Fake It Till You Make It Page 10

  “So confidence really is key with her, huh?”

  “She can be fun, too,” he admitted. “When she isn’t worried about work.”

  There was the irony. Their biggest fight had been work. Neither understood the other’s.

  And didn’t try to, either.

  Brady guessed Felicity didn’t mind Marcus’s IT job at the local bank. Or, maybe, it really did just boil down to his family’s money. Why else did their relationship work but Felicity’s and Brady’s hadn’t?

  “I’m sure the long legs and killer ass don’t hurt, either,” Sloane quipped, cheeks tinted rose. She was grinning, too. It lightened the more serious mood he had been falling into. It also put focus on her lips.

  Dark eyes, dark hair, petite, and always seemingly on the verge of blushing, Sloane De Carlo wasn’t anything like Felicity. Looks or otherwise.

  She was quiet, but only in a crowd.

  She was curious, even at risk to her comfort zone.

  She was a contradiction. Not a fan of attention, and yet she’d published her innermost, secret thoughts for the entire internet to read.

  She was sexy as hell, too, and he doubted she even realized it.

  Sloane wasn’t like Felicity or anyone he’d dated, pretend or not. She was harder to figure out. Definitely more confusing. An awkward woman who he couldn’t bring himself to dislike, despite her dragging him into chores, gossip, and southern small talk.

  And it was only day three of being around her.

  “They did not hurt, no,” he said, playing along.

  Sloane sighed. “Men. I could write an entire blog post about how distracted you all can get by a tight butt and exposed skin.” Her eyes went to his now-covered chest before zipping back up. There was that blush again. Brady wondered how dark she’d turn if instead of seeing him naked, she felt him.

  The thought put a surprising amount of heat in him.

  She got off the bed and walked to the door, unaware of his stirring arousal.

  “Speaking of pictures, though, you need to post one of us together tonight at the bar. Then I was going to post a picture on my accounts of one of Cassidy’s specialty drinks with a moody filter and a clever caption about the perks of my boyfriend being a bartender. We can see how that works for bringing in any new customers and go from there. Maybe at the very least people will come out to annoy me with a billion questions and a lot of how embarrassing.”

  Brady nodded, trying to distract himself from her lips. She shrugged, still unaware.

  “We can also use the time to brainstorm what we need to do in real life so we don’t give Carol the satisfaction of bombing all the events we have two weeks to put together. Oh, and maybe we can also get to know each other a bit better.”

  She cringed.

  That pulled his attention. She explained at his questioning look.

  “While I was going through Ms. Peggy’s party supplies, she may have asked me a bunch of questions about you, and, while I distracted her away from most, I may have panicked my way into a lie about you being obsessed with Cher…and having a tattoo of her in a questionable place.”

  “What?”

  Sloane threw her hands in the air as she walked out of the bedroom.

  “When the panic takes hold, it’s fight, flight, or babble, and babble usually wins. So sue me!”

  Chapter Ten

  Sloane first knew she’d gone viral after a google search showed her several articles saying as much. #TheGirlWhoSaidNothing was trending on Twitter with thoughts, quotes, and relatable me toos from the blog. Most, though, had been focused on the Guy aspect. Hundreds of tweets had users admitting that they, too, had someone like Guy in their lives. Someone they liked or loved but never said a word. When some of those hundreds started to slide into her inbox, encouraging words and stories, a few others started to slide in with their own form of trying to connect.

  Sloane had deactivated her Twitter after the tenth dick pic.

  After that, people she knew in real life had come out of the woodwork. From Raphael at the catering company she sometimes subbed in at, to Nancy, the neighbor down the hall who sometimes had her mail sent to Sloane’s box on accident, to a customer at the florist shop who had been alerted to Sloane’s sudden internet fame by her granddaughter.

  Facebook and Instagram and Snapchat had already been picking up, but when BuzzFeed had started to do the listicles, that was when Sloane had locked her privacy down hard. Though that hadn’t stopped the messages.

  The phone calls and texts came next.

  And when her ex-boyfriend, Mayce, had shown up at her door wanting to know why he was barely mentioned in the blog?

  That’s when Sloane just kind of left it all.

  She might have loved her jobs, but sometimes you had to take a break, even from things you loved, so you didn’t lose your damn mind.

  She’d told Mrs. Baker and Raphael that she would be back in time to work the Saunders’ wedding, and if they needed her before that? Well, maybe try not to? Because she certainly didn’t like her phone anymore. Every time it buzzed or chirped, a ball of nerves would twist in her stomach as she imagined something else embarrassing had happened.

  Something she had caused.

  So when her phone vibrated in her pocket between Brady’s truck at the curb and Roger Norman’s front porch, Sloane wanted to throw it instead of check it. She mentally recapped her day instead, wondering what she could have possibly done to get more attention, and bit the bullet when she decided she hadn’t really done anything of consequence.

  Well, other than see a mostly naked, very wet Brady.

  And, wowzer, what a sight that had been.

  Even driving across town, away from the scene, Sloane could still feel the heat in her from their exchange in his bedroom. Along with the embarrassment of being caught snooping. All she’d wanted to do was understand the bartender more, but his room had been surprisingly bare.

