Page 47 of Hopeless
“Sorry, what was that, Dad?” I choke out.
“Beau and Bailey. I mean, don’t get me wrong, they’re nice names, but together they sound like good pet names. If you have a kid, let’s avoid naming it Comet, yeah?”
I groan and tip my head back. Compared to my brothers, I’m rarely on the receiving end of the Harvey ridiculousness they get.
I’m about to apologize to Bailey, but she laughs.
Not fake awkward laughter. Laughter the way it sounds when Gary says something stupid to her. Laughter the way it sounds when I test the waters with a ridiculous nickname.
Then she steps into my side and buries her head against my ribs. Like she feels at home with me.
People crack jokes around us, and their attention shifts. We’re still standing in the middle of the deck, but people seem to be retreating to their corners, back to their conversations. They’re settling back into the pre-dinner vibe as if nothing out of the ordinary happened here tonight.
I suppose if Winter can announce her baby daddy at dinner, this might not seem so interesting after all.
When I curl an arm around Bailey’s petite frame, her doll-like face tips up to mine. Eyes round, lashes long, lips distractingly plush. “Did I do okay?” she whispers, hand fisting the back of my shirt.
I lean down over her, granting us some privacy. She doesn’t pull away. Our eyes lock, breaths intertwined. My muscles bunch as I force myself to resist lifting her up and carrying her the hell out of here to have her all to myself.
“You were perfect.” Our lips graze—barely a touch—as the words leave my mouth. I move mere inches to the left, pressing a very real kiss to the corner of her mouth, missing her lips entirely.
Some people might consider it a mistake.
Some people can’t tell what’s real and what’s not.
But I did it on purpose. I did it to plant a seed.
I did it because I don’t think I want the first time we kiss to be fake.
“What are you doing?”
My head snaps toward Bailey’s trailer as I drop to sit on the steps that lead off my back porch and down to the river. “Sitting on my deck.” I don’t need the sun to be out to know from here that she just rolled her eyes at me. “How about you?”
She hikes a thumb over her shoulder. “It’s hot in the Boiler tonight.”
I snort.The Boiler. “Cute play on Boler. My house has air conditioning.”
“Couldn’t sleep?” she volleys back.
I guess me sitting on my back porch in the middle of the night makes it obvious. But I don’t add that the second my clock flicks over to 2:11, my body violently wrenches itself from sleep.
“Nope.”
“Why not?”
“Are we just going to yell at each other from across the yard?” I prop my elbows on my knees, my body looking more casual than how I feel inside. “Seems kinda weird for an engaged couple.”
She snorts this time, then stands and pads across the dew-soaked grass toward me. I watch her feet, the way they roll against the ground. The red polish on her toes. The smooth skin that flows up over toned calves.
I’m still staring at her feet when she plops down beside me. “It’s rude to stare, Beau-Beau.”
My lips curve as I lift my gaze up to hers. “A man can stare at his fiancée, can’t he, sugar tits?”
Her hand darts up to tuck the curtain of dark hair behind her ear. “Fake fiancée,” she clarifies, glancing down at my feet.
All I respond with is a low hum. I don’t know Bailey all that well, but I know the agreement we reached. Still, I find myself agitated by the wordfake.
But I’m easily agitated these days.
