Best Fake Fiancé: A Single Dad Romance (Loveless Brothers Romance Book 2)
Best Fake Fiancé: Chapter 24

“AND THEN I went down the big waterslide,” Rusty says, so excited she’s breathless. “Fifty-five miles an hour!”

I lean my arms against the railing on the landing outside Charlie’s door, looking down at the cars in the bridal shop’s parking lot, phone pressed to my ear. It’s Saturday night. And yes, I’m clothed.

“That’s pretty fast,” I say, keeping my voice as light as I can. “Did they clock you?”

“No but that’s what the sign says,” Rusty goes on. “The Tropical Tornado waterslide makes you go up to fifty-five miles per hour, and you have to cross your arms and legs and close your eyes but it still—” she breaks off for a moment, giggling, “—it still gave me a wedgie at the bottom.”

I swallow hard, opening and closing one fist. I don’t love the idea of my small, fragile seven-year-old hurtling down a water slide, but I also know I’m being a little overprotective. She’s tall enough, the waterpark is lousy with lifeguards, and hardly anyone ever dies at amusement parks.

Though staph infections and mysterious rashes are another matter altogether.

“What next?” I ask.

“Bruce and I went on one of the tube rides,” she says. “Mom couldn’t go because she’s having a baby, so it was just us. Bruce is nice.”

I want to tell her he is not fucking nice, he’s trying to take you away from me, but I don’t. She’s seven. It’s not her problem, it’s mine, and I’m damned if I’m going to let her worry about anything bigger than homework.

“Bruce sounds cool,” I say, hating every word of it. “What else did you guys do?”

“We went to Friendly’s and I got a burger and then I got an ice cream sundae with a banana in it,” she says. “I couldn’t finish it, so Bruce and Mom helped.”

“Sounds like you had a great day,” I tell her. “Are you having fun with your mom? And Bruce?”

“Yes,” she says, and then stops abruptly.

I stand up straight, because even though the phone is silent, I can almost hear her using her index finger to softly poke her cheek, the thing she does when she’s thinking.

“What’s up, kiddo?” I ask, stomach in knots.

“Are you coming to Colorado with us?” she asks suddenly, and the simple question stabs me straight through the gut.

I’m going to murder Crystal. I am. I take a deep breath, frantically trying to think of what I should tell Rusty right now that won’t make her freak out completely. Apparently, I’m the only parent who gives a shit how she feels.

“We haven’t decided yet whether you’re going to move to Colorado,” I say simply. “You might be staying here with me, or you might be in Colorado sometimes and here sometimes.”

There’s another long pause.

“Oh,” she says. “Okay.”

“Your mom and I are still figuring some things out, okay?” I say. “There are a lot of big changes happening right now. You’ve got a new stepdad, you’re going to have a little sister.”

Charlie and I are together for real.

I don’t say that out loud. One change at a time.

“I don’t want a pony if I have to go to a new school,” she says. “Dad, I don’t even like horses that much. They smell weird.”

I’m going to kill Crystal, but I smile despite myself at Rusty.

“No one will make you take a pony you don’t want,” I tell her.

I spend the next few minutes talking to Rusty, trying to convince her as soothingly as possible that everything will be okay. I wish I didn’t have to. I wish Crystal would interact with me like a grownup instead of a petulant teenager, because I would fucking love to have a co-parent who was willing to work with me as a team instead of trying to win Rusty’s heart with waterpark.

When it’s time for her to get off, I ask her if I can talk to her mom for a minute.

“Mom!” she screams, not taking the phone away from her mouth, and I wince.

“What?” I hear in the background.

“Dad wants to talk to you!”

“Tell him I’m busy.”

“You’re just watching TV.”

“I can’t talk to him right now, Rusty, okay?”

There’s some rustling, then Rusty’s back on the line.

“She can’t talk to you right now,” she says.

“Thanks for trying,” I tell her. “All right, kiddo. See you tomorrow. Love you.”

