Fake Love

by Jillian Dodd

  “You didn’t?” I say because I can’t picture Vale shimmying down that tree in the middle of the night.

  “I was a bad girl,” she says with a wicked grin.

  The smile slides off my face as thoughts of her sneaking out to hook up with Trent invade my brain.

  “But not that bad,” she says, her eyes flashing shyly up to mine.

  “So, you and Trent never—”

  “No, we didn’t. I wasn’t dumb. I knew about contraceptives and all that, but I had big dreams, Carter, and it just wasn’t worth the risk to me. No way in hell was I going to get knocked up and stuck with a baby and my high school boyfriend. Not that it’s bad if people do. I know it happens a lot. I have friends it happened to, and they are still here, happily married. It’s just not what I wanted for me.”

  A grin spreads across my face. I can’t even help it.

  She swats my shoulder. “Carter Crawford. I know what you are thinking.”

  “And what’s that?” I ask, eyebrow raised in defiance.

  “You are happy that I didn’t sleep with Trent.”

  “Damn right I am. This whole time, he’s been acting like … well, like you two did sleep together. So, if nothing else, I can go to the club, feeling pretty pleased. Because you and me, Vale? Well, we most definitely have.”

  I expect her to say something sexy. Tell me how much she enjoyed our times together.

  Instead, she says, “You were jealous.”

  In one quick motion, I wrap my arms around her and pin her against the window. “Jealous?”

  “Mmhmm.” She smirks.

  “What do I have to be jealous about?”

  “Your smile said it all, Carter,” she says, but then the smirk slides off her face just as my mouth gravitates toward hers.

  “I didn’t think you would be jealous. I … well, I thought you hated me. After what you told me, you know, on the phone that day. But the kiss on the porch, it felt good. I mean, at least for me.”

  Her eyes are wide in question. Her face and lips turned up toward mine.

  I should walk away. Tell her that she’s right. That she means nothing to me. But I know that would be my wounded pride talking.

  “I don’t hate you, Vale. I never could. No matter what happened.” I let go of her and turn around. If I hadn’t, I would have just kissed her again. And I can’t keep kissing her.

  That’s why I asked her if we could be friends when we got back to LA. Now is not the time to discuss our relationship. The what-ifs, the what-could-bes. We just need to get through this weekend, make her family happy for her, and then go home and talk about what really happened that night. At some point, I need to tell her. Just not here. Not now.

  She stands by the window a little longer, just staring at me. I put on my watch, grab my wallet and phone, and shove them in my pocket.

  “Now that you know the truth,” she says, “can you be nice to Trent tonight?”

  “I’ve been nice to Trent all day,” I smart, trying to act like I don’t care about their relationship.

  Whether or not they had sex doesn’t really matter—whatever they had certainly stuck with the poor guy. And honestly, I know what it feels like to be in love with her. And how it can hurt when she doesn’t love you back. Trent and I might have to form a club.

  She grits her teeth and looks down at the dresser. “I know. I’m sure it’s not easy for him to see me engaged.”

  “I guess that means giving him a play-by-play of our sex life is out of the question?” I joke.

  “Carter …” she pleads. And the look on her face is similar to the one she wore when she was down on her knees this morning.

  “Hey, Carter? Waiting on you, buddy!” Blake calls out from downstairs.

  And for once, I am grateful for the interruption.

  “Have fun tonight,” I tell her. When she frowns at me, I cave because I hate seeing her unhappy. “I promise to be nice to Trent, and I’ll make sure AJ has fun but stays out of trouble.”

  She comes over, stands on her tiptoes, and kisses me on the lips. “Thank you.”

  And with the kiss comes clarity. Trent is still pining for her because they never slept together. He probably hoped that when she came home, they would. If for no other reason than to get her out of his system. And I wonder if that would work for me. But I know better than Trent. I know that you don’t get over a girl like her.

  She gives me a cocky grin. It’s the same one I got the night we met after she beat me in a video game.

  She leans her sexy-ass self closer to me and says, “Just so we’re clear on this, Carter Crawford, my fiancé would have a fun night out with the guys. But then he would come home to me.”

