Fake Love Read online

  Officially lost it.

  Vale

  Carter turns his back on me, walking inside. And what a fine back it is. He’s shirtless, wearing only a pair of sweatpants, and I can’t help but sigh as I follow him.

  I love Carter’s house. Actually, I loved the man who lives in it.

  “Where are you going?”

  “Well, I just got back from my jog, so I’m going to drink the smoothie I was making when you rang the doorbell, and then I’m going to shower.”

  “Oh, okay, yeah,” I say, my brain becoming even more frazzled over the sight of his naked chest. I used to love to lay my head on that chest and listen to his heartbeat. I used to love being wrapped in those strong, muscular arms.

  “Come in my closet,” he says as memories of him frantically stripping off my clothes and setting me up on his kitchen island replay in my head. “I’ll pick out some clothes. You can pack them while I shower.”

  Each step I take through his house, I remember something else. Other details. If I were watching the movie of my life, this is where they would insert a musical montage of all the fun, flirting, drinking, passionate sex, and morning-after pancakes we always had.

  His whole house holds memories for me. And it sort of stings now.

  “What events are we attending? Where are we staying? How formal will it be?” Carter asks.

  “Couple’s shower, bachelor and bachelorette parties, picnic with games, wedding rehearsal, night-before dinner, and then golf and the wedding and reception. It will be an outdoor wedding on the family farm.”

  I watch as he takes out a suitcase and sorts through his clothing very quickly and efficiently. Very much the way I do. The telltale sign of someone who is often on the road.

  But he’s not moving fast enough.

  I shove our boarding passes in front of him, which note how little time we have left. “We really have to hurry, Carter.”

  “I’m not flying commercial, Vale. What time do you have to be there?”

  I notice he says you, not we. But he’s pulling out clothing.

  “Uh, the couple’s shower is tonight at seven.”

  He gets on his phone, calls someone, and sets up a flight. Then, he points at a suitcase and walks into the bathroom, closing the door tightly behind him.

  The sound of the shower running sets my mind on fire, burning with past scenes of us showering together. Of the way he looked wet, the way the water ran down his body, seemingly perfectly placed to highlight everything from his model cheekbones and strong jaw to his muscular shoulders.

  I shake my head and get to packing, folding his clothing carefully to avoid wrinkles, placing them inside packing cubes, and layering them inside his suitcase.

  I don’t zip the bag up yet because I expect that he will have some toiletries to add.

  What I don’t expect is for him to walk back into his closet, wet and wrapped in nothing but a towel.

  I can’t help but hope—make that pray—he will drop the towel and get dressed in front of me. If he did though, I wouldn’t be able to stop myself from straight-up throwing myself at him.

  A good shag would do wonders to break the ice between us.

  Sadly, he chooses a few articles of clothing and a watch and makes his way back into the bathroom. He doesn’t close the door as tightly this time. From the mirror in his closet, I can see the reflection of the bathroom mirror and manage to get a brief but wondrous sliver of a view of his delicious backside.

  He comes out fully dressed, throws a few final things into his bag, and says, “Let’s go.”

  I grab his hand, causing him to pull back in shock, but I need to clear the air before I lose my nerve. “I’m not sure what happened between us, why you felt that way and cut off all contact, but if I did something wrong, Carter, I’m sorry. I really am.”

  “You’re only apologizing because you need me. I’m assuming since it’s mere hours before your flight, I’m not the first person you asked.”

  “Only because you made it very clear the last time we spoke that you didn’t want to see me anymore, but since you agreed, there’s one other thing I need to tell you.”

  He shakes his head at me in disbelief. “As if my going isn’t enough?”

  “I don’t want to get into my family dynamics, but this weekend, we have to pretend to be more than friends. We need to be engaged.”

  Carter’s jaw tenses, and he blinks his eyes before keeping them closed for a beat longer than usual, like I hit a nerve.

  “No way,” he says firmly.

  “My parents have rules, Carter,” I argue.

  “What kind of rules?”

