Real Fake Love (Copper Valley Fireballs #2)(53)

“A what?” Mackenzie sputters.

“I know you’re not suggesting we eat child actresses,” Marisol adds, which isn’t far off from what I’m thinking, because I’ve secretly watched Riley Anna’s Stacey & Lacey: Twins on a Mission kids’ show more times than I can count. She’s this kid generation’s Hannah Montana.

Tanesha rolls her eyes. “Y’all need to get with the times on non-alcoholic drinks. Spend nine months not able to have so much as a glass of wine, and you’ll know about pi?a mama-ladas and Mamaritas too.”

“Pi?a mama-llamas?” Tillie Jean asks. “That sounds like something my brother would serve with his donuts.”

“Cooper makes donuts?” I ask.

“No, our other brother, Grady. He has a bakery back home. If Cooper made donuts, we’d all die from being forced to eat his crimes against sugar. But Grady would offer his goat as a date for someone with—you know what? Never mind. I’m gonna shut up.”

“Grady is adorable,” Marisol says with a dreamy sigh. “And you know what else he did? He put a ring on it. That’s a real man.”

“It took him over ten years to do it.”

“Never mind. Grady’s not a real man either if it took him that long.” Marisol glances at me. “Can you write me a happy ending, Henri?”

“Emilio adores, you, Marisol,” Mackenzie interjects. “I’m not saying he shouldn’t have popped the question already, but you’re absolutely number one to him. Brooks says you’re all he talks about in the locker room.”

“Being his lucky charm isn’t the same thing as being the woman he’s planning to marry.”

“I’d offer to talk to him, but I don’t exactly have a good track record with seeing men all the way down the aisle,” I say.

Crap.

Crap.

Now they’re giving me the matching looks of you poor thing, and we know how Luca feels about love, so he won’t be the one either.

Except for Mackenzie, who’s already guessed my secret, even if I keep expanding on the story about how much deeper in love we fall every time we’re together, and then away, and then together to keep up appearances.

“That’s why Luca and I are so great together!” I blurt. “Because this is for fun. I love it. Honestly. He lives such an interesting life, and I think I’m a good influence on him too. No matter what happens. We could be together forever as long as he doesn’t pop the question. Isn’t that what’s important?”

Tillie Jean nods solemnly. “That’s such a great attitude. It’s sort of the same reason I flirt with Max Cole all the time. Except not. Because I flirt with Max basically to piss off Cooper, who thinks he can tell me who I can and can’t date. But there’s no doubt I’m a good influence on Max. You can tell by the way his eye twitches when I make duck lips at him.”

Mackenzie leans over the empty chair between them—reserved for one of the guys whenever they get here—and hugs her. “I’m so glad you’re an honorary Fireball.”

“I’m so glad you all don’t care that I’m only here to annoy my brother.”

I don’t believe her for a second, because there are easier ways to annoy a sibling than driving an hour plus in heavy traffic to show support for his dreams and his job.

But I also know superstitions take many forms, and I’d bet Tillie Jean’s is that if she says out loud that she’s cheering for the Fireballs to support Cooper, they’ll start to lose.

A familiar face on one of the TVs in the corner catches my eye, and I smile at the familiar sight of Luca in the shower, holding out a bottle of Kangapoo.

Is it hot in here?

Or is that just me and my overactive ovaries?

“There’s my favorite lady,” a voice says nearby, and I jerk my head away from Luca’s commercial to see Brooks making his way toward us, beaming at Mackenzie.

He’s followed by Cooper, Emilio, Darren, Max, Francisco, Robinson, a player I don’t recognize but whom I think is a pitcher, and finally, Luca himself, fully dressed and dry, unlike his persona on the TV a moment ago.

Pretty sure he didn’t just catch me drooling.

Probably.

Darren fusses over Tanesha and sits, clearly eager to take over holding the baby whenever he’s done eating. Brooks kisses Mackenzie. Emilio kisses Marisol. Cooper pretends he’s going to kiss Tillie Jean, who shoves him away and waves flirty fingers at Max, who grimaces and takes a seat as far as he can get from her.

“I know he’s secretly in love with me,” she stage-whispers loudly enough for all of us to hear.

“Quit embarrassing yourself, TJ,” Cooper mutters.

“You know he’d be all over me if you hadn’t threatened to turn ants loose in his hotel room,” she fires back.

I can’t decide if she’s yanking Cooper’s chain, or Max’s, or if she does secretly have a crush on Max, but it suddenly doesn’t matter, because a hand settles on my shoulder, and then there’s a face in my face, and Luca’s kissing me so soundly the rest of the sports bar disappears.

There are no other people.

No food. No Shirley Temples or Riley Annas.

There’s simply this man who tastes like mint and whose jaw is rough and scratchy, but whose hair is thick and luscious, and whose tongue is teasing mine like we’ve done way more than lay facing opposite walls and jumping apart every time any parts of our bodies accidentally touch in the middle of the night for the last forever.