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Aunt Tilly hangs up on poor Sarah Hodgins, who she’s just managed to dupe into sending her a week’s worth of food, along with, if she can convince the rest of the New Hopewell ladies, probably an additional month or two’s worth.
I’m not even mad. I’m impressed. And a little terrified.
I don’t remember this. A tall man, well over six feet, stands next to an unfinished trellis gate, a shovel in hand. And no shirt on.
“I got a great deal on it,” she says, and I raise my eyebrows at her. “I’ve never been able to pass up a deal on dick.”
Store and home burned down? Check. Moved into an inexplicably flamingo pink and dick-themed house? Check.
Hot neighbor. She thinks I’m hot?
Ghosts. She really wants me to believe we saw a ghost. No fucking way am I falling for that.
Tara. She’s still in her Pussy Palace shirt. She’s bare-legged, with dirt speckling her calves and ankles, and she’s got the ugliest shoes I’ve ever seen on her feet. It shouldn’t be so damn cute.
With her bare legs and my bare chest, we need more than a whole kitchen counter to stop me from thinking about bare skin, but I can’t quite make myself sit at the table.
Ward Carlisle stands in front of me, dressed in a snug T-shirt and jeans, looking more at home among the magical autumn décor than he has anywhere else. Mouthwatering. “What’s that?” he asks, squinting at me. My cheeks heat. Dear god, did I say that out loud?
“Did you want your fortune told?” I ask him, not sure what I want him to say. He scoffs. Well, I guess I didn’t want him to do that.
“What do you want me to do?” she asks. “Pretend to be mine.” It comes out on a growl.
“Honey, you keep squeezing that, and we’re going to have a problem on our hands,” I grit out. “Then I better keep doing it,” she says in a stage whisper, winking outrageously at Becca.
Tara plants her hands on my cheeks and forces me to look at her. She raises her eyebrows, and I know what she’s asking. When she rises up onto her tiptoes, I don’t hesitate. And when our lips meet, I forget how to breathe.
“Is this a kissing booth?” a red-haired teenager asks hopefully, and I break off the kiss. Ward’s staring down at me with a dark, unreadable expression, and Becca’s staring at me with pure hatred. Wonderful.
“Will my fortune show I get to kiss you?” the kid asks. Ward finally stops staring at me, swiveling his attention to the gangly teenager. “No one is kissing her but me,” he growls.
Maybe it makes me a shitty person to revel in his discomfort… and Becca’s, too, but I can’t say I’m not enjoying this.
Ward: $5 for kissing booth Another alert dings in. Ward: $5 to text me when you get done
Tara: I have an idea I raise an eyebrow at the phone, like she’ll be able to see my skepticism. Tara: We were at the same shop, and we reached for the same set of butt plugs at the same time. It was love at first anal encounter
Me: I must not know the dating etiquette when it comes to sex toys Me: I can’t say I’ve ever texted about butt plugs Tara: Me neither, but that’s why we’re in love, you know? You filled the hole in my…
Tara: Seriously, I promise to be on my best behavior I should be relieved by that text. But part of me wants to see just how outrageous this woman can be.
I might be developing a little crush on Ward Carlisle.
Driving into downtown New Hopewell with Tara in the seat next to me should be against the law, because I’m completely distracted by her.
“Your perfume smells good,” I say, then inwardly wince at what a weird compliment that is. Oh, hey, Tara. Just wanted you to know I’ve been sniffing you.
“Tell me about the one you’re wearing,” I demand. Shit. Overcorrection—I sound like the bossy asshole I am.
I swallow, glancing sidelong at her. She knows I’m into her? She knows I want to know all the things she likes so I can surprise her with them?
“Oh, it’s my favorite. Here.” She sticks her wrist out. I don’t even question it. I just inhale. “I don’t know what that is, but I like it.”
“Actually, surprisingly, no. I never knew that about perfume.” And I could listen to you talk about it all day, I almost add. “I really like how it smells on you.”
“You look as good as that perfume smells,” I add. Wow, Ward, seriously? I have no fucking game.
“You want me to tell Becca I fell in love with you in a private wet T-shirt contest,” I sum up.
“Ugh.” She huffs a reluctant laugh. “That wasn’t as good as I thought it was, huh?” “Nah, it’s believable. I think I’d have a hard time resisting you dripping wet in my garden. I like it.”
“Not all the way off, I hope,” I tell her sincerely. “I like my ass.” “I like it, too.” She waggles her eyebrows. “I might have to pinch it again to get into character.”
My reaction to that threat is immediate and fierce. Desire rushes through me, and I realize the truth of why I want to help Tara out, help her get her business back, or at least, get the funds to figure out what she wants to do next.
I clear my throat and arch an eyebrow. “I already told you what’s going to happen if you keep rubbing my ass.” “Is that a promise or a threat?” she asks, returning my eyebrow raise with both of hers. Double or nothing. “Both.”
“If you were really my girlfriend, I’d kiss you like this.” I press kiss after kiss to her jawline, and each soft exhalation of her breath makes me feel more and more out of control.
“If you were really my girlfriend, I’d turn this car around and we would miss this stupid double date, because I’d be too busy kissing you.” I kiss her cheekbones, her nose, obsessed with the way she’s melting into my grip. “If you were really my girlfriend, I’d give you exactly what you told her I already had.”
It’s true, too—except it’s not the plan where I make my ex think I’ve moved on. I have a new plan: to actually move on… with Tara.
God. I love that they seem to not beat around the bush right now. I love it so much.
“Tara, it’s good to see you. Em said people have been raving about your booth at the festival.” “Oh, that’s great,” I say, folding him into a hug. When I pull away, Ward’s scowling at me. Oh. Oops.
“Hey, Jack. This is Ward Carlisle. Ward, this is Jack—he owns the Salt Circle, and he’s Emma’s boyfriend. You know, my friend who owns the hotel?” “Nice to meet you,” Ward says, relief clear on his face. Wow. He’s really taking this fake boyfriend thing seriously.
I grab Ward’s hands, pulling them around my waist and turning so he’s cuddling my back. And I feel something deliciously hard through the corduroy dress. Something that makes me melt. Damn. Good for me.
Oh, she thinks she can out passive-aggressive me? My mother is the queen of passive-aggressive.
It didn’t make me feel good to stoop to her level. How disappointing. I don’t like being mean.
When he drops a sweet, careful kiss on my forehead, all I can think is that it doesn’t feel like either one of us is faking it at all.
I haven’t thought about Becca. Not really. Not like I thought I would. No, the only woman occupying my thoughts is Tara.
I don’t think I’m pretending with her anymore. I haven’t been. Not since I kissed her.
They kissed approximately 1 minute into fake dating
This candlelit dinner, home-cooked and laborious, was not part of our fake dating deal.
He couldn’t remember the last time someone cooked for him, and I can’t remember the last time I had sex.
I bite my cheek, but Ward just keeps grinning, seeming beyond pleased that he’s made me laugh. Which is fucking adorable, dammit.
“That’s fucking right, baby. Come all over my face.”
“Will you scream while I fuck you, Tara?” he asks.
