by Vanessa Vale
Fake boyfriend. Even if he were a real date, no guy wanted to hear about how fucked up my family was. He didn’t need the words. He could see it for himself.
I directed him to a cluster of younger guys by the bar. “The one in the pants with anchors embroidered on them is Michael, my future brother-in-law. Besides his odd taste in fashion, he’s a nice guy.”
“Dad’s name?”
“Charles.”
“Michael and Charles. Got it. Which one’s the former president?”
I grinned. “Franklin Pierce is the blond guy to Michael’s left.”
“The guy beside him is Thomas Bunker,” he said, which had me looking from the group of guys, to him, surprised.
His jaw was clenched.
“That’s right,” I agreed. “You know him?”
“He’s from The Bend. My brothers and I grew up with Bunky. His wife’s sister is Huck’s woman.”
“From the tone of your voice, you don’t like him,” I said.
“He’s an asshole,” he muttered.
“He’s in Amy’s circle of friends. They went to college together. I think his grandparents invented something and he’s loaded, which is most likely why they’re still close.”
“And why he fits in here.”
“Astrid! Jello shots!” We turned at Amy’s shout. She waved me—with her other hand holding up an orange filled shot glass—over to a cluster of women who surrounded her and were all eyeing Thatcher. A waiter stood by with more shots on a tray.
I gave her a little wave and leaned toward Thatcher. “You know Amy. With her are the bridesmaids, plus a few other friends. A cousin from Seattle. I can give you all their names if you—”
“Astrid.”
This time the voice calling me was male. And much closer.
Thatcher and I turned as one.
“Edward,” I said, my voice practically a whisper. I took a big swig of my wine. I knew seeing my ex was unavoidable, but I’d hoped to hold off at least a few minutes.
He leaned in to kiss my cheek but I turned my head away so he got a mouthful of hair before he pulled back.
“Thatcher Manning.” Thatcher stuck his hand out.
Edward blinked, then was forced by good manners to shake, but recognized a block when he saw one. “Edward Klein.”
My heart was pounding and my palms were damp. I hadn’t seen Edward since a holiday party a few years ago. Living in a different town made it easy to avoid him, but Mother often updated me on his life. Sadly.
“You look good,” Edward told me. “I guess the bakery’s doing well.”
I bristled at the subtle insult. I might taste my products, but I didn’t eat the entire case. It was bad to eat the profits. How had I dated him for almost a year?
“You look… the same,” I replied. He did look good. For him. But next to Thatcher, his flaws were obvious. He was short with a paunch and his hair was receding. It wasn’t that other men with those attributes weren’t nice, but it was the fact that he was a cheater that put him in the asshole category.
Where both men spent lots of time outdoors, Edward did it in khakis and golf shirt with a five iron in his hand. Thatcher might own a bar, but it was obvious—and I didn’t mean because of the Stetson on his head—that he was all cowboy.
“This your ex?” Thatcher asked, his voice even.
I blushed and murmured my assent as I took another sip of wine.
Surprising me, and Edward, Thatcher reached out and slapped him on the shoulder. “I want to thank you, Eddie.”
“Edward,” he countered, but Thatcher ignored him.
“You being such a dipshit made it easy for Astrid to recognize a decent guy when I came along.”
I choked on my next sip. Thatcher turned to me, stroked my back. “You okay, sweets?”
I nodded, stunned. He’d stood up for me. He’d put Edward… Eddie, in his place. My mother hadn’t, only wondered why I couldn’t make him happy enough not to cheat. My sister didn’t understand why I’d walked away from his bank account. My father hadn’t said anything, which was his M.O.
But Thatcher… he didn’t have to do that. It wasn’t in the fake boyfriend job description. But he had.
“I think your sister called for you,” he added. “You ready to go hang with the ladies?”
Looking between the two of them, the guy who’d gotten in my pants but was an asshole and the guy I wanted in my pants who wasn’t.
“Don’t worry about me. Eddie and I are going to get to know each other. Right, Eddie?”
