She shook her head. “No, it’s late. Like I said, this happens sometimes. It’s not you.”

  “I know it’s not me, sweetheart.”

  I slid out of bed and grabbed the remote off the floor. One of us must’ve kicked it off the comforter in our sleep. I turned the TV back on and hit play on the next episode of It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia. “Lights off or on?”

  “I can turn them off.” She clicked off the lamp and settled in next to me. “I have a weird request that I don’t want you to take the wrong way.”

  I rolled on my side to look at her. “What’s up?”

  “It helped before—when you squeezed my hand. Do you think you could do that for a few minutes?”

  I smirked just to mess with her. “If you want me to hold your hand, Brooks, all you have to do is ask.”

  “Shut up.” She smacked me on the chest and extended her hand for me to take.

  “It’s the pressure, by the way,” I explained, lacing my fingers with hers. “It brings your focus to something else when your mind can’t slow down. You know, it might be more comfortable if you got a little closer to me.”

  She scooted closer and leaned up on her elbow. “If you want to lay with me, Scott, all you have to do is ask. You seem like the cuddling type. Is Cassie a cuddler?”

  Cassie—the girl I wanted back. The girl I planned my future with. That Cassie.

  Even in a baggy T-shirt, I could see the curves of Lyla’s hips and the dip in her collarbone. It was the first time I thought to skim parts of her skin hidden underneath a material that would lift so easily. Her fingers were warm against mine, and I wondered if the rest of her ran this hot.

  Lord almighty, answer the fucking question, Deacon.

  “I’m a good cuddler. I wanted to make sure Cassie felt sexy even with her clothes on. It’s a sensual feeling, though, being close to someone and not expecting anything. I didn’t cuddle with the girls I slept with after Cassie—”

  “WAIT!” She shot up, and her eyes went wide.

  I bit my bottom lip to keep another obnoxious grin at bay. I knew the questions would pour out of her, and not a single part of me was mad about it. I could talk to Lyla Brooks for as long as she’d let me, and for the next two hours, that’s exactly what I did.

  Chapter twenty-six

  Lyla

  I lost count of how often I woke up hungover after a night out. However, this was the first time I woke up exhausted from talking and laughing with my fake boyfriend over It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia. It was one of those conversations that didn’t have a pause button, and I had way too much fun probing him about his bedroom activities.

  I woke up in the afternoon around one-thirty and was shocked to see Deacon asleep next to me. He usually started his day with a run and a cup of cheer. I shook him awake when people started showing up across the street for the Bring Your Own Pool Party. Deacon liked to be on time, even if it was just showing up to day drink.

  Charlie and I sat comfortably in our inflatable pool, along with everyone else who showed up with a child-size summer toy.

  “What do you think their neighbors think of this?” I skimmed my fingers along the water and sank deeper into the pool. It was a piping eighty-five degrees today, and I was starting to feel it. I took another sip of my piña colada, and when Charlie didn’t say anything, I lifted my aviators and tried again. “Charlie?”

  Her mouth hung open, and she held her giant pink sunglasses on the tip of her nose. She slowly turned to face me and smiled. “What did you say?”

  Her poker face had always been terrible. I looked over in the direction of where she was staring.

  “A little to the left,” she said when I missed the mark.

  Andre was standing next to the grill, shirtless, and with a beer in his hand. Tattoos covered his chest, and his shorts were tight around, well, everything.

  I pursed my lips and disapproved of Charlie’s behavior. “Close your mouth, Charlie. You get to ride that ride, remember?”

  “But I’ve never ridden that ride.”

  Charlie pointed—right in the middle of a backyard barbeque—to a few bodies over. My mouth dropped, but for an entirely different reason than Charlie’s.

  Deacon was laughing with Nathan and Drew about something Drew had just said. The group burst into hysterics, and Drew smacked Deacon’s shoulder. The only piece of clothing Deacon had on was his swimsuit, and it was the first time I had ever seen him without a shirt on.