  That is, except for a few pictures on the walls, most interesting among them the one over his bed.

  But no one knows what happened in that room, Sloane reminded herself, pulling her phone out. Other than Brady, and he isn’t going to tell. I hope.

  “Hey, give me a second,” Sloane said, reading the caller ID. “I need to take this.”

  Brady made a noise, but Sloane was already retreating back to the driveway.

  “What’s wrong?” she answered, new worry thronging through her. Emma never called during the school day unless it was something.

  “The mayor wants to talk to you.”

  Sloane blinked at the concrete. “Say again?”

  “The mayor wants to see you.” Emma was whispering. It must have been quiet time for her kindergarteners. “He pulled me out of class to tell me so.”

  “He pulled you out of class?”

  “Yes. I thought I was in trouble somehow, but, nope, he wanted you.”

  Now it was time for Sloane to feel like she’d done something wrong. “Wanted me for what?”

  He certainly didn’t know about her seeing the mostly naked and very wet Brady.

  “To talk about officially sponsoring the kickoff party at Cassidy’s. He gave me his card for you.”

  “Why not come to me instead?”

  “He apparently tried? Said no one was home earlier.” Suspicion sprung up into Emma’s voice as quickly as the grumpiness had lit across Brady’s face at being left alone on Roger’s front porch. Even now, from the distance between her and the house, Sloane could feel the annoyance still emanating. “What have you been up to all day? Writing that new blog post that Rizzie wanted?”

  Sloane turned to the sound of the front door opening. Roger Norman.

  She could really feel Brady’s annoyance now.

  “Just running around. Brady and I are actually seeing a man about a boat right now
.”

  “Is that some kind of sex euphemism?”

  “No,” Sloane defended a little too harshly. Then a bite of laughter broke through. “Wait. What would that even mean if it was one?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe the boat is a penis?”

  “That both of us want to get?”

  “The boat could like, I don’t know, represent the idea of sex?”

  “So we’re going to see another man about the two of us having sex?”

  Emma groaned. “Dammit, woman. I just called to let you know the mayor wants a piece of you. I’ll text you the number, but I have to go now. Dante just got up, and I have two point five seconds to get him to the potty before things get wild over here.”

  Sloane laughed as the phone call ended. The sound drew Brady’s and Roger’s attention.

  The thought of them having a threesome, on a boat no less, popped into her head.

  Dammit, Emma!

  She shook the image away and pulled on a quick smile. Then she joined her fake beau on the front porch.

  “Hey, Sloane. Long time,” Roger greeted. He looked almost the same as he had in school. Maybe a bit heavier and a lot more tired. He grinned. “Heard you’ve been setting the internet on fire lately.”

  “I don’t know about that,” she said with a snort. “But it’s good to see you.”

  She glanced at Brady and arched her brow in question. He looked more annoyed than she thought he should. His shoulders were tense, despite the polite resting face he was wearing.

  The same shoulders that she kind of, sort of, wanted to weirdly stroke when they were sans shirt?

  Dammit, Sloane!

  “So I told Roger about Ms. Peggy referring us to him for his boat, and he says he’s game,” Brady said. “But, wouldn’t you know it, there’s a catch.”

  Sloane turned to Roger. “Oh?”

  The man held his hand up, phone with it, to explain. “Not a catch, really; more like I need a favor first.”

  “A favor,” Sloane repeated.

  “A favor,” Brady confirmed.

  Roger must have picked up on the not-so-great vibes. “Listen, I normally wouldn’t ask, but I’m desperate. Zelda is due in three weeks, and I’m swamped with work because of the festival, and, well, I’m not above holding a boat over an old friend’s head to get some help.”

  His smile turned apologetic. It made Sloane nervous.

  “Okay, so what’s the favor, then?”

  …

  Brady had a handful of ass, a mouthful of wood, and was questioning a lot of his choices.

  The wood was from the handle of the paintbrush they’d just found in her brother’s garage. He slightly regretted not just dropping the thing when Sloane asked for a boost, so into his mouth it went, just like the flashlight usually did when he was working under the hood of his truck and needed a hands-free light. Now he was grunting around old, weird-tasting wood like a weirdo.

  The ass was less of a bad decision and more of a consequence of one. It was of the Sloane variety, and the only way to get her to the box she needed at the back of the high shelf that he couldn’t reach, either, was to give her the height and stability to do it. Could he have done that by interlocking his fingers and letting her step into them instead? Maybe. But using his hands as a chair was a lot easier to control.

  At least physically.

  Mentally?

  Well, Sloane might have been petite, but her ass definitely had some curve. It was, for lack of a better word, juicy.

  Even if he was frustrated as hell at the reason why that juicy ass was in his hands in the first place.

  Why was he standing in Callum De Carlo’s garage, trying to get a box of painter’s tape, a pan, and a roller?

  Because the favor they’d been asked by Roger Norman was to paint his future kid’s nursery.

  Why had Brady agreed to help?

  Other than Sloane not giving him a choice before she said yes on the spot, he had to admit the prospect of using Roger’s boat as an easy parade float made practical and financial sense. He wanted good PR for the bar, and doing well at the parade, on top of being with the only person in Arbor Bay to go viral, would help him.