  “Well, we can only sleep together in their house if we’re engaged. It shows a level of commitment to them.”

  “Look, I’ll be your date, for old times’ sake or whatever, but I will not be your fake fiancé. Hell, I didn’t even get the official title of boyfriend when we were together.” He sets his suitcase down and unzips it—the threat clear. “Seriously, I’ve seen that movie before. It never works out.”

  “In the movies, it does,” I counter.

  “Well, it won’t for us,” he says.

  “I know.”

  “And I don’t think I should sleep in the same room with you,” he says sternly even though his eyes tell me a different story.

  I can see—actually, feel—the fire in them every time he looks at me.

  I let out a pathetic sigh and know I have to tell him. “All right, truth time. I’m the black sheep of the family. My dad is … you’re lucky, Carter. Your family is close.”

  “Yours isn’t?”

  “Well, they all are, except for me. I left home. My parents haven’t forgiven me.”

  He rolls his eyes. “I’m sure they are proud of you regardless. You’re very successful.”

  “It doesn’t matter. They don’t view modeling as a serious career.”

  “It’s earned you serious money.”

  “It’s about family to them. Me having one, specifically. And I told them I was bringing my fiancé because, well”—I let out a sigh and roll my eyes—“my childhood sweetheart—my high school boyfriend, who they love—is still single and, unfortunately, the best man. If we’re engaged, I won’t have to deal with all that.”

  And I know I need to show him just how serious I am about this, so I reach into my bag, pull out a box from Cartier, and hand it to him.

  He opens it, revealing a beautiful but simple solitaire. “You bought this?”

  The look on his face is unreadable. I’m sure that’s what makes him good at negotiating contracts for his sports clients. But when he narrows his eyes at me slightly, I can tell he’s pissed about this, possibly even disgusted at the depths to which I have sunk.

  Me too, buddy.

  “It’s on loan,” I say quickly. “They dress me for red carpet events.”

  “Is it one they had lying around and sent to you, or did you pick it out?”

  “Uh, what do you mean?” I ask, wondering what he’s getting at.

  “Did you pick out your dream ring to wear with your fake fiancé, or is it just a ring?”

  My shoulders slump. “I asked them to give me something simple and classic.”

  “It doesn’t look like you,” Carter says, shutting the box and tossing it back to me before moving deeper into his closet.

  I take a peek around the corner and see him getting into a wall safe.

  When he starts to turn around, I pull my head back into place, so he doesn’t know I was watching.

  “I can’t have you wearing that ring if you are supposed to be my fiancée,” he says.

  He holds a small box out in front of me.

  I stand still. But then I finally understand what he wants me to do, and I hold out my palm, causing him to drop the box into my hand.

  “Open it,” he says.

  And when I do, my breath catches.

  “Carter!” I manage to gasp out. “This is the most gorgeous ring I’ve eve
r seen!”

  I start to slip it on my finger, but then I glance up at him. He’s studying me, a sad look on his handsome face.

  “Wait. Where did you get this? What is it for? Who is it for? I heard you weren’t dating anyone—”

  “I’m not,” he says brusquely, obviously irritated by my questions. “All that matters is, the ring is insured. Put it on, and let’s get going. We don’t want to be late.”

  Even though he didn’t want to come with me, now, all of a sudden, he seems to be in a hurry.

  But I just sit and stare at the ring.

  He rolls a suitcase in front of me and taps his foot.

  I put the ring on.

  “A perfect fit,” I say breathlessly.

  No sex diet.

  Carter

  Once we’re settled into the plane and we have taken off, it’s time to get serious about this.

  First is to forget the breathless sound she made when she slipped the ring on her finger. How it was the same sound she used to make after we had sex, when she laid her head on my chest right before she went to sleep. The kind of sigh that sounded both surprised and content. Like she was always shocked but happy at how good we were together.

  Second is to make a commitment to myself that regardless of if I have to sleep with her, sleeping is all that will be allowed. I’m on a no-sex diet for this trip.

