Page 40 of Hopeless
This is fake, fake, fake.
Suddenly, I feel a lot less grown-up. I feel giddy and uncertain, and like I need to get away so I can squeal into a pillow and overanalyze every single thing that has happened in my life for the past few days.
So, I dart to the barely there path I’ve created up this side of the bank because I need to put a little space between Beau and his big dick and me.
A low chuckle caresses the back of my neck.
“Bailey, we’re going to need a lot more practice if we’re going to pull this off.”
“Why’s that?” I call over my shoulder, refusing to turn back to him.
“Because if you act all jittery around me, no one is going to believe we’re madly in love. And I need them off my ass.”
I bark out a laugh. This entire thing isridiculous. “Well, just don’t ask me if my pussy is wet in front of them.” I hit the top of the embankment and feel more in control now that I’ve got room to breathe. Hands on my hips, I stare down at him, huffing lightly, sucking in the fresh morning air. “Then we should be fine.”
That mischievous smile pops up on his face again, but it’s not all play—there’s an edge of danger to it too. “But it will be, right?”
“No. Because this is fake, remember?”
He stretches now, hands behind his head, grinning like the Cheshire Cat. “You faked those hard nipples real well, sugar tits.”
I have most certainly bitten offwaymore than I can chew.
And all I can think as I stare down at this beautiful, broken, confusing man is …
What the fuck have I done?
10
Beau
Beau:Dinner tonight at six. All set with the fam.
Bailey:Okay. I’ll have to walk over.
Beau:Why?
Bailey:I have a flat tire.
Bailey:Actually, four flat tires.
Beau:I’m coming over. Right now.
Bailey:Why?
Beau:Because four flat tires aren’t an accident. No one just randomly gets four flat tires.
Bailey:Not sure my brothers will like an Eaton driving onto the property. Don’t come here. It’s not safe for you.
Beau:Bailey, I don’t give a fuck what they like.
Idrive onto the Jansen property like I own the fucking place. I’m going to play it cool enough not to freak Bailey out, but I want to smash something. The rage that’s always in me simmers too close to the surface for comfort.
My palms twist on the steering wheel of my truck as I run through what I plan to say to her in my head, so I don’t come off like an overbearing asshole.
I drive past the main house, a bit shocked by the neglect. Every side displays chipped paint, while cardboard slabs secured by duct tape cover some windows.
Tattered clothes are hanging on a line, and I wonder how long they’ve been there. Beer cans litter the yard, concentrated around a large burn barrel just steps from the back door.
