’d want to get even somehow.
Maybe—
Brady’s phone dinged as a new text message came in.
It was from Sloane.
Sorry, we’re in the middle of the movie, but good timing, I was about to message you. I hate to do this, but I forgot I had plans with Emma tomorrow night that I can’t cancel, but don’t worry, I’ll brainstorm with her about the party and the pageant. I’ll call you if I need you.
Brady let out a long, loud, and very frustrated sigh.
“Well, shit.”
Chapter Seventeen
Sloane was a ghost Sunday morning.
No texts. No calls. No messages.
Brady wasn’t surprised, but he was miffed.
Miffed because he knew she was lying. Miffed because one picture had made her upset. Miffed because it bothered him that she was upset.
Brady was so miffed that he decided he couldn’t enjoy his day off lounging at the apartment. He couldn’t sit still. He felt too antsy. Too distracted. And apparently he was doing a shit job of hiding his frustration. The instant Dixon walked through the front door, he gave his cousin a who pissed in your Cheerios look.
“Whoa there, tiger. What are you all huffy about?”
Dixon had just finished a Walmart run and was employing the tree method of carrying an obscene amount of plastic bags on each arm. He waved Brady’s outstretched hand off and juked around him and into the kitchen. Brady rolled his eyes and then went to grumbling.
“I was supposed to meet up with Sloane tonight to go over the festival details, but she bailed.”
Dixon had been trying his luck at sweet talking a new patron, thanks to Sloane’s popularity, the night before at the bar and had missed the picture disaster. Brady didn’t feel like recapping it now. There he was, feeling miffed again about how stupid the whole situation was.
“Okay, well, can you meet up tomorrow instead? It’s not like she has a day job down here or anything.” Dixon dropped the bags on the kitchen counter. There were several boxes in a few, but Brady was too riled up to really look at them. “Have her come to the bar tomorrow night. Y’all can hash things out, and I’ll keep any adoring fans who might come in at bay.” Dixon chuckled, amused with himself.
He was right not to think Sloane bailing on Brady was a big deal. Because it wasn’t.
“Yeah, you’re right. There’s not much we can do on a Sunday, anyway.”
Brady said the words but still found an excuse to leave the apartment. He hadn’t had coffee yet and thought that would fix the off feeling pulling at his gut. The café had become a guilty pleasure, so he headed that way while trying to forget about the festival, social media, and Sloane De Carlo for a while.
And it worked, for the most part.
The café was free and clear of the frustrating beauty, but another familiar face bobbled into view right after Brady paid for his drink.
Roger Norman looked like he’d stuck a fork into a toaster. His hair was a bit all over the place, his clothes were wrink
led, and the bags beneath his eyes had him looking wore slap out. Brady felt for the man before he could say a word.
“Hey there, Brady. How’s it going?” Even poor ol’ Roger’s words were hanging low.
Brady shook his coffee cup. “Better now that I have this. How about you?”
In most places, this was more of a rhetorical question. One where you said some version of “okay” and then went on with your separate lives. But this was Arbor Bay, and Brady knew he was in for a ride when Roger let go a sigh that rivaled any he had been letting out.
“Zelda had to go to the hospital last night up in Huntsville and damn near gave me a heart attack. She and the baby are fine; it was just a false alarm, but I’m still about to go up there. Zelda told me I didn’t have to, but she’s my person, you know? And she’s carrying our person. I gotta make sure they’re okay, and the phone sure isn’t cutting it.”
Brady gave the man a nod that said he understood Roger going to check on his family, even if he’d never been in the same situation before. Felicity had once gotten the flu when she was out of town for work, but there had never been talk of him going up anywhere to see her.
Maybe there should have been.
Or maybe he should have just done it without saying a damn word.
Before he could stop it, Brady’s thoughts went to the aloe he’d bought from the grocery store on the way into work the night before. He had planned on giving it to Sloane at dinner as a way to tease her.
Yet, for something meant to tease her, he’d sure spent an awful long time reading all the labels on the different kinds to see which would be best for her.
“I’m sorry y’all are going through that,” Brady tacked on, slightly pissed he’d added another few “maybe”s to his list of self-doubts and then gone right back to thinking about Sloane again. “You still okay with me doing the second coat of paint on the nursery and grabbing the boat this week?”
Roger was adamant with his nodding. “Oh yeah, of course. A deal’s a deal. In fact, since I’ll be out of town for a few days, I’ll be living at work until the festival when I get back. So you don’t even have to call when you want to head that way, just go to the house whenever.”
“That’s pretty trusting of you,” Brady had to say.
Roger finally smiled. “Sloane has good instincts about people. If she trusts you, I do, too.” He clapped Brady on the shoulder and made his tired exit. Sloane’s name hung in the air between them.
Why was that woman so damn hard to ignore?
Brady made another decision right there. What he needed was a distraction.
Why not finish painting the nursery now?
Anything was better than grumbling over a woman who would be out of his life soon anyway.
…
It was dark outside when Sloane woke up from her nap. She rolled over on the couch and looked down at the clock on her phone.
7:05 p.m.
Yikes.
The quick nap she’d attempted to take had somehow turned into a three-hour monstrosity. Her sunburn plus a mood that had gone bad like a potato salad sandwich left out in the heat hadn’t helped her energy levels one bit. Now she felt hungover.
Sloane dragged a hand down her face and tried to fight out of the fog of unconsciousness faster. It wasn’t until the doorbell went off again that she realized that must have been what had woken her in the first place.