  Third is to remind myself that I am not doing this to help her out or to spend time with her again. I am not doing this because I think this is our second chance. I am doing this for one reason and one reason only. To sign her future brother-in-law, represent him in the draft, get him the best deal possible, and start tagging on endorsements.

  She unbuckles her seat belt, but she doesn’t look any more comfortable.

  Might as well keep her that way.

  “Okay, so we need to be on the same page,” I say to her. “When did we get engaged? Where are the pictures? What did I say when I proposed?”

  “I don’t know,” she says softly.

  “It’s the first thing they are going to ask, Vale. After they ask why you didn’t call and tell them the good news when it happened.”

  “Fine,” she says with a sigh, twirling a piece of hair around her finger. It’s a nervous habit. One I happen to adore. “Before I came to your house, I might have thought about some of that. Let’s go with, we’ve been dating on and off for a while—you know, like we were before—nothing serious. I’ve mentioned you to my sister in the past, so your name won’t be a surprise.”

  “And?”

  “And because of my traveling, you didn’t think it would work.”

  “Oh, no freaking way. Don’t you dare put that on me,” I say with probably too much conviction for someone who isn’t supposed to care.

  “Fine. I didn’t think it would work.”

  “So, then what happened? How did we overcome it?”

  “Um, I got offered a role on a network show. The pilot did well, except one of the girls they’d originally cast annoyed test viewers. Now, they want me. They know it will be a hit. It means I’ll be living in LA, where they’re filming.” She pauses. “Honestly, Carter, I don’t know if I should take it or not. It would mean not modeling as much. Not traveling as much.”

  “It depends on what you want out of your life,” I say simply even though the thought of us being in the same city together tugs at my heart and I want her to do that more than anything—for both of us.

  She closes her eyes. When she opens them, they are filled with tears. “It doesn’t matter what I want, Carter. The story is that when I came back to LA—”

  “How long have you been here?” I ask, wondering why she never reached out.

  “Uh, it’s been about two months,” she says quietly, one tear falling from the corner of her eye.

  “And you didn’t tell me?” I reply, feeling like I just got a blow to the gut.

  She drops the piece of hair, and I focus on it as it slowly untwists, unraveling, like my life did that night.

  “I … just … well, you told me I wasn’t the girl for you.”

  I try not to show the hurt in my eyes, but I’m sure it’s there.

  “So, then,” she finally says, “over the last two months, we rekindled things and had a whirlwind romance, and you asked me to marry you last weekend.”

  “And how did I do it?”

  “I’m not sure,” she says.

  “You mean to tell me that you’ve never pictured yourself getting engaged or what it might be like?”

  “If I’m being honest, yes, I have.” She hesitates, brushing her hair back off her face. “Realistically, I didn’t think for a second it was going to happen, but I will admit that I did imagine what it would be like if you proposed at my party. The clock striking midnight. Confetti raining down on us. You on one knee. A kiss that symbolized more than a year of being together.”

  I swallow hard, my insides churning, my heart racing. She actually imagined me proposing? And more importantly, she would have said yes.

  She waves her hand through the air in front of her, quickly dismissing the thought. “Crazy, right? Anyway, last weekend, I was at a charity golf event and wine auction in Half Moon Bay. The hotel I stayed at sits up on a cliff overlooking the ocean.”

  “I’m familiar with that hotel,” I tell her, but she barely pauses, like she’s lost in the memory.

  “There is a walking path around the golf course and the grounds. I went for a jog, and it was almost sunset by the time I was getting back. There’s this wooden bridge. When you walk down it, it’s like you’re away from the world in some enchanted forest. There’s water running underneath it and a small waterfall. The sunset was turning the trees a golden color. The moment felt almost magical.” She closes her eyes and lets out a sad sigh. “I stopped and took a picture of it. When I saw how beautiful the photo turned out, the thought crossed my mind that it would be the perfect place for someone to propose.” She grabs her phone and shows me the photo she took. The dreamy look quickly leaves her face.

