Crazy for Your Love (The Boys of Jackson Harbor #5)(21)

“I’m not dating anyone, so it’s not a problem,” Carter says. He shrugs, as if I’m asking to borrow a cup of flour and not for him to test his acting skills. “We carry on with what we started last night. I certainly owe you after that. But can I ask why?”

“Because my parents think we’re together, and that’s the way they are. If their daughter is dating someone, they want to meet him and . . .”

“They’re protective of their daughter and want to know if I’m worthy. I get that, but why do you need a boyfriend? Why not tell them the truth about last night and go to the wedding without a date? It doesn’t seem like you to deceive your family.”

“It’s not, and I hate it. But . . .” But you don’t understand Rich. You don’t know how well he manipulates people into doing what he wants. You don’t understand how disappointed my parents are that he and I didn’t end up together. “Do you remember the last time I asked you to pretend to be my boyfriend? About a year ago?”

“The ex who was in town.” He chuffs out a laugh. “That’s the favor I was calling on last night. Of course I remember.”

“His name is Rich, and he’s going to be at the wedding. And staying at the mansion. He’s the reason I need a fake boyfriend.”





Carter


I grip the back of my neck, squeezing on the knots forming there. I only briefly met Rich that one time, but it was enough to know I didn’t like him—enough to know that whatever past they had together wasn’t good. If it was that obvious to me, surely her family knows how she feels too. “Why was he invited?”

She grimaces. “Rich and I were high school sweethearts. My parents adore him, and I know if they’re bringing him along, it’s because they want to reunite us.”

“And you . . .”

“Would rather chew on poisoned rat carcasses than be with him again.”

“That’s oddly specific and pretty intense.”

She shrugs. “It’s honest.”

“What did he do to you?” I ask softly. I’ve wanted to know since the day I met him, but she refused to tell me then, and I can tell by the determined set of her jaw that she’s just as unlikely to tell me now.

“It doesn’t matter.”

A shock of protectiveness surges through me. I’ll be damned if I’m going to leave her vulnerable when she’s scared of this guy. “I’ll do it. Be your devoted boyfriend, stay at the mansion, whatever you need. I’ll do it.”

“Are you sure?” Her gaze darts to Myla again. I can’t decide if she’s jealous of Myla or worried she might blow our cover.

“I owe you.”

“Do you? Doesn’t last night make us even?”

“Last night was . . .” So good. I can’t stop thinking about it. Can’t stop the memory from playing on a loop in my mind.

She’s put together tonight in her red sweater and fitted jeans, her dark hair pulled back in a clip, and she has colorful hoops dangling from her ears—the antithesis of what she was this morning in her robe and the little she had on beneath it.

I like her both ways. I want her both ways. But I’m going to have to let that go. Despite what Jake seems to think—despite how I acted last night—I know she isn’t a convenient lay I can use to numb myself without worrying about emotional entanglements. She’s a friend, an honorary Jackson, and we’re already entangled.

“Last night was what?” she asks, and I realize her gaze has drifted to my mouth again. Fuck me, but I like that she keeps doing that. Love it.

“Last night was a bigger favor than you realize.”

“Oh, no. I felt all those eyes on me when you called me up onstage. I realize how big it was. Huge. You owe me so big.” She laughs, not serious at all.

“I should have warned you. And I would have if it had occurred to me before that moment on the stage. So, yes, I owe you. But I can’t lie to my family.”

“I wouldn’t expect you to.” She mutters a curse. “It all seemed so simple before, but maybe it’s not. Your family will see mine. We’re doing a beer-tasting tour that includes a stop here, and the reception is at the banquet center.” She clenches a fist in her lap, and I don’t say anything because I can tell she’s thinking out loud. “The lie is already out there. Can it really hurt to keep it up? Do you think your family would play along?”

I nod slowly, imagining the conversation, my mom’s reaction and subsequent hope, Jake’s judgment, and Shay’s knowing grin. “If they think it’s important, they will. They care about you.”

“I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t think it was important,” she says.

I straighten and close the distance between us. Sitting on the barstool, she’s nearly eye level with me, and she stays perfectly still as I wrap a hand behind her neck. “I’ll have to touch you like this.” I graze the tender spot behind her ear with my thumb, then follow the path I kissed last night to the light purple bruise at the base of her neck. Some base, possessive part of me likes seeing my mark on her. Wants to mark her in other spots too—over her hipbones, on her inner thigh, her ass . . .

“I’ll have to endure it, I suppose.” Her lips twitch. “To make it believable.”