  I practically growl with need. With only a few words, she can get me all worked up.

  She takes a step back and studies me, knowing this is how I usually looked before we would have sex, because she goes, “If this were real between us, that’s what I would expect.”

  “Oh,” I say, trying to pull myself back together before going downstairs to meet my fake soon-to-be brother-in-law.

  Glitter confetti bombs.

  Vale

  Everyone is gathered on the porch, but no one really knows what I have planned. I wanted to surprise all of them, I guess. I hired a professional photographer to capture all our fun moments tonight, and I know this will be the first big photo op.

  I hand a Bride-to-Be sash to Raine and the sparkly tiara veil to Brooke. “Can you put these on her? And smile for the camera.”

  They have fun, getting Lakelyn dressed up. Soon, everyone takes turns, posing with Lakelyn, both individually and in fun group shots in front of the massive pink balloon arch I had set up in the front yard.

  And there might be hot-pink penis balloons sticking out between the pale balloons, and it really cracks me up that no one has noticed them yet. But they are too busy posing.

  “Hey, Lakelyn,” I call out. “Why don’t we get a photo of you sucking on one of the balloons?”

  She looks confused at first, and my sister is all like, “That’s so dangerous.”

  Which is true for children, obviously, because the balloon could break and they could choke and die and that is no laughing matter, but when Lakelyn moves closer, she starts laughing and pinging the little penises with her finger, making them bounce up and down. Even though she hasn’t hit the champagne yet, it causes her to laugh hysterically.

  “Suck on it,” her college roommate yells out, and before we know it, all the college girls are pretending to suck the balloons.

  Of course, that’s the exact moment when Grandma and Aunt Helen choose to come out on the front porch.

  “Well, my word,” Grandma says. “Doesn’t that look like fun?” And next thing I know, she’s over with the girls, bouncing around one of the hot-pink penis balloons then squeezing it and making comments like, “It’s not quite firm enough yet,” which causes Lakelyn and the girls—and, well, me too—to practically die with laughter.

  Tears are running down my face as Grandma continues making jokes.

  Helen is about to join in on the fun when my mom walks out of the house and goes, “Mother!”

  “Um, how about we do something else fun?” I suggest. Don’t need Mom having a coronary before the big day.

  I hand out glittery confetti bombs to all those in attendance, giving Grandma something else to do with her hands.

  “All right,” I say, “we only have one shot to get this right.”

  I explain to them how to shoot off their pops, and then the photographer gets us all lined up.

  “One, two, three, pull!”

  Suddenly, glitter confetti fills the air around us, raining down on Lakelyn, and I can already tell by the look on her face that it’s going to be one of my favorite pictures.

  “Time for shots!” one of the college girls calls out.

  “How about a toast instead?” I offer, and when I say it, I can barely believe my eyes.

  My father
comes out of the house, dressed in a tuxedo and white gloves, pushing a gold bar cart filled with an ice bucket full of the champagne I bought along with my mother’s crystal flutes.

  Tears immediately fill my eyes, and I have to blink them away.

  Everyone gets their glasses filled, and we go stand back under the balloon arch for more photos.

  “I’d like to start the toasts, if I may,” my father says from the porch, causing my mouth to literally drop open, “and then I’ll let the bachelorette party commence.”

  Lakelyn nods her head and smiles at Dad.

  He holds his glass in front of him and says, “Lakelyn, may your life be filled with many more pink confetti moments. Cheers.”

  Everyone is in tears, my sisters and me especially. I don’t know how my dad did it. He’s not the sentimental type, but he just managed to describe the perfect life for my bubbly, sparkling sister in one sentence. Lakelyn rushes over and gives Dad a hug.

  We do more toasts and take more photos, and then the stretch limo I ordered comes barreling down the driveway. I glance at my watch and notice that he is a couple of minutes late. Which actually worked out okay.

  “A pink limo?! Eek!” Lakelyn screeches in excitement.

  We take more photos outside the limo.

  Grandma and Helen put up a pretend fuss about not going in the limo, but I tell them I left them each a bachelorette gift bag inside the house and that there is champagne in them, which seems to placate them.