  Why was he still thinking about Sloane in his bed right next to him?

  The ass thing wasn’t helping.

  “I—I got it!”

  The woman wiggled like a drunk on the dance floor. Brady lowered her and the box she was holding, trying to focus on anything other than her being flush against him as her feet touched the ground. He caught the scent of coconut-something coming off her hair. His mouth slightly watered as he took the paintbrush out.

  “Now we can save even more money by using Callum’s stuff to paint the nursery.” She beamed. “So far we’re not spending a dime on this parade. I figure that might help ease that clenching I’m assuming you’ve been doing since lunch at the Robertson estate.”

  She twirled around and went to the workbench along the opposite wall. She set the box on top before going through the contents. Brady cleared his throat and joined her, peering inside the dusty thing. True to her word, it was filled with painting supplies and tools.

  “Just more manual labor hours. My manual labor hours.”

  Sloane shot him an amused look. “I’ve already seen that body of yours. You’re no stranger to manual labor, I’d wager.”

  “I didn’t say I couldn’t handle it,” Brady said with a snort. “I was just pointing out I’m the only one who’s actually doing the work.”

  “I’m providing the connections, thank you very much,” she retorted as she took the paintbrush from his hand. “You’re the hammer, and I’m the one handing you the nails. Free, no-money-spent nails. That has to appeal to you. Being frugal is sexy. At least sexier than turning coals into diamonds in that tush of yours.”

  Brady made an exaggerated show of peering into the dusty, mildew-smelling box again. He crinkled his nose and had every intention of pointing out there was nothing sexy about it, the garage, or painting a nursery, but then something on Sloane’s back caught his eye.

  Brady abandoned his plan.

  His silence was noticed right away. Sloane looked up at him long enough to realize what must be happening.

  “Okay, sweet cakes,” he said, “I’m going to need you to not move while I get something off your back.”

  “Get what?”

  Brady took the paintbrush from her hand and started to lie. “It’s just a little spider—”

  All at once, the room exploded in chaos. First of all, the spider wasn’t little at all. In fact, Brady was surprised she hadn’t felt the weight of it on her back. They were lousy with wolf spiders in Arbor Bay, thanks to all the trees, but it had been a hot minute since Brady had seen a giant like this. He wasn’t scared of them, but when they were almost the size of his palm? Well, he was going to try and use the paintbrush in lieu of touching the thing.

  Or, at least, that had been his makeshift plan, until Sloane blew that straight to hell.

  A screech unlike any he’d ever heard came from the woman’s mouth and echoed through the room. She added movement to the sound with a violent, flailing dance. One second, she was next to him; the next, she was in the middle of the garage wide-eyed, terrified, and ready to rumble.

  Then she did something Brady had only ever seen in movies.

  With wild abandon, Sloane De Carlo lifted up and then threw her shirt off like she was at Mardi Gras and had a burning desire to get a new beaded-necklace collection.

  “Is it still on me?” she yelled, dancing a few steps away from where her shirt had fallen. She slapped at her body and spun around so he could see her back.

  It, like the strap of her bra, was clear.

  “You’re good.”

  “Are you sure? Check my hair!”

  Like he was
magnetic, Sloane flew toward him. He didn’t mean to, but he laughed.

  “Brady, I’m serious,” she screeched. “Is it in my hair?”

  Brady put the paintbrush down again and took the dark waves of hair in his hands. It was soft, as he’d guessed it would be, and also spider-free.

  “You’re good,” he repeated. “It’s not on you or in your—”

  “Ahhhhh!”

  Sloane did another move he’d never seen outside of the TV screen: she levitated off the ground and at Brady with one high jump. From a petite woman or not, Brady hadn’t expected that. On reflex alone, he caught her, wrapping his arms under and around her until he was holding her like a bride.

  “What the—?”

  “Look!” She pointed at her discarded shirt.

  Even Brady got the willies as he watched the wolf spider scurry to the other side of the garage.

  Sloane made a distressed sound caught somewhere between fear and exhaustion.

  “Get me out of here,” she commanded, eyes not leaving the spot where the spider had gone.

  Brady wasn’t about to argue. Not when her arm was like a vise around his neck. A hold that tightened when he tried to bend down and grab her shirt first.

  “Leave it! I have others.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  It wasn’t until the garage door was shut and locked—take that, spider!—that he was allowed to put the woman down. At least Sloane didn’t argue the move. Instead she was staring at the garage door. She noticeably shivered.

  “That thing was huge,” she said, shaking her head. “I mean, I’ve seen spiders before, and, yeah, they’re not my favorite, but holy crapsticks, that thing was so big it needs to pay Callum rent!”

  She started to fan herself and bounce up and down, as if trying to make the memory go away.

  It was oddly adorable.

  And extremely distracting.

  Sloane was still shirtless, and her pale pink, lacey bra? Well, it wasn’t leaving much to the imagination. Hell, it was barely offering an already generous chest any support. Each bounce was a wave of motion that tugged his gaze down and made the almost-nonexistent space between them seem even smaller.