Amy rushed over, looking a little panicked, which made no sense. “Edward, give the lovebirds a little room.”
Edward wasn’t smiling. In fact, his face was blotchy red and he turned and fled.
I tried not to smile but it was really hard.
Amy tugged on my hand. “Come on. Let’s have some fun.”
“Be right there,” I said.
After one glance toward Edward who was now waving down the bartender, she walked off. Thatcher set his hands on my shoulders and leaned down so he looked me straight in the eye. “You good?”
I nodded, clutching my wine glass. “You didn’t have to do that.”
“Yes, I did,” he countered immediately.
I felt a rush of emotion, of pleasure, and not the sexual kind. Okay, that kind too, but I felt… protected. As if he was taking care of my problems for me. Or at least shielding me from them.
It was impossible to look anywhere but at those blue depths. “I’ve been thinking about that kiss,” he admitted, Edward forgotten.
That kiss. “Oh?”
“Yeah, I want another.”
My eyeballs flicked left and right as if watching a tennis match. “This isn’t exactly—”
He didn’t let me say more but took my mouth. It wasn’t a little peck, but full-on PDA most likely not seen in the country club. Ever.
His arms went around me, and I was tipped back. He grabbed the wine glass from me as his tongue met mine. The kiss didn’t last long, but he was thorough.
“You good?” he asked again when he set me back on my feet, this time for a completely different reason.
“Holy shit,” I muttered. My brain cells were scrambled. My nipples were trying to work their way out of my bra and dress to get to him and my pussy was wanting me to find the nearest service closet.
“Yeah, you’re one hell of a fake kisser,” he said. “I’ll be here if you need me.”
“Right,” I replied, remembering myself. “The fake boyfriend.”
“I’m not a good option, sweets. I’m headed to Mexico for the winter.”
His words were surprising, not only because they caught me off guard, but he was reminding me he was doing his job. Being a fake boyfriend and nothing more. But it felt like one hell of a real kiss.
“Right. Sure. Don’t worry. I know the deal. It’s all for show.”
As he stroked a hand down my hair, he added, “Watch out for those jello shots.”
He set my wine back in my hand and turned me around to face the women, who were openly staring. With a little pat on my bottom, he pushed me in their direction. When I glanced over my shoulder, he winked, then tipped his hat.
Fake boyfriend. Fake boyfriend.
When Amy and her friends swarmed around me, peppering me with questions about my hot man and whether he had any brothers, I couldn’t help but smile. Right now, I wasn’t the overweight younger sister. I was the one with the hottest guy in the room who’d just kissed my lip gloss right off. And they were jealous.
It felt good to have something the others envied instead of pitied—because they all knew the history between me and Edward and had most likely showed up hoping to see how I’d mope and pander for his attention. Instead, they saw that I was desirable to a guy like Thatcher. That he was practically eye fucking me from the bar.
Except it wasn’t real. He’d done what I needed. Handled my mother like a pro. Dealt with Edward. Eddie.
Made it
very clear we were together. Except we weren’t. It was all fake. His protectiveness. His chivalry. His interest. All of it. Because this was a weekend thing no matter what my pussy was telling me. Mary had told me to sleep with him anyway. If it was only for the weekend, I should get my money’s worth. And my pussy was thinking Thatcher Manning was very worth it.
Mary would jump him. Amy was ready to do so, even though she was the bride. Even Aunt Jean had said she’d do him if she were fifty years younger. Maybe I should. I grabbed another wine from a passing waiter, skipping the shots. If I couldn’t get enough nerve to buy him at the bachelor auction, I was going to need some liquid courage to jump him.
9
THATCHER
I’d met some dipshits in my day, but Eddie wore the crown of that kingdom. He’d screwed around on Astrid.
Astrid.
I was just getting to know her, but I’d bet my right nut she’d never, ever, cheat on a guy. She didn’t have it in her. She was too loyal, too… good.
She was also hot as fuck. Funny. Tempting. The women that surrounded her were pretty, but they had nothing on her. That green dress made her stand out. Her long hair made me want to wrap it around my fingers and tug her head back as I fucked her from behind. And that ass… it made me think of very dirty things I wanted to do to the woman.