  “Gorgeous,” I say more to her than the picture. Because she is more beautiful than I even remember.

  “So, let’s go with that. You took me up there for the weekend and proposed at sunset. We can even show them this photo.”

  “Wouldn’t we have taken a selfie after we got engaged?”

  “Uh, we did, but then your phone died. You hadn’t backed it up in a few days, and we lost the photos.”

  “I would never do that. My phone is never allowed to get below fifty percent.”

  “Fine. I lost our engagement photos because I’m an idiot.”

  “Sounds fair,” I say, raising my eyebrows and giving her a smirk. “And why didn’t we tell them?”

  “Because we wanted to do it in person, I would assume.”

  “Were you surprised?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Were you surprised I’d asked you? Had you expected it? Had you picked out the ring? Had we picked it out together? Had I chosen it myself?” I ask.

  “I don’t know, okay?” she says, throwing her hands up in frustration. “Fuck, Carter, you’re stressing me the fuck out, and I’m already stressed enough about this whole thing! You think it was easy for me to show up at your door after what you said to me?”

  I don’t answer her. I get up and walk away—just toward the galley, but still. I know I’m being a bit of a dick. I also know that I deserve to be, but at the same time, I don’t like seeing her upset.

  I know. I know. I should be mad at her. She should be mad at me.

  This situation is ridiculous.

  Preposterous.

  Crazy.

  But I’ve done crazy things in the name of love before.

  In the fifth grade, I punched Jimmy Tipton in the mouth because he’d tried to hold my girlfriend’s hand. Instead of going to get ice cream with me, she comforted the boy who was lying on the ground, bleeding.

  In high school, I almost missed the
state playoffs because my girlfriend was having a meltdown over her newly dyed hair.

  In college, I once stood outside a girl’s dorm, playing music to get her back.

  I’ve always been passionate—about both girls and football. Since I got hurt, I turned that passion into getting the best deals for the athletes who allow me to be their agent.

  Women were just a fun distraction.

  Until I met Vale.

  And did something crazy again.

  Chloe had been right. It was a disaster.

  And now, in retrospect, it upsets me to think that in my attempt to surprise her, I made her think I didn’t care.

  I also shouldn’t have walked away.

  Which is why I’m about to do something crazy again.

  I pour us each a tequila on the rocks. The good stuff. Top-shelf añejo served with an orange slice, sprinkled with cinnamon.

  As I do, I remember another moment in our relationship. Well, non-moment. I invited her on my family’s yearly trip to Palmilla, but she said she didn’t want to intrude on family time. When I pressed her on it, she told me she would come after her Costa Rica shoot but ended up bailing. Something about a last minute photo shoot.

  I hadn’t been seeing anyone else, but I didn’t know if she was, even though we talked every day.

  For someone who prides himself on being upfront with his clients, I realize that I was playing it way too cool with this girl.

  I set a tequila down in front of her. “You look like you could use this.”

  “Is this the stuff you like? The stuff you always drink with your family in Palmilla?”

  “You remember that?”

  She nods slowly. “I remember the disappointment in your voice when I told you I wasn’t coming.”

  “Was there really a last-minute shoot?”

  She rolls her eyes up to the ceiling and holds up her hands in supposed defeat. “Going on your family trip felt like a big commitment.”

  “And now, here I am, engaged to you and off to meet yours,” I quip.

  I clink her glass, not bothering to offer a toast because I really have no idea what might come out of my mouth at this point.

  “So, back to business. I had my sister go shopping with you. Conveniently asked you to stop at the jewelry store to pick up my watch.” I point to the Cartier wrapped around my wrist. “And you did what girls do in a store like that—you stopped to dream. You fell in love with two rings”—I take her left hand in mine, observing the ring I designed just for her—“and I had one custom-made and surprised you with it. On the bridge. Just the two of us. As the sun started to set. I’d insisted we leave our phones in the hotel room because I didn’t want any distractions. We might not have photos, but we have our beautiful memories of that moment.”