Series: Summers in Seaside
Publication date: August 7th, 2024
Synopsis:
The bro code is clear: Don't chase your best friend's girl. But it doesn't say a word about going after his ex.
I've had the hots for Charlotte "Charlie" Bauer from the first day I saw her--on my best friend's arm. But I followed the code like all three of us were trapped in a cheesy 80s pop song. And I took a lot of ice-cold showers.
Now, though, Charlie is single. And I'm desperate for a fake-relationship girlfriend--someone good, giving, and game for a few public events so I can prove to my sponsors I've outgrown my bad-boy stock-car-racer reputation.
Charlie is perfect for the role. Except for one thing. She doesn't want me. Not the same way I want her.
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Excerpt
"We are definitely having sleepovers," I say.
"No sleepovers," she repeats.
"Charlie," I say. "No one is going to believe that we aren't sleeping together."
"I'm not saying we don't have sex." She uses air quotes with the last word. "I'm just saying that we don't spend the night together."
"I don't mean to be countering every one of your points," I lie, since that's exactly what I'm doing. "But there has to be sleepovers."
"No one is going to know whether we spend the night together, Austin. It's not like they are camping out all night watching the houses to see what we do."
"True." I agree. "But that's because they aren't catching us at night. What they are looking for is the morning proverbial walk of shame when one of us is leaving the other's house. So you better believe, come five in the morning, people are watching."
"I'm not even sure why I put a plan together at this point," she says. "You're just countering everything I say with something else I can't argue with."
"I'm trying to strengthen the plan," I say. "We both need this to work, right?"
She nods.
"Aren't we better off poking at any potential weaknesses now and finding solutions versus getting caught with our pants down later, figuratively speaking."
"I guess," she says, not sounding convinced.
I push it further. "Well, then my girlfriend and I have sleep overs a lot. But mostly because we have a lot of sex."
She focuses so hard looking out the window at the passing scenery, I can see her jaw grinding.
"And I mean lots and lots of sex," I add. "Me and my serious girlfriend do."
"Fake girlfriend," she amends.
"My serious fake girlfriend and I have a lot of sex."
"Fake sex," she smirks.
"My serious fake girlfriend and I have a lot of fake sex. I'm talking all night and all day. We can't keep our fake hands off one another. It is non-stop fake fucking up in here."
She laughs this time. "Isn't that like a double negative, where the two fakes cancel each other out?"
I smile devilishly. "Yes, it is! Which means we are having real sex. And, I'm here for it, sweets."
"No," she scoffs. "That's not what I meant."
"What did you mean?" I ask.
"Not that," she says. "I just wanted you to be wrong."
"Hmm," I pretend to consider her words. "I don't think I am. I'm pretty sure we're having real sex at some point. When you're my real girlfriend and finally admit your real feelings for me."
"Not going to happen," she says.
"We'll see."
DENISE WELLS has been reading since before she could talk. And to this day, escaping into a book is her go-to activity before anything else.
She likes to write about sassy women and semi-flawed alpha-esque men (hard on the outside and just a little sort on the inside.) Denise's female characters always have strong friendships, potty mouths, and like to drink--a lot.
Denise is loyal to a fault, a bit too sarcastic, blindingly optimistic, and pretty freakin' happy with life overall. If se couldn't be a writer, she'd be a singer in a classic rock band. Right after she learned to carry a tune. She has more purses than days in the month, an obsession with colored ink pens, and a slightly unhealthy bracelet habit.
Home is in the Pacific Northwest where she lives with six special needs Siberian Huskies and a husband (BW) who has the patience and tolerance of a saint. And, lest she forget, Denise also lives with too many to count characters inside her head, who will eventually have their stories told.
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