by Anne Harper
“Dixon, I swear if you take one more picture!”
“It’s me! Can I come in?”
The much-less-cranky voice of Dewey Royce came through next.
“Enter at your own risk!”
Sloane tried really hard not to straight-up guffaw like a cartoon, but no dice. She let loose the moment she stepped inside.
“I’m not okay with this,” Brady deadpanned. “Not one bit.”
Sloane could see why.
Brady was standing on a turned-over beer crate set up in front of a full-length mirror Santana had brought from her apartment, and he looked absolutely fabulous.
To kick things off for the night, Sloane had suggested they give the crowd a taste of what they could have if they stayed for the next few hours. That meant, instead of practicing his About Me speech and casualwear strut, he had on one of the five options for the costume portion.
And this one was themed.
And a hot damn mess.
Much like the green scale tights Sloane had bought—though she still wasn’t sure if she’d be wearing them for the parade or the pageant or both—Brady was sporting tights that were the gold version. They clung and highlighted muscled legs and an ass that didn’t quit, while his top was long and billowing.
He was a modern-day Fabio with a fish fetish.
While Sloane would have complained had it been her outfit, she was pretty sure she’d already found a favorite for the pageant.
It absolutely helped that he had a plastic trident in one hand, a light dusting of gold glitter across his cheeks, and a felt crown atop his head.
“I think this is amazing,” she breathed out.
Dewey, who Sloane had bullied into helping Brady for the night, was standing back with a barely contained grin.
“If you would have asked me last time I was in here for a drink if I thought I’d be helping Brady Knox put on glitter, I would have asked how drunk you were.”
Brady rolled his eyes. Hard. “Go ahead and get on, Dewey. This glitter and I need a second.”
Dewey finally laughed and scooted by Sloane. She called after him, “Don’t forget we’re both going to have to help him with the tail and tunic after casualwear!”
Dewey kept on laughing.
“You’re going to be the end of me, you know that?” Brady was staring at his reflection again. He turned to look at his backside.
Same, boo. Same.
Sloane got between him and the mirror and focused him by placing her hands on his biceps.
“The Drinking Spot might have discounted drinks and renovated rooms and fancy decor, but you know what they don’t have?” She didn’t give him room to answer. “Personality. No connection with the people. No soul. Cassidy’s Place has that. We just have to remind Arbor Bay.”
“And me dressing up as a mermaid and making a fool out of myself will help me connect?”
There was that skeptical look again.
Sloane nodded. “Showing them that you value their opinions. That you’re willing to make a little bit of a fool of yourself just to include them. Being a grouch in glitter versus a guppy behind the bar who’s just waiting for his shift to end, like Thomas.”
Sloane searched his face. He was worried. He was embarrassed. He was vulnerable. And he was looking to her for comfort. So she decided to dive deeper and finally tell him her theory on Felicity Fairchild breaking his heart.
She smiled and let him go. “You told me that the biggest problem between you and Felicity was how much she disliked and misunderstood your dedication to this bar. That you think she believed you were passionless and going nowhere because you refused to leave Cassidy’s. But, well, I think she knew you weren’t some lazy, ambitionless guy. I think she realized how much passion you had for this place, and it ate away at her because she didn’t feel the same about anything in her life.”
Sloane felt her smile soften. For the briefest of moments, she heard her mother in her words.
“I think,” she continued, “sometimes when people love something so much and without an ounce of hesitation, it can make other people who don’t have that certainty jealous. And jealousy is such an ugly emotion to get rid of, especially if you don’t realize that’s what you’re feeling.”
This time, Sloane placed her hand on his chest. Brady’s face was impassive, but she continued. “I know you love this place and aren’t here just to make a buck. It’s family, and you fight for family. But sometimes, the best way to connect with people is to show them you’re a hot mess just like them. Trust me, I should know. My hot mess went viral.”