  Fireworks may have gone off above me. I no longer had to wonder what was under all those tight-ass shirts. It was as if someone took a chisel to his smooth brown skin and left no crumbs. I thought he was pretty before, but I went ahead and tossed that version in the trash.

  “See what I mean?” Charlie smiled and pushed her sunglasses back up her face.

  “Bitch.” I laughed, splashing some water on her perfectly tanned legs. “That’s Deacon.”

  “Oh honey, I know who it is. Anytime you want to ride swap, just let me know.”

  “He’s my boyfriend.”

  Charlie shook her head. “It’s still wild to hear you say that. Isn’t your one-month anniversary coming up? Don’t couples celebrate that shit?”

  “We did celebrate last night,” I lied. “We took a few pictures, stayed up—”

  “Girl, I’m good. I don’t need any more details. But feel free to share the photos!”

  Maybe the celebration was a lie, but the pictures weren’t. Deacon mentioned that we didn’t have enough together and that a bi-weekly Instagram post wasn’t enough. What the fuck did I know? I didn’t know an appropriate posting schedule for couples.

  Meanwhile, I was still salty that I didn’t have a Mr. October yet. It had been a month since I slept with someone, and I was getting antsy.

  Charlie and I laughed when her drink fell into the pool, drawing the attention of everyone around us. I leaned forward to grab a White Claw out of the cooler, and when I looked up, Deacon was staring at me.

  The corners of his mouth dug into his cheeks, and he mouthed, “You good?”

  “Yeah,” I mouthed back with a smile.

  These exchanges between us were cute, but they weren’t going to cut it. Cassie was never in the audience, and we needed to start taking advantage of when we were in a space together. She’d seen us out at the bar multiple times, but Deacon always focused on the tiny things he thought would fuel her fire.

  Deacon knew Cassie, but I knew women. It was time to step up Deacon’s game. I agreed to be his girlfriend, but I would also be the best wingman he ever had.

  After my third piña colada, I switched to water. I learned early in my drinking career that sunshine and swimming were a dangerous cocktail, but adding in liquor? That was a risky game to play.

  We left the party around seven since everyone had to shower and get ready. By the time the guys cycled through Nathan’s bathroom, I had just finished a full body shave in Deacon’s. Nothing made me feel more prepared to tackle a mission than smooth skin and skimpy panties. Fortunately for Deacon, I was officially armed with both of them.

  After my shower, I changed quickly so Deacon wasn’t awkwardly hanging out in the hallway.

  Cheers erupted in the living room as Deacon backed into his room and kept his eyes forward. “You good?”

  “I’m good,” I said, smoothing out my top.

  Deacon’s eyes zeroed in on my chest, and I redirected his gaze with my hand. “Eyes up here, Deac.”

  Deacon licked the center of his top lip. “You’ve got a lot of—” He pointed to his chest, and his puzzled expression grew more intense.

  “They’re boobs, Deacon. I assume Cassie had them? I’m aware that they’re extra tonight, but I need them to be because I’m talking to her when we see her.”

  “Her as in Cassie her?”

  “Who else—” I felt myself growing flustered with the lack of concentration on Deacon’s part. “Yes, sweetheart. Cassie. Your ex?”

  Deacon walked over to the dresser and pulled out a white shirt. He slipped off his shirt and tossed it into the hamper.

  OKAY. So we’re doing THAT now.

  “Did she reach out to you or something?” Deacon asked with a furrowed brow. “Why are you planning to talk to her?”

  “Do you have a black shirt?” I walked over to the dresser and scanned his options. I pulled out a plain black V-neck and shoved it into his chest. “Put this one on.”

  I was throwing him off with all my demands, but his mouth curved into a slight smile as he pulled his shirt over his head. He was enjoying this.

  “What’s in your head, Lyla?” he asked calmly. He patted the jeans he was already wearing and waited for my opinion.

  “Those are fine,” I stated, lowering my voice to make sure no one heard us. “I’ve been doing some thinking, and these little run-ins you’re having with Cassie aren’t going to be enough. I need to approach her and say something to pique her interest. Everyone knows the girl doesn’t get officially jealous until there is talk about how happy the guy is. It will be even more annoying for her if it comes from me.”

