Total pages in book: 129
Estimated words: 125257 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 626(@200wpm)___ 501(@250wpm)___ 418(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 125257 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 626(@200wpm)___ 501(@250wpm)___ 418(@300wpm)
Imagining it.
Heat flares through me.
Remy hands me a fork, saying, “Try it.”
I take a bite of the cake, and it’s sweet and moist. “Delicious,” I say, but I’m looking at her pretty mouth, remembering the taste of her at the picnic. Craving another one.
“Told you cake tasting would be fun,” she says.
And so is fucking with her douchey ex. I sneak a glance to the counter where Corbin peppers him with question after question about beer he’s never going to carry.
When I turn back to Remy, she’s smirking at me. Partners in crime.
The videographer is busy shooting Caroline and Parker as they discuss whether the buttercream and vanilla is better than the chocolate ganache or the one with strawberry. The bride and groom quickly eliminate the chocolate ganache, and since we’re in the background of the shot, I presume, I drop a kiss to Remy’s cheek.
Possessive.
Lingering.
Her breath hitches, then she blinks off her reaction as I pull away.
Remy nods to a slice of cake in front of us. “Have some more. You’ve earned it.”
I dig in, then nod my approval as I give her the fork again. The videographer backs up, widening the shot while Caroline asks Remy to weigh in on the options.
She points to the one with strawberries. “This one. It’s so good,” Remy says.
“Isn’t it?” Caroline replies with a proud smile, like she’s genuinely glad Remy agrees. She turns to Parker. “What do you think, babe?”
He gives a doting smile. “It’s the best, honey.”
I flash back to Remy’s words that he’s not in charge of anything. Seems so, but the way he listens to Caroline and focuses on her tells me he likes his life that way. That he knows his role and seems damn content with it.
I know my role—making sure Remy gets to experience the opposite of her ex. I flick my gaze to the counter, confirming Corbin’s still distracting him.
Yep. He is.
I return my focus to Remy as she takes one more bite of the strawberry cake. When she sets down her fork, the gods of fake dating smile down on me since there’s a smudge of something white and sweet on the side of her lips.
“You’ve got something here,” I say, and sure, I could motion to her lips. Yeah, I could offer her a napkin. But I didn’t say yes to being her guy to half-ass things. I’m all the way in. With the videographer turning the lens toward us, I say to Remy, “It’s just a little frosting.”
Her eyes glimmer. “You’d better kiss it off then, Lake.”
As if I was going to do anything else.
I lean in, flick my tongue across the corner of her lips, and taste the sweetest treat ever.
She shudders as a soft murmur ghosts across her pretty lips. That quiet gasp thrums through my body, vibrates in my bones. And sets up camp in my head.
It’s a sound that’s going to stay with me all night long, and then when I get on a flight for an away game tomorrow and leave all this fake romance behind.
I definitely owe Corbin dinner for the rest of the season, but it’s so worth it as Jameson pitches his beer to Corbin the whole damn time we’re cake tasting, and I’ve made sure the fuckface didn’t get his product placement in this wedding segment after all.
After the event wraps up and her sister and team leave, I linger with Remy in the bakery.
“You don’t mess around,” she says, something like wonder in her voice.
I give a cocky shrug. “I’m a full-service kind of boyfriend.”
“Seriously. That was so extra,” she says, then licks her lips. “But in the best of ways.”
“You deserve extra. Like I told you.”
“And you delivered, Lake.” My name comes out soft on her lips, but full of meaning, full of appreciation.
For a few heady seconds, I’m tempted to lean in, kiss her mouth for real, and thread my hand through her hair.
But the cameras are off, her sister is gone, and Jameson has left the premises. It’s just Corbin and Mabel, along with Remy and me, and we’re not fake dating for us or for them. We’re fake dating for others.
There’s no need to perform, so I don’t touch her again.
* * *
I cock my arm, stare down the pallino, and then take perfect aim, tossing the red ball in my hand.
“C’mon, baby,” I urge, coaxing it along the court with the power of my words and will till it smacks the target ball.
I thrust my arms in the air, victorious. “Pretty sure I’m undefeated now,” I tell my teammates at The Gameyard, a new Cozy Valley bar and grill that’s known for its good food, but also its lawn games. My teammates kidnapped me a few months ago and forced me to join them for their excursions. I’ve made them regret that every day by beating their asses every time I play. Like I did just now.