Page 46 of Book Boyfriends
“You’re so right about cinnamon. It really is the perfect addition to banana bread,” Hope coos, shuffling from inside the house.
“It definitely gives it that extra something.” Owen grins, following her with a tray laden with food.
“I repeat, what are they doing here? We were hiding them from Hope and Rem,” I hiss through clenched teeth to Jackson.
“Like you were going to keep this from Hope very long—” hetsks“—and if one of these men is our future brother-in-law, we need to integrate them into the family,” he whispers back, his tight smile fixed on Hope, who moves toward the table where Lars pulls out the chair for her. “Aw, the wolf has manners.” His tight smile softens to a real one.
I arch a brow.
“Georgia!” Hope waves me over. “Have you met Jackson’s friends from pickleball?”
“Uh, yeah.” I move to the table.
“She may know them better than anyone.” Smirking, he plops onto a chair beside Lars, their snickered expressions in silent conversation with each other.
Again, my eyebrow arches at him. Well, not just him, butthem. They are like two sides of the same snarky coin. One, the polished suit-wearing version, the other in ripped jeans and flannel.
“Owen helped me put together some tidbits. He’s amazing. Better than any sous chef I’ve ever had,” Hope says, taking a small stack of plates from the tray and handing them to Owen.
Of course, he is. All of Owen’s culinary expertise comes from Hope. So much of her passion for food is infused into my small-town baker character. Though that was intentional versus my accidental infusion of aspects of Jackson into my werewolf alpha. I can’t help but wonder what real life person may linger inside my handsome duke, who sits spine straight beside me.
“I’m grateful for Baker, because LJ over there is useless in the kitchen.” Lars chuckles, grabbing a plate and piling food on it.
“Baker? LJ?” Hope’s brows kiss.
“Owen Baker. Lars has this thing about not calling people by their actual names, so he calls me by my last name,” Owen explains, pouring water into a glass from the pitcher on the table.
She nods, her brown eyes sparking with interest. “And who’s LJ?”
“Lord James,” Lars says, handing the now full plate to Jackson, who accepts, an “Oh shit” expression blooming on both of their faces just as…
“Lord James?” Hope’s gaze narrows on my duke. “I thought your name was Jim?”
“It certainly is not,” he scoffs and then looks to me, his face aghast. “I mean… Yes… Jim is my name.” His lips pinch.
Every muscle in my body tightens. None of my book boyfriends are good liars. It’s core to their literary DNA, so whatever ruse Jackson cooked up is coming undone. Not to mention, Hope is perceptive.
She wags a carrot stick at Lars. “And what was your name again?”
“Lars…” He wrinkles his nose. “I mean Larsy?”
“Larry.” Jackson coughs.
“Why didn’t Owen get a new name?” I lean over to Jackson and whisper.
“Every good lie has some truth,” he whispers back.
“Goodis the important word in that sentence,” I hiss.
“Owen Baker? Lord James? Lars?” Her fierce stare jumps between me and Jackson. “Who are these men?”
I cover my face with my hands, a twinge thuds behind my closed eyes. Lying to my best friend is a shitty thing to do, even if the plan was for it to be temporary to not stress her out during her pregnancy. It’s not the stress of this situation’s impact on her that I worry about, but the favor I’ll need from her.
“They’re Owen Baker, Lars the alpha werewolf pack leader, and Lord James the sexual harassy duke… And they’re here to date Georgia,” Jackson says.
“They’re what!” Hope shrills.
“Sorry, sis.” He lets out a long breath. “I thought this would work.”