Sloane finished her speech, and then Brady let her know that he’d heard her. He tilted his head down and pressed his lips against hers. She’d created a moment, and he was acknowledging it. He ran his tongue over her bottom lip and sighed when she mirrored the act, deepening the kiss.
It didn’t last long. Sloane took a step back after a moment and then motioned to the door.
Brady looked like he wanted to say something but thought better of it. Then, slowly, the tension in his shoulders noticeably lessened.
He grinned. “I guess it’s time to go be a hot mess.”
…
Who knew Cassidy’s regulars had such strong opinions about his nipples?
He hadn’t.
But they did.
And they voiced them all during the five outfits Brady showcased down their makeshift runway.
Half the crowd believed he should wear the sequined, star-shaped pasties, while the others strongly believed he should stay “nips out” while he wore a long mermaid’s tail—a total bitch to walk in, if he did say so himself…and he did and had several times over.
Ms. Peggy had been the most vocal on the subject, demanding he go au naturel up top, which eventually turned the tide. By the time Brady came back out wearing his normal T-shirt and jeans—and glitter, since the damn stuff didn’t wash off worth a lick—Sloane ran up from where she’d been sitting at the bar at the end of the runway to notify him of the final decision.
“For the costume portion, you will be wearing a crown, holding a trident, the mermaid tail, and ‘not a damn thing’ on your chest. Other than glitter. It was decided you basically need to bathe in glitter before the pageant even starts.”
“Cheers to that,” someone yelled from the group.
“Blackmail material,” someone else threw out.
Laughter filled the room. Brady shook his head but couldn’t stop himself from snorting.
Despite his reservations, the fashion show had been a hit. Regulars, newcomers, and everyone in between had acted like it was a football game and they were in the fourth quarter with only ten seconds left on the clock and their team winning. There had been yelling, cursing, drinking, and laughter.
Even Brady had to admit he’d had a blast.
“It’s time for the group selfie. You ready?”
“I sure am, oh great leader.”
Sloane laughed and hurried to the stage. She already had her selfie stick out and her phone on the end.
“All right, everyone. Let’s end this with a picture that will make all other competitors wish they had a group as badass as y’all behind them!”
The group was still all systems go. Chairs scraped as they moved closer to the runway, and Brady was eventually pulled into the middle by Callum, Dewey, and Dixon, who had the trident held high above their heads.
Sloane caught Brady’s eye and laughed again. She turned around and told everyone to get ready.
Half the group yelled “cheese” while others yelled different forms of profanity. It was chaos…but it felt right.
During her countdown to one, Brady didn’t have to play pretend at all. He was happy, and it was all thanks to the small, black-haired wild card brandishing a selfie stick.
Sloane took a few picture
s and then turned back to the crowd. She inspected each quickly and then gave a thumbs-up. The group started to go back to their chairs, and Brady went behind the bar to help pour some more drinks before the rest followed. The normal chatter started up in the main room. Brady was glad to hear it was a little louder than normal.
He was topping off Dewey’s beer when Sloane finally found him again. Instead of asking for a drink, she flew behind the bar and right up to his side.
Brady grinned and was about to tell her she better not be expecting special treatment now but then caught her panicked expression.
“I didn’t know Derrick Kennerly was back in town,” she hurried, voice low and panicked. “I also didn’t know he was in here.”
Brady felt his eyebrow rise. He shrugged. “Yeah, he came in with Dewey. They work together. He moved back not too long ago. Why? What’s wrong?”
Sloane placed her hands on each side of her face and dragged them down slowly—though when she answered, it was the fastest Brady had ever heard her talk.
“Remember that really awkward and embarrassing story of how I lost my virginity and how I posted about it on the blog? It was Derrick. He’s the guy on the boat. Oh my goodness. And he just confronted me about the blog post, and I apologized, but he seemed pissed and holy fuck is he going for the microphone?”
The sound of feedback made fifty or so heads turn toward the stage.
