Best Fake Fiancé: A Single Dad Romance (Loveless Brothers Romance Book 2)
Best Fake Fiancé: Chapter 29

I STAY FOR DINNER. I don’t even know why. If I were smart I’d invent some excuse about needing to water my cactus and just leave, but I don’t really want Daniel’s whole family to know we got into a fight, so I stay.

As if the ensuing weird awkwardness doesn’t make it crystal fucking clear that we got into a fight. His brothers are all way, way nicer to me than usual. After dinner I’m clearing some glasses off the back porch, and Seth sticks his head out, then follows me and takes the stack of glasses from my hand.

“He’ll calm down,” he says. “You know how he is.”

“I’m not going to calm down,” I huff. “I’m never calming down.”

Seth gives me his slightly off-kilter grin. When he was a kid he got hit in the face by a large stick — all three of his older brothers deny being the culprit, but everyone knows it was one of them — so there’s a tiny scar on his upper left lip that’s just enough to make his smile the smallest bit crooked.

It’s very, very charming. Everything about Seth is very charming.

“See if you feel that way tomorrow,” he says, then shifts his stance, looks at me, a stack of glasses in both hands. “He’s just being overprotective,” Seth goes on. “You know how people are, they get up to all sorts of shit, then they have a kid and realize that the kid might get up to the same shit they did.”

“That doesn’t make it my fault,” I grumble.

“He’s never been good at staying pissed,” Seth says. “I predict he’ll start seeing reason by about eleven tomorrow morning, so by the time Rusty has her ballet lesson he’ll conveniently be full-on sorry.”

“Goddammit,” I mutter. Does everyone in this town know what Daniel does during Rusty’s ballet lessons?

“Sorry,” Seth says, laughing, and turns to take the glasses back into the house.

“You’re not,” I call after him.

He opens the back door and gives me that stupid charming grin again.

“Nope,” he says and disappears.

AT FIVE FORTY-FIVE the next day, there’s a knock on my door, the way there’s been a knock on my door every Monday for the past couple weeks.

Briefly, I consider not answering it, because I’m still slightly annoyed that Daniel apparently thinks I’m irresponsible and untrustworthy.

But then he knocks again so I shut the fridge and go answer it. Because of course, Seth was right, and I didn’t stay full-on mad forever.

“Hey,” Daniel says when I open the door.

The man really is irritatingly hot, even now, when I’m still slightly mad at him. I take a moment and give him a once over, because I think I deserve a little eye candy right now.

“We can’t have make-up sex until we make up,” I say, leaning against the doorjamb.

His eyes light up in a teasing smile.

“I thought the sex was the making up,” he says.

“Well, that’s why you were single until you made me pretend to marry you,” I say, but I’m laughing.

“Damn, Char, right for the jugular,” he says.

“Sorry.”

“Cleo’s has two-for-one happy hour beers,” he says, nodding his head toward my staircase. “Want to get a drink?”

“THIS BETTER NOT BE THAT Loveless shit,” I tease as Daniel puts a beer in front of me. “I get that for free.”

“It’s that horrible peach IPA from River Run you love,” he says, sitting across from me. “The one that tastes like licking a jolly rancher’s butthole.”

“At least call it tossing a Jolly Rancher’s salad,” I say, taking a sip.

“It tastes like heading to Downtown Jolly Ranch on the brown line,” he says, and I nearly spit my beer out.

“You made it grosser,” I say. “How the fuck did you make that grosser?”

He just shrugs and takes a sip of his own beer, looking pleased with himself. There’s a long moment of silence.

“I’m sorry for being a dick,” he finally says. “But I do wish you’d keep dangerous stuff away from her a little better, at least until she has some impulse control.”

I bite my lip as my annoyance flares, take a deep breath, and tell myself not to restart the argument.

Particularly because he’s being totally reasonable, and I know it.

“I’m sorry for not keeping better tabs on her,” I say. “But it’s also not my fault she stole something.”

“I know,” Daniel says. “We talked about that last night after you left. Also, she’s grounded for a week. Missing Jody Richter’s birthday sleepover this weekend.”

I gasp, involuntarily, and Daniel pauses, his beer halfway to his mouth.

“Is that the unicorn themed party?” I ask.

“Yup.”

“She’s been looking forward to that for weeks!”

“Then maybe she’ll remember not to steal things,” Daniel says, calmly.

And now I feel bad that Rusty doesn’t get to go to this cool sleepover. Kids are a total mindfuck.

“I’m also sorry I brought up how you were a total shithead when you were a kid,” I say, looking down into my beer.

“You’re not wrong,” he says, shrugging. “I was pissed when you said it, but…”

“You really were an asshole,” I say, finishing his sentence for him.

“The first time that Pat Sherman took me down to the station and gave me hell for taking a Snickers and a forty it scared the shit out of me,” Daniel admits. “But then he just let me go because he felt bad about Dad, and I realized that nothing was ever gonna happen.”

“Monster,” I say.

“It’s the worst part of being a parent,” he says, sighing. “Being afraid they’re going to turn out exactly like you.”

“Don’t worry, she’s already smarter than you were,” I say, grinning, and Daniel laughs.

“God, I hope so,” he says, then takes another sip of his beer, watching me over the glass. “Do I have anything else to apologize for?”

I take a long look at him, trying to corral my thoughts into some sort of order, because I still feel bad on some deep-down level, still feel like I’m lacking somehow, like I’m forever the girl who forgets lit candles, forever the girl who leaves saws sitting on chairs and would forget her own head if it wasn’t attached.

I wish I wasn’t that girl. I wish I wasn’t irresponsible, impulsive, flighty. I wish I had a daily planner that predicted my life exactly and I wish I had to-do lists with every item neatly checked off, but instead sometimes I lose my keys and replace them in the fridge.

But none of that’s an apology. None of it’s in the scope of this conversation, a whole list of ways I want to be different but can’t be, so I take a long drink of beer and say something else.

“You keep getting beard hairs on my sink,” I say.

Daniel just narrows his eyes at me.

“And you rearranged my spice drawer,” I go on.

“I put them in order,” he protests.

“They were in order,” I say. “It took me ten minutes to replace garlic powder the other day. I had a system, Daniel.”

He makes a face that clearly indicates what he thought of my system, but then he catches himself.

“I’m sorry about the beard hairs,” he says. “And I’m sorry for organizing your kitchen.”

“You mean de-organizing.”

He makes a perfectly neutral face.

“De-organizing,” he says, and then looks down and quickly checks his phone.

“You just looked to see if we’ve got time,” I say, and he looks up at me, half amused and half guilty.

“I have to go get Rusty in twenty minutes,” he says. “I have perfectly legit reasons for knowing the time.”

“Nah, you checked to see if we have time for make-up sex,” I tease.

Daniel just raises one eyebrow, then takes the last sip of his beer, puts the glass down, leans in.

“Cleo’s has a bathroom,” he says, his deep blue eyes practically sparkling.

I lean in too.

“No,” I say, fighting a smile.

“Come on.”

“They will never let us come back here,” I say, and he just shrugs.

I’m tempted. He’s definitely kidding, but I also think that if I said yes, he’d take me up on it.

“I’d live,” he teases. “Come on, there’s a bible study group in the back. Let’s scandalize them.”

We don’t. Instead, ten minutes later he leaves to go get Rusty, and I head back home.