Page 39 of Fake Dating an Orc Cowboy

“You go next,” she told me when she’d joined us, giving Jacob a big kiss and Mom a hug.

Cool, cool. I could do this. I climbed the stairs and strode over to the staffer.

“Keep your arms out and go as fast as you can,” he said. “When you're ready.”

No time like now.

I stepped out onto the walkway. It wiggled beneath my feet. I flapped my arms like a bird and bolted toward the end of the inflatable. Three quarters of the way down, my right leg went one way while my left decided to go the other. With a shriek, I tumbled into the pool.

When I surfaced, Macy was already laughing. “That was amazing, Rosey! You're so good at this.”

“Well done, sweetheart,” Mom said with a grin.

Dad shook his head. He smiled up at Ostor as if they were buddies, and that pleased me more than anything else.

I wasn’t hurt by the fall. Honestly, it felt freeing. The kind of free that clears your mind of everything that isn’t today, right now.

“Next up,” the staff member shouted. “Jacob!”

My future brother-in-law climbed up onto the side of the pool, water slicking down his body and his hair plastered to his head. He studied the walkway as if analyzing it for flaws and cracked his knuckles. When a few women cheered, he flexed his muscles, and spun around to wiggle his ass, thrusting his hips forward to their shrieks. Turning back to face us, he swept his grin across the crowd, focusing on his bride-to-be, who he blew a kiss to.

“Caught it, babe, and right back at ya,” Macy shouted. “Run, babe. You can do it.”

His grin replaced with determination, Jacob stepped down onto the beginning of the walkway, sending his arms out to hold his balance. He glanced Ostor's way, and there it was again, that competitive gleam in his eyes. Why did guys have to turn everything into some kind of stupid gladiator match?

“Go,” the staffer cried.

Jacob focused, taking it slow, his movements smooth as he worked his way forward. I had to admit, he was doing pretty well. Until about two-thirds of the way across, when, just like Macy, his foot slipped on the slick material. His limbs went flying in all sorts of directions as he slapped into the pool with all the grace of a shot-down bird.

Macy screamed, “No,” and swam over to him, giggling. “You were close, babe.”

He dragged his hands down his face, but when Macy arrived and planted a kiss on his cheek, his scowl eased.

“Who's next?” the staff member cried.

“Mom? Dad?” I asked.

“Never,” they vowed in unison. With a shared smile, they started wading across the pool, aiming for their palapa.

“Me, Ostor,” he called out. “I’m next.”

“Come on up, then, my friend.” He scanned the crowd. “Anyone else? No?”

No one else waved to show they were interested in competing.

“Alright, then, Ostor is our last contestant!”

Ostor climbed out of the pool, and man, compared to Jacob, this guy was hot with a capital H. His gaze fell on me and with a quirky grin on his face, he turned his baseball cap around to make the brim hang down the back of his neck. That only made him look hotter, evidenced by a few women making whooping sounds.

Some guys would've performed for their view—Jacob had—but Ostor's attention remained on me.

I gave him a thumbs-up, and he returned the gesture before turning to study the walkway.

I waded closer, my heart hammering more than it should. Why was I hoping he’d succeed?

Ah, I knew. I wanted him to beat Jacob. There it was, me seeking vindication, as if me being with the hottest guy in the place and watching him one-up the man who’d rejected me would make everything better.

Actually, it kinda would.

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