  I’m at the end of the line to get into the limo when I realize my father is standing next to me.

  “I’ve been thinking all week about what I might say in my toast, but I just wanted to thank you. The decor you chose for Lakelyn and the confetti shower … well, it’s because of that, that I knew what to say. Even though you haven’t been around much, it’s clear you and your sister are still close.”

  I nod. I can’t really say much because I don’t understand what is happening here. Is my father actually being nice to me?

  Finally, I get out, “Yeah, we are. She’s a sweetheart.”

  “I’m trusting you girls to keep her outta trouble,” my father says.

  “I will,” I agree.

  Then, he grins and hands me an envelope full of cash. “And buy a couple of rounds on me.”

  My immediate thought is to hand it back to him because I don’t need his money to buy shots to give my sister a fun bachelorette party, but I decide not to. Because I know he’s doing this for her, not me.

  “Thanks, Dad,” I say. “I will.”

  Inside the limo are gift bags for each girl with their names on them. They quickly find their bags and sit in the seat they were on. They squeal with delight over the little gifts inside. There are plastic champagne flutes, T-shirts marking the event, and necklaces I actually commissioned the jewelry designer Chloe Crawford—Carter’s little sister—to make the second Lakelyn asked me to be her maid of honor. Fortunately, I have attended numerous events like this over my years—always the bridesmaid and never the bride and all that—and always stuck my favorite ideas away in the back of my brain, waiting for this occasion. Also inside are funny buttons for each girl to wear that will spark conversations at the bars we are going to. Things like: Bad Influence, Trophy Wife, Cougar, Sassy Pants, Designated Drunk, Wild Thing, High Maintenance, Shameless, Gold Digger, and of course, Bride.

  “More champagne?” I ask, opening up the cooler in the limo and pulling out a couple of bottles of Cristal. I didn’t use it for the toast at the house, figuring my father would have a fit over it, but what Daddy doesn’t know won’t hurt him, right?

  “Is that Cristal?” Raine exclaims. “I’ve always wanted to try that kind, but it’s pretty pricey.”

  “Not something I drink every day,” I tell them, although, actually, I sort of do. My new bungalow in LA doesn’t have much in the fridge, but it is stocked with a case of this. I don’t splurge on much, but … whatever.

  The girls all cheer as I pop the cork on two bottles and pass them around.

  We’re almost into town when one of the girls finally asks, “So, where are we going?”

  “It’s going to be sort of a pub crawl. A different bar every half hour. And I have some fun tasks for you. As if showing up in a pink limo full of women isn’t enough.”

  I reach in my bag and grab a glittery pink velvet sign to go around Lakelyn’s neck that says, Kiss the Miss Good-Bye.

  “Ah, this is so cute!” But then she stares at it. “I don’t get it.”

  I hand her the matching pink velvet string-closure purse. “Guys have to pay you a dollar, which they put in the purse, and then they get to kiss you on the cheek.”

  “I bet some of them will want to kiss her on the lips.” One of her college friends screech-laughs.

  “Oh, I don’t want to kiss anyone else,” Lakelyn says, looking concerned.

  “And you don’t have to,” I tell her. Then, I hand her a stack of cards. “Read these and give them to who you think they fit.”

  She reads a few, “Dance on the bar. Oh! That’s for you, Rachel,” she says to one of her college friends. She continues through the stack, handing out the fun cards I made with tasks like: Use a cheesy pick-up line, Find a guy with the same first name as the groom, Get a guy to give you his tie—or another article of clothing, Get either wedding advice or a phone number written on a bar napkin, Take a picture with a hottie, Photobomb a stranger, Get a piggyback ride, Kiss the bartender, and other fun things to keep the party going.

  The limo stops at our first location, which is more of a sports bar hangout place than the type of club we’ll end the night with.

  With the tight party dresses we’re wearing, the glow-in-the-dark penis necklaces most of the girls have on, as well as the bachelorette party temporary tattoos from the gift bags, let’s just say, we definitely turn a few heads away from the sports on TV.