I wanted her to have something else smudged across her cheek besides flour. Sprayed across those plump tits. Marking her pussy.
My tongue flicked out to lick Astrid’s taste off my lip. And what the fuck flavor was her lipstick? Cherry?
I’d had to tell her about Mexico. Now that she knew I was leaving, that for me this really was just a weekend thing to help her, I could breathe easier. Kiss her without consequences.
And that was one hell of a kiss.
The only thing that kept my dick from breaking through my zipper was having to look at Eddie’s face. And the only thing keeping me from punching him for cheating on Astrid… and for her giving him consent to touch her body when they were together, was Astrid herself.
She’d given herself to him willingly. A gift. And he’d tossed it aside as if it were trash.
I might want to do dirty things to her, but at least I’d put her first. I’d make her want every single one of those dirty things. And love it.
I’d never look at another woman if she were mine.
I didn’t give a shit about the fancy country club setting or the pretentious people who would be witness to giving Eddie what he deserved. I didn’t want anything I did to reflect on her because she had enough shit to deal with this weekend.
I had to wonder if these guys were real. Who the hell wore khakis in Montana? As I glanced around, almost all the men wore them. Fuck me, Cutthroat was a crazy town.
“Can I get a whiskey?” I asked the bartender, realizing I’d need more than water to make it through the event. I never usually drank because running a bar had ruined it for me. Except I was going to need a little fortification to handle this fuck show. I’d still be able to keep an eye on Astrid, protect her from her ruthless family, acquaintances, and Amy’s—and most likely Michael’s—friends.
These were the people she’d grown up around? Who she’d chosen to be with?
Eddie the cheating fuck? Amy who had been eyeing me like I was a piece man candy she wanted to suck. No, Astrid had walked away from Eddie years ago. Ditched Cutthroat all together for The Bend and her aunt, Miss Turnbuckle, seemingly the only level-headed one in her crazy family.
My cell vibrated in my pocket. I read the screen. A text from Kent.
KENT: Can you come a week early?
Shit. In Cozumel I’d have to deal with a bunch of drunk assholes, but I’d take their money and ensure they got in a cab. I wouldn’t have to mingle and chat. It would be easy. But empty. I’d have sun and sand. And no one like Astrid to kiss.
That wasn’t true. There were probably tons of women who I could get into my bed. Mexicans. Americans. Tourists from countries all over the world came to Cozumel for a little fun. They could have some with me.
The shrill screams of the women had me looking their way. Astrid stood with them, laughing. In the past the idea of a weekend of fun with a random lady made my dick stir. The idea now seemed… boring. Astrid’s lips were like honey. Her curves like a roadmap to heaven. That smile, like lightning in a storm. Exhilarating and blinding.
I sounded like an idiot, which meant being with Astrid was fucking with me.
I worried about her. Eddie was a fuckwad and being here was a social landmine. One false move and someone would explode.
I’d respond to Kent later, because this weekend, it was my job to ensure it wasn’t Astrid because I could easily seeing her lose her shit. Yeah, she needed to take a load off. Take a break and more than the nap she’d had in the van. If the wedding cake she’d made for her sister was any indication of her work, and work ethic, then she needed to let loose a little. She’d already let her hair down, at my dick’s expense, and she deserved some fun. I wasn’t sure how she was going to do it with this crowd, but she sure looked like she was trying. Maybe it was easier when she already expected them to be assholes or women with their claws out.
No wonder she’d gotten Miss Turnbuckle to buy me at an auction. Going into this alone would have been a nightmare. I could handle it because I wasn’t emotionally invested, but this was her family. Her people.
Well, maybe not her people. Because Eddie was a waste of space. I knew nothing about Franklin Pierce, but if all her mother thought him good for was to be paired up with her daughter, then he was a dud. All the other guys in the room too.
None of them knew the real Astrid, or wanted to. They were here for her bird-bones sister.