“Coming!”
She flopped onto the floor without an ounce of grace and tried to flatten down her nap hair. All the lights were off except in the foyer. Callum must still be out—his bedroom door was closed, and no light was coming out from beneath it. Sloane wondered if maybe it was him ringing the bell, having forgotten his keys, as she opened the door wide.
Nope.
No dice.
Two seconds too late, she realized she should have firmly held on to her horses.
Brady Knox was smoldering sexy standing on the welcome mat. He was in a paint-splattered T-shirt with jeans that hugged him tighter than tight.
Sloane went from a college-educated woman to drooling in the span of two seconds. She forgot the lie she’d told him about hanging out with Emma, and then, when he asked where Emma was with a hint of a smirk, she answered him with something as ill-advised as honesty.
“She had a full day of festival prep, so she’s at home now.” Brady’s eyebrow rose. His following gotcha expression was the swift punch Sloane needed to restart her brain. “And I was about to head over there. To help her.”
“With what?” Brady crossed his arms over his chest. It did not help Sloane’s attention.
“With stuff. Kid stuff. You know, because she’s a kindergarten teacher. We’re going to glue things and put glitter on them. Lots of glitter.”
Brady didn’t look like he was buying what she was selling, but Sloane stood her ground. She lifted her chin up a fraction and hoped to high Heaven that she didn’t have nap breath.
“You look like I just woke you up.” He pointed to her left cheek. “You have a pillow indent on your face.”
Traitor pillows!
“Yeah. Well, I was waiting for Emma to call, and then I—”
“You’re avoiding me because you saw the picture Carol took.”
Brady didn’t wait for an invitation. He walked inside with the confidence of someone who knew he was right.
And he was.
He totally freaking was.
Sloane had just finished watching Space Jam with Callum and Justus the night before and had been riding a happy high. It had been a good day, all things considered, and even though Brady couldn’t attend the movie party, Sloane had felt oddly better after his quick kiss goodbye.
It was validation, in a way. That it wasn’t just her who might be feeling something more than what their fake arrangement actually called for.
But then Carol the Sun Hat Collector had happened.
With one simple “I had so much fun” text and a picture she’d been so thoughtful to attach. The same picture she’d then posted no more than five minutes later online.
Brady looking at Felicity, and Sloane looking like an outcast.
Every fluffy, fun feeling Sloane had had about the bartender and the time she’d spent with him had lost its collective luster. It forced Sloane to really face the facts she’d been dancing around.
Brady was a man trying to save his job while showing his ex she was wrong about him. And Sloane? She was a woman who had realized life was passing her by and had tried to course correct in a wrong, and very public, way.
He needed the fame she had accidentally gotten, and she needed a lie to hide behind for a chance to finally realize her dreams.
That was it, plain and simple. A business arrangement.
A weird one but one that made logical sense.
And their particular arrangement? It was all about being in public together. There was no reason why they needed to step out of the spotlight and into a bar with just the two of them. Especially since Sloane had realized just how much that idea had appealed to her.
That was the feeling she’d been circling when Brady had called the night before, and that was why she’d lied. Brady might have kissed her while they were alone, but that didn’t necessarily mean he truly wanted her behind closed doors.
And even if he did? What did it matter?
She had a life in Nashville. He had one in Arbor Bay.
It was time to accept that their arrangement worked only because they knew it was going to end. They might as well be as professional as possible until then.
“I’m going to tell you what I told Santana, and it’s the truth,” Brady continued, turning around in the foyer to face her. “Yeah, I looked over at Felicity in that picture, but I’m pretty sure that was when I had just finished laughing at her cussing Carol’s hat. I don’t e
ven remember actually looking at her. I mean, we took so many damn—”
“You don’t need to explain anything to me.” Sloane held up her hand to stop him. “Honestly, it’s fine. I don’t care if you were glancing at Felicity or staring at her like she’s the last slice of pecan pie. It’s not my business who you stare at, just like it wouldn’t be any of your business who I stare at.”
She should have stopped right there, but Sloane couldn’t help herself. Being professional was sometimes too tall of a glass to fill. She’d had her feelings hurt and now wanted to lash out a bit.
“Plus, I’m sure there’s a picture or two of me staring at Marcus. Being upset with you for doing the same thing wouldn’t make a lot of sense, would it?”
Well damn, mouth. Look at you go.
It might have been Sloane’s imagination, but it almost looked like the muscle in Brady’s jaw jumped.
“No, I guess it wouldn’t.”
She shook her head and still kept going. You can’t stop a mouth with a mission.
“You know, it might just be better if we don’t go out like that anymore. With the Robertsons, I mean. You know, to avoid temptation. Plus, it’ll be easier for everyone when I go back to my real life.”
“Your real life,” Brady repeated, voice a bit deeper than before. “Yeah. We don’t want them to expect that you’ll be around. You’re right. Better that we avoid temptation, too.”
“Exactly. Let’s just focus on making it through the festival activities.”
Brady nodded. There was no hint of his trademark smirk at the corners of his lips anymore. “And then we’ll be smooth sailing right into our breakup?”
A flutter moved through Sloane’s stomach. It wasn’t the good kind.
“The smoothest.”
Brady nodded again.
Then Sloane saw it. The shift in attitude across his expression.
“You know what? That does sound great to me.” Now a not-so-friendly smirk made an appearance. “So far the only thing this arrangement has gotten me is a lot of manual labor and grief. It will be nice for things to go back to normal.”