  Along with the fun name tags and challenges, we’ve bought a lot of shots, and guys literally line up with their dollar bills to give Lakelyn a kiss on the cheek.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Mister Good Time.

  Carter

  “Gentlemen, we have arrived.” Blake’s already on his third shot by the time we pull up in front of the club.

  As we get out of the limo, I notice Trent looks a little sweaty. “You all right?” I ask him.

  “I’m not feeling great. Probably should’ve taken it easier today.” He flashes a brief smile. “Thanks for asking.”

  “Come on, BTO. It’s my bachelor party!” AJ flings an arm around Trent’s neck and drags him into the club.

  I bring up the rear.

  The second we’re in the VIP section, Blake says to our waitress, “We’ll start with shots. A round of Alabama Slammers!”

  “As long as we don’t end up in the slammer tonight!” Trent yells out.

  “Wouldn’t be the first time for you, Blake,” Jake says. “How many times has your daddy had to bail your drunk ass out in the morning?”

  “Like, twice,” Blake says.

  “And me?” Jake counters.

  “Like, once,” Blake says.

  “And what about me?” Seth says, laughing and slapping Blake on the back.

  And I can’t help but enjoy their camaraderie. It reminds me of how my brothers and I tease each other.

  “Okay, fine,” Blake says, “I might like to whoop it up on occasion. It’s all in good fun.”

  “Yeah, drunk fighting always is,” AJ jokes, but he looks at me and rolls his eyes.

  As BTO and Blake high-five, I realize drinking isn’t the only thing I need to worry about.

  “Speaking of good fun,” Blake says, sliding his hand on the waitress’s ass like he knows her on a personal level, “Shauna here has our shots!” He holds up a glass and says, “To the groom! AJ, buddy, we’re getting you drunk tonight!”

  AJ leans over and clinks his shot glass with mine. “Don’t worry. I work too hard on my body.” He lowers his voice an
d says, “I follow Danny Diamond’s D3 regimen. I’ll have a beer every now and then, but nights like these, I drink a glass of water between every drink.”

  “That’s smart,” I tell him.

  Because if the strip club were more like a show, it would have been fine. But when you combine lap dances with alcohol, I’ve seen things get stupid—fast.

  Fortunately, I don’t represent the kind of athletes who need to be babysat on a regular basis.

  Blake is calling for more shots.

  The group is getting tipsy.

  Our VIP section is full of dancers.

  “Which one’s the groom?” one of them asks with a wide smile.

  I pat AJ on the shoulder before two dancers take him, one on either arm, and sit him down in the booth. Blake is chatting up another pair of dancers and instructing them to keep AJ happy all night while someone else orders more shots.

  “Carter Crawford?” A familiar face appears in the crowd just beyond our roped-off area. “Dude! Did you sign AJ?”

  “Billy Summers,” I say, shaking his hand and being cordial.

  But his showing up does not thrill me. He’s an extremely talented cornerback with a reputation for the kind of wild nights that are starting to affect his career.

  “And, no, he’s not my client.”

  “Then, why are you here?”

  “It’s his bachelor party. I’m attending the wedding with the future bride’s sister.”

  “No shit.” Billy turns to our group and says, “AJ, buddy. Congrats. Next round is on me!”

  Cheers erupt as they all greet Billy and discuss how his latest pro team, Cleveland, might do next season.

  Billy quickly works his way back to me. “So, Carter Crawford, I don’t know if you’ve heard, but I’m looking for a new agent.”

  “I didn’t know you and Paul had parted ways.”

  “Yeah, I got tired of his bitching at me. You interested?”

  “I’m afraid my stable is full right now.” No way I have the time or energy to babysit someone like him.

  “Oh, dog,” he says, “I just realized. AJ’s sister. You’re talking Vale Martin. The smoking-hot supermodel. I remember now that you were dating.” Billy grins at me, quickly moving on. “Isn’t this place great? Best strip club in a hundred miles. I’m from a small town about twenty miles over. My dad buys farm equipment from the Martins.” He glances away from me, looking at AJ, who is standing a little awkwardly as women dance around him.