This was Cutthroat. It was all about money. Status. Petty shit. How I knew this for a fact was that Bunky was here. If there was a picture beside the definition of a stuck-up asshole in the dictionary, it would be his. Thomas Bunker lived in The Bend and thought his shit didn’t stink. His name had come up a time or two at home in the past week. Sawyer and Kelsey both discovered Bunky was Kelsey’s ex from Colorado. It was a long story, but it meant Bunky wasn’t just a little shit, he was a lying cheater on top of it. His wife, Lynn, was mingling now with the ladies, meaning she either had no clue to his philandering, which I doubted, or she didn’t care. To make things even worse, Lynn was Sarah O’Banyon’s sister, so when Sarah and Huck got married, we’d all probably see the guy more than we ever wanted. God, I hoped they’d elope.
Eddie had been the kickoff guy for the night.
“You’re my daughter’s boyfriend.”
I turned at the voice and pushed Bunky from my mind. This was Astrid’s father. Yeah, he was fucking next up.
“Thatcher.” I stuck my hand out for him to shake.
“Charles.”
“What are your intentions toward my daughter?”
I arched a brow because I thought that question was only in movies. “She’s almost thirty years old. I wasn’t aware she had to defer to her father in these matters.”
Her age was something I didn’t know, but I wasn’t going to tell him that.
He ignored me and asked, “Are you employed?”
“I own a bar in The Bend.”
“So you want Astrid for her money.”
I clenched my jaw and counted to three. No ten.
The first thing that came to mind was that I wanted Astrid for her tits and pussy, but I wasn’t going to say that. Instead, I told him, “She has other attributes that I find appealing.” And I meant more than T and A. I was a guy. I loved her breasts, but I also loved how she pushed her glasses up her nose when she was nervous. Or how I could get her to blush.
He narrowed his eyes, even cocked his head to the side. For a guy around sixty, he was fit. No gut, no jowls. Maybe it was because he was a cardiologist and didn’t want to drop dead on the links like his patients.
“Right.”
I took off my hat, ran a hand over the back o
f my neck. He didn’t think Astrid had anything to offer a relationship besides money?
After meeting her sister, I could see why he might think that. But Astrid and Amy couldn’t be any different.
I didn’t like to toss around my last name. It was pretty well known in this part of Montana, but I didn’t give a fuck what people thought of me. If he assumed I was a simple bar owner, that was fine by me. Whatever.
I sure as fuck didn’t want an in with this guy because I had a big ranch and a bigger bank account.
“I’m the lucky one,” I added. “A strong woman like Astrid doesn’t need a guy. She’s a successful businesswoman. Talented.”
He raised his hand, flagged down the bartender. Waggled his finger to signal another round.
“I saw you met Edward,” he added. “Why she broke up with him, I’ll never understand.”
“Perhaps because he’s a cheating asshole,” I replied.
His eyebrows went up, then he tipped his head and laughed. I wasn’t sure if he was amused by my response or thought it ridiculous since the fucker was the best man. I assumed Charles was paying for this shindig and the ones to follow later this weekend.
“Astrid won’t have to worry about him while she’s here,” I told him, making that clear. If he took it as a threat, so be it. Eddie was out of her life. I was in it.
Shit. Was I? Fake boyfriend.
She had to deal with these fruitcakes all the time. Weddings, holidays. She needed a wingman longer than a weekend. Strangely enough, I wanted to take care of her. To watch out for her. Stand up for her when it seemed no one else would.
He looked me over, assessing my value, then slapped me on the shoulder. “Good. But your relationship’s new. Trust me. Give it time and you’ll be thinking differently.” Leaning close, he continued. “The real bachelor party’s happening later, after the ladies clear out. Edward’s got a few strippers showing up to give Michael a real send-off. Stick around and get a real lay in before you head back to the house.”
Charles was a piece of work. He was offering me a hooker before I climbed in bed with his daughter. No wonder he didn’t give a shit about what Eddie had done or having him be the best man. He favored the fucker over his own daughter.