Derrick Kennerly sure as shit was at the microphone. And the sonofabitch had turned it on.
“Hey, everyone. This night was fun, right?” Some people cheered; most gave confused mumbles. Brady guessed because of how obviously drunk Derrick was. His words had a deep slur to them, and his body gave an undeniable sway. “Brady and Sloane make the greatest little couple, don’t they? I mean, we all know Brady. He’s kind of a quiet dude, probably goes for the Crimson Tide, and that’s not nothing. But let me tell you something you probably don’t know about sweet Sloane.”
“That’s enough, Derrick,” Brady called out, moving around the bar. It only made the man talk faster.
“She lost her virginity to me and then talked about it on her blog. Sure, she changed the names, but it wasn’t hard for my friends to put it together. And you know what? She conveniently left out the part about how she let one rip on me while we were banging! Bitch was lucky I even finished in the first place!”
Brady’s ears were scorching hot as he reached the stage seconds after Callum bounded across it. A few others stood and tried to help, but Callum handled him with ease. He pulled the cussing Derrick offstage and slung him into Brady’s grasp.
“Looks like we’re cutting you off there, buddy,” Brady growled out. He found Santana and told her to call a cab. There were only two that ran in Arbor Bay, and Brady was going to make sure they took his ass home and nowhere else.
Together with Callum, Brady walked the sorry sack right on outside. It took until the cab pulled up a few minutes later—driven by Dave Right, a retired army vet who absolutely hated mean drunks—for Brady and Callum to calm Derrick down. Once he was pushed inside and on his way, Callum strung together a series of words so bad that Brady instinctively looked around for his mother and a bar of soap.
“This is going to wreck her,” he said when coming up for air. Callum lowered his voice but made sure Brady was listening. “Sloane told me that story after I found her crying in her room later that night. She had just gotten over food poisoning and had felt sick all day, but that dumbass was dressing up the whole first-time thing so much that she felt she had to do it then. She was mortified. Imagine your first time with him and then that happening? The best I could do to make her feel better was never talk about it again.”
Callum was so mad, he was spitting. But he was hurting, too. For his sister.
“She may be pretending that all her embarrassing stories she has out in the world don’t bother her that much, but all she’s done is just gotten really good at hiding it.” Callum went from mad to serious in a heartbeat. “Our parents died out of nowhere. They just went out to the store and never came back. Sloane was fifteen and just starting to date and get really close to people, you know? But after that? She disconnected. It was all Emma and I could do to keep her talking to us. After some time passed, she got better, but it was never the same. She’d make these relationships but then hold back. I think that’s why she really started the blog. A way to say all the things she kept herself from saying, like she was protecting herself. Yeah, I admit I was ticked she kept it from me, too, and kept the secret of you, for that matter, but I’m so proud of her for taking the leap to make that blog public. To put herself out there. To finally make ‘Guy’ hers.”
Callum flipped on a dime. He was back to mad.
“And then people like Carol and Derrick Fucking Kennerly try to ruin that.”
Brady shook his head. He’d had no idea.
He couldn’t imagine losing his parents so young and especially at the same time. Yet Sloane had, and she’d survived it. What’s more, she was now a woman who was kind, empathetic, and had a knack for making even the grumpiest of men laugh. Sloane cared about people, even though she had a reason to hide away from the world and not give a damn if she wanted to use it.
The heat in Brady cooled. He wasn’t mad like her brother.
Not anymore.
He’d been on defense since Derrick had started talking, and now, after hearing her brother, Brady decided it was time to go on offense.
Sloane deserved a world of people on her side, not just her brother and best friend.
Fake dating or not, Sloane also deserved a fucking break.
And he was about to make her one.
He felt his nostrils flare and his jaw tighten before he delivered his resolve to her brother in an almost growl of defiance.
“Not if I can help it.”