  “And the black-on-black attire. That’s supposed to help our case too?”

  “Black is just the elite color option. Everything is better in black.”

  Deacon processed my game plan. “So you’re just going to talk to her? I know it helps when she sees us together, and if you add in that outfit you have going on . . .”

  “Yes, the way we look together helps.” I placed my hands on his shoulders and smiled. “You can’t just rely on looks, Deac. Looks might land you a meeting or get you in the door, but confidence and personality are what sells. That’s the shit that gets a girl to go home with you at night. There are plenty of guys rolling around in sheets that should just shut the fuck up and do the deed.”

  “Rolling around in the sheets, huh?” He ran a hand through his hair. “You say the sweetest things to me, Lyla Brooks.”

  I smirked at his adoring gaze. “As long as I’m your girlfriend, I always will.”

  Chapter twenty-seven

  Deacon

  No matter what time of year it was, as long as the sky was clear, I could find the Big Dipper. I wasn’t sure if science could back up my optimism, but I could see it whenever I peered at the sky.

  A warm breeze rippled through the trees on Court Street. We were running out of nights like this—nights where we didn’t dread the walk to the bars. Seasons changed quickly in Ohio, and if you blinked, you might miss the transition. I was ready for the warmer parts of fall to drift to winter. I’d miss the view of the sky, but I’d trade that for a time of the year that wasn’t tampered with painful memories.

  While Lyla’s thumbs danced wildly over my phone screen, I watched Drew put the moves on a girl he met at the Bring Your Own Pool party. It made me happy to see Drew enjoying himself this weekend. I missed my brother, and if this flirty interaction in front of me went anywhere, I would talk about this meet-cute at their wedding.

  “She’s at Bar 149.” Lyla handed me my phone. “Cassie posted to Instagram ten minutes ago.”

  “Are you going to fill me in on this master plan of yours?” I’d been waiting patiently for four blocks, and the anticipation was killing me. I needed some sort of notice for plans—especially when those plans included my ex-girlfriend and my fake girlfriend engaging in any kind of conversation.

  “I read your texts with her after you said I could, and she’s doing exactly what I thought she’d be doing. She’s reached out to you a few times since she found out about us, right? She’s probing you for information without you even realizing it.”

  When Cassie asked how I had been doing, she was probing? This was why the government needed to hire women to find information. They were born with skills in their DNA that men just couldn’t fathom.

  “You’re going to approach Cassie and start talking about, I don’t know, anything that makes you both reminisce on the good old days. But you want to make it seem like you’re happy.”

  I stared blankly at her serious expression. “I am happy.”

  “I mean, like over-the-moon obnoxious happy,” Lyla stressed and slid her fingers through mine. “And then, as you are talking, I’ll come up and slip in a comment. It’s simple reinforcement. You show how happy you are, and I reinforce the happiness. If any part of her still wants to be with you or has even considered being with you, it’ll light up. It’s the perfect match.”

  If I knew I would’ve had to reminisce on the good old days with Cassie, I would’ve rifled through my Freshman to Junior Year with C tote for inspiration. We were approaching Main Street, and I was running out of time to decide what memory to bring up in my upcoming conversation.

  It was typical that Homecoming Weekend drew large crowds from nearby colleges. On a regular weekend, we’d walk right into Bar 149. Instead, we were tacking onto the end of a long line.

  Lyla pulled out her phone, and her thumbs went to work. She smiled at the screen, and I pretended not to notice. It was the first of October, which meant there would be another “Mr.” I would soon hear about. I wasn’t sure if she saw Jake again after that night at The Attic, but since one of her rules was that we had to hook up with other people in private, I had no way of knowing that information.

  Lyla tapped my forearm and nodded toward the window of the bar. “Isn’t that Cassie by the tables?”

  I recognized her blonde hair and Cassie’s roommate, Clara. “Yeah.”

