Fake Shot (Boston Rebels Book 2)

“Why did you buy so many of those?” I ask when she comes back to my car with about ten boxes of Hot Tamales.

“They’re your favorite, so I grabbed them all.”

It’s no secret that I’m addicted to cinnamon—it’s my favorite flavor of candy, gum, and tea. I don’t know what I like about it so much, except that it reminds me of my childhood. Mom was known for her apple pies, which were heavy on the cinnamon and sugar, and she baked one every single holiday no matter what time of year. I find it oddly touching that Jules apparently bought out all the cinnamon candies in the gas station.

We drive in silence, with me holding my hand out every few minutes and Jules dropping a few Hot Tamales at a time into my palm, but she looks lost in thought, so I haven’t tried to engage her in conversation. We’re only a couple of miles from the Canadian border when Jules says, “I’ll sleep on the couch tonight, Colt.”

It seems tonight’s sleeping arrangements are weighing on her mind. “I really don’t mind,” I tell her. I do mind, because I know I’ll get a crap night of sleep, but I’d