“Love you, Dad!” she says, and the line goes dead.

I stand there, on the landing outside Charlie’s apartment, for a long, long time, taking deep breaths and resisting the urge to throw my phone off her balcony and watch it smash on the pavement below.

I fantasize about ways to get Crystal out of my life for good that don’t go quite as far as murder. I imagine the judge handing down a new custody agreement: I get all physical and legal custody forever and ever and Crystal relinquishes her parental rights, then moves to Siberia and I never have to see her again.

It’s not what I really want. What I really want is for Crystal to love Rusty back, for her to want to be a good parent and treat Rusty like her own child, not a fun prop one weekend a month at most. Rusty deserves to have two parents, but God knows I can’t make Crystal do anything she doesn’t want to.

There’s a creak behind me, and I turn. Charlie comes out onto the landing, her eyebrows furrowed in concern, and leans on the railing next to me.

“What’s wrong?” she asks.

“Crystal,” I say, finally putting my phone back in my pocket. “Apparently she told Rusty that they’re all going to move to Colorado.”

Charlie sucks in a quick breath, her eyes going wide.

“That motherfucking hose beast,” she whispers. “Do you want me to help you hide the body?”

I half-crack a smile.

“She took her to the waterpark and bought her ice cream,” I say. “Charlie, I fucking hate her. I can’t believe I ever stuck my dick in that.”

She snorts.

“No one was all that smart at twenty-two,” she says. “You just got hit with particularly dire consequences.”

“Rusty’s not really dire,” I say.

“Crystal is,” Charlie says.

I tell her about the rest of the conversation: the waterpark, the fifty-five-mile-per-hour slide, though that part doesn’t really seem to concern her, the ice cream, the fact that Crystal refused to talk to me.

When I finish, I hesitate for a second.

“I haven’t even told Rusty about us,” I say.

“Have you tried, ‘Hey, sweetheart, Charlie and I are fake engaged but banging for real’?” she asks.

I laugh, still looking out at the parking lot below her apartment.

“Hey, honey, Charlie and I aren’t actually engaged but I’m absolutely tapping that ass,” I say, and Charlie snort-laughs.

“We’re hitting it super hard every time you go to ballet class,” Charlie adds.

“I might explain it to my second grader in slightly more PG terms,” I say, then lean over and kiss the top of Charlie’s head. “Like with the word girlfriend or something.”

“Sounds reasonable,” Charlie says, tilting her head up for a kiss on the lips.

OUR SEX fest weekend mellows a bit on Sunday, when we only fuck twice before finally heading out, back to my mom’s house for Sunday dinner. Crystal is bringing Rusty back at five — in theory — so we’ll all be there when she arrives.

We don’t even have sex the first time until after breakfast. I’d say that it’s because I’m showing restraint, but the truth is that I’m sore in muscles I didn’t even know I had.

The first is on the couch, one of Charlie’s legs thrown over my shoulders, the other around my waist, taking me so deep it makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. I fuck her slowly, lazily, wanting to stretch this moment out as long as possible.

Then, right as we’re leaving, she kisses me and suddenly I need her again, just one more time, so I toss her over my shoulder and carry her to the bedroom while she squeals.

I toss her on the bed, pull her shorts down, bend her over. Two seconds later I’m pressing her vibrator to her clit, five seconds later she’s moaning my name, and ten seconds later I’m balls-deep in her tight channel, vibrator still pressed to her clit as she arches her back, shouts my name, gasps make me come with her head thrown back.

I do. Twice. Then I come hard, pressing myself inside her like I’m trying to meld our bodies together.

When we’re finished, we’re both gasping for air. We’re both still wearing all our clothes, and before I pull out, I lean forward, planting a kiss on the back of her neck.

We’re only ten minutes late to my mom’s house.

