But He's My Fake Fiancé (But He's a Carter Brother #3)

by Annah Conwell

I found George through a Facebook community group. Neighborhood groups are the best. It makes for good entertainment–by way of all the drama–and great connections like this one. He was advertising his car-crushing services, so I reached out to see if I could pay him to demolish one of his cars.

Might as well slap the word welcome on my forehead because I’m a certified doormat.

It’s a dangerous thing to go into a bookstore while in an emotional state, but I know it’ll help soothe my nerves and cheer me up. So while it’s probably financially irresponsible of me, I pull up to the quaint little shop, a smile already growing on my face.

“I love it when you talk bookish to me.”

The second photo is me laughing in the front seat of his car, soaking wet with mascara running down my face. In this one I look more like a raccoon, but I’m a happy little trash panda, so that counts for something.

I’ve spent the past few years wondering if my loneliness was because there was something wrong with me. But here she is, whispering into my very soul, contrasting my deepest insecurity with a mere sentence.

When Sloane glances over and smiles at me, I find that I don’t care about the risk. If falling for her is jumping out of a plane, I don’t even need a parachute, just let me get a running start.

I believe him. I think that’s what made me jump. He’s never pressured me, just nudged me gently out of my comfort zone. I feel like I’m the one in control for once, and the notion is addictive and energizing.

I reach across the table and take her hand in mine. “You can’t be good enough for them, because what they want isn’t good, Rose. Don’t hurt yourself bending over backwards for people who are going to be unhappy no matter what you do.”

But she didn’t pull back when it got dark. No, she walked in with a flashlight and kept me company until morning. That was when I knew I loved her.