Brady pushed back into his bar with a plan. It was quiet. Sloane was still behind the bar. Her eyes were red, close to tears. Emma and Santana were next to her.
Brady passed them all and walked right up to the mic and started talking, loud and clear.
“My first time was with a girl named Gina. I was sixteen and thought I was going to rock her world. Turns out all I did was poke her in the ass so many times that she ended up slapping me. Once I got it right, I lasted a cool thirty seconds. If that.”
For a second, no one said a word.
Then good old Dixon hollered out, laughing. “Ohhhh! That’s why they called you the ass king in school!”
More laughter broke out.
Brady capitalized on it. “Now, if anyone can beat that story with a more embarrassing first time, I’ll clear out your tab and you’ll drink for free all next week. And, since we already know Sloane’s story, we’ll make her the judge.” Brady looked over at her. “If that’s okay with you?”
Her eyes were wide, and, for a second, Brady thought his plan was making things worse for her.
But then she smiled. “Only if I can take that prize if no one can do better.”
Dewey popped up from his table like a flower in spring. “Y’all think your stories were embarrassing?” He scoffed and walked toward the mic. “Just you wait until you hear about why you should never try to make your own scented lube.”
The room was already laughing.
Brady made his way back to the bar and held his hand out for Sloane. He led her to a chair one of the regulars had put in the middle of the runway for her. Dixon made her a Cassidy’s famous mixed drink, Brady pulled up a seat next to her, and the room settled in for Dewey’s cautionary tale.
Somewhere in the space between Dewey’s allergic reaction and having to call his mom, Sloane took Brady’s hand.
And hot damn if it didn’t make his heart go to fluttering.
Chapter Twenty-One
The birds were singing. The sun was shining. The morning was alive with
the sound of freaking music!
At least that’s how Sloane was feeling. It didn’t matter to her that the chirping birds outside her window had woken her up at six, the sun was mostly tucked behind a big honker of a storm cloud, and instead of music she’d been listening to a House Hunters marathon on HGTV that had been comprised of a lot of couples who sounded one fight away from the end.
They all wanted space to entertain but never really synced up on things like open concept, the budget, who got the crappy commute, and renovation projects. Sloane had stopped trying on her outfits for all the festival activities a few times to talk to the TV when the couple fought over things like paint colors and popcorn ceilings and when they obviously chose the wrong house. It wasn’t until she was watching an episode with a young newlywed couple who were trying to put down roots in North Carolina that Sloane found herself wondering about what she would do in their shoes.
Correction: What she and Brady would do.
Well, look at that.
Sloane felt the heat of a blush rise. It was quickly replaced by a more pleasant warmth.
Cassidy’s fashion show had been a whole heap of fun. From planning it—which included him, Emma, and her going back to the city to spend way too much money on costumes—to setting up the bar, to watching Brady let down his hair, so to speak, every moment had been a good time.
Brady had already been slaying the surprise game with the Rapunzel he’d helped her pull from The Drinking Spot’s window, but him sashaying down a runway, covered in glitter, while men and women yelled at him about his nipples, all while actually enjoying it? That had been a top-tier surprise for Sloane. She couldn’t picture the bartender who had kissed her more than a week ago even agreeing to the show.
And then it had happened.
Derrick Kennerly had shown up in the middle of the crowd and point-blank said he’d read the blog post about him. It had caught Sloane majorly off guard. She’d done her best to apologize, blaming a younger version of herself for feeling the need to write it in the first place, but that obviously had only made things worse.
Watching him onstage, listening to him drunkenly summarize one of the most embarrassing, cringe-worthy experiences of her life, had made every happy little cell in Sloane’s body freeze up and die. It was bad enough for strangers to hear the unfortunate tale, but somehow Brady hearing the grisly detail she’d left out felt worse. Sure, it was an old story of a seventeen-year-old who was still having a few bouts of distress and nerves around her first time, but that didn’t mean it was an easy pill to swallow. Even more than a decade later.