THERE’S NO RUSTY, so there’s more drinking than usual. Seth and Caleb get into some red wine and hassle Levi about calling June ma’am at Riverfest. Levi has slightly more bourbon than usual and asks Eli when he’s going to make an honest woman of Violet. Eli has some gin and tonics and asks Caleb if an algorithm can predict when your brother should stay out of your damn business.

Charlie and I more or less stay out of it, though of course we get dragged into the fray a few times. There’s no avoiding it.

We eat dinner and dessert. We clean up. Five o’clock comes and goes, then five-thirty. At six o’clock a silver BMW finally pulls into the bottom of my mom’s driveway, then inches its way up to the house.

Every single time she comes back, I’m relieved, weirdly giddy to see Rusty again. She’s my daughter and I love her, but I also like her. She’s a pretty cool kid, no matter how much she drives me crazy.

As soon as the car stops, the back door opens and Rusty bursts out, hopping from her booster seat and onto the gravel. I note that apparently Crystal doesn’t have the child locks activated on her car, but then Rusty’s running toward me and I pick her up and whirl her around before giving her a giant hug.

“Hi, Dad,” she says, leaning her head against my shoulder.

“Hi, kiddo,” I say, kissing the top of her head.

She squirms. I put her down and she’s up the porch stairs like a shot, and as she opens the door I can hear her shout, “Charlie! My mom gave me a piranha—”

I can only pray it’s not a real live piranha as Crystal finally heaves herself out of the car and comes toward me, carrying Rusty’s duffel bag. She hands it to me like I’m the bellboy.

“Fun weekend?” I ask, determined to be civil.

“We took her to a water park,” she says, and starts to walk toward the house, sort of rolling her eyes. “At least she had fun, I’m too pregnant to do shit. I can’t believe I have two more months of this. Jesus, I have to move to Denver in this state.”

I hoist the bag over my shoulder and stop right below the porch steps, turning toward her.

“You told Rusty she was moving to Colorado?” I say, quietly.

Crystal doesn’t stop, but she’s slow as hell.

“Sure, why not?” she asks.

“Because that’s a long way from decided.”

She gives me one of her you must be the dumbest person on earth looks.

“She’ll be there some of the time,” Crystal scoffs. “The court’s not going to revoke my visitation rights. Hell, I think I’ve got a pretty good chance of getting custody back.”

My entire body flashes cold, then hot.

“Baby!” she calls, opening the door. “Mommy’s gotta go, come say goodbye.”

Whirlwind footsteps come clomping through the house, and I see Rusty’s arms wrap around Crystal’s legs.

“Careful there,” Crystal says. “Okay. Mommy loves you.”

“Bye,” Rusty says, suddenly serious.

“Bye, honey,” Crystal says, patting Rusty’s head. Then Rusty detaches and Crystal smiles at her, distantly, walks back through the door, comes down the steps.

“Crystal, we need to talk about this,” I say. “We can’t each be telling her different things, she’s seven years old and she doesn’t understand—”

“It’s fine, she’s smart,” Crystal says, walking past me. “I have to go.”

I follow her.

“It’s not fine just because she’s smart,” I say, my voice lowering to a growl. “She’s sensitive. She notices more than you think, and I don’t want her to feel like this is because of anything she—”

“Seriously, it’s fine,” Crystal says, opening her car door and dropping herself in.

I’m at the end of my fucking rope with this woman.

“Don’t just drive away,” I threaten, even though I know I’ve got nothing to back it up with.

Crystal closes the door. The car starts. I’m itching to wrench the door open, turn the thing off, get in her face until she listens to me, but I can only imagine how that would go over in court.

“I fucking hate you so much,” I whisper under my breath.

The window slides down, noiselessly, and for one thrilling moment I think she heard me. Good. I’ve been nice to her for years.

“I know you’re not really getting married,” she says. “Nice try.”

Then she stomps on the gas pedal and gravel goes flying as she backs up, nearly hits a tree, executes a sloppy three-point turn, and drives back down the driveway.

I’m left standing there like an asshole, stomach churning, fury burning right through me.