  The bouncer verified our IDs and let us into the bar. Once inside, Drew broke away with his new friend. Lyla and I ordered beers at the bar and then found a table near the entrance—one that faced Cassie’s table but didn’t make it obvious that we were there.

  Red and blue lights danced across Lyla’s face as she studied the scene. I was getting better at guessing what was in her head, but keeping up with how quickly she sifted through her open tabs was hard. Her ability to be upset in one moment and downplay it the next was incredible. I just watched her ponder something that was stressing her out ten seconds ago, and now she was staring at me with bright green eyes—happy and excited to be back on the mission.

  I took a sip of my beer and smiled. “So tell me. How do I talk to Cassie about how happy I am?”

  “Bring up something that shows you’re doing great without her. Then, bring up something that would make her miss you.” Lyla pointed dramatically to the dance floor. “Go over there and talk to her about something personal you guys did. Talk about sex!”

  I cocked my head. “You want me to go over to my ex-girlfriend and just talk to her about sex?”

  “You spent three years doing it with her. How awkward could it be?”

  I stole a glance in Cassie’s direction. Clara had just left the table to go to the bar, and she was alone.

  My lips parted, and I was drawing a blank. Suddenly, I couldn’t recall anything that Cassie and I did while we were together. “I just—”

  Lyla placed her hand on mine. “Do you trust me?” She raised her eyebrows, expecting to have to wait for me to answer, but I didn’t hesitate.

  “I do trust you.” I ran a hand over my mouth. “Probably more than I should, actually.”

  “Damn!” Lyla exclaimed. “Luckily, no one was around to hear that line.”

  I chuckled into the neck of my Corona, and soon, she was joining me. Laughing with my fake girlfriend and looking like a real couple was easy, but thinking of something to say to my ex made me anxious.

  What the fuck, Deacon?

  “You know what? I’ll take care of it.” Lyla drained the rest of her beer and placed her empty bottle on the table. “Go over there while she’s alone. Have that drink finished in five minutes, and I’ll pop into your conversation. It’s better to have your honest reaction anyway.”

  “Honest reaction to what?” I turned, but Lyla was gone.

  Fuck it. If I couldn’t talk with a girl I planned on having as my wife, my case for being with her wasn’t that strong.

  Cassie smiled when I approached her table. “Hey, you.”

  “Hey, Cass.” I took the spot next to her and bumped her shoulder. “How are you?”

  She nodded once before she answered. “I’m good. Just here with some friends. What about you? Is your girlfriend here?”

  The words left her mouth, but I still couldn’t believe she was the one who had said them. “Lyla’s at the bar getting us some drinks,” I said.

  Cassie’s eyes were bright behind her dark lashes. I always told her she had the bluest eyes I had ever seen, and I had yet to be proven wrong. “What is she getting you?”

  I shrugged. “Not sure. She likes to surprise me.”

  She smiled down at the table, and I knew that look. She was replaying something in her head.

  “What?” I asked, stifling a grin.

  “Just remembering when I tried to surprise you with a drink, and you thought it was foul.”

  “You brought me pickle juice!” I exclaimed.

  “It’s a pickleback shot!” She lit up as she spoke. “Part of it is pickle juice.”

  I shook my head like a disappointed father. “You know I hate pickles.”

  “I did always find that odd.” She raised her eyebrows and took a sip of her drink. It was a cranberry vodka, which meant she was a few drinks in already. She only got liquor at the bars if she had a few beers before coming out.

  The night she brought me that nasty shot was the night she told me she loved me. It was after her uncle’s fiftieth birthday party, and she had snuck downstairs to sleep with me in the living room. We stayed with her parents that weekend, and they had a strict separate bedroom rule. Cassie argued that they couldn’t kick her out of the living room, and after she said she loved me, I wouldn’t have let her leave anyway.

  I opened my mouth to speak when Lyla approached the table. I stared at my drink and noticed I hadn’t done the one thing she asked me to. I took two long sips and pushed the empty glass to the center of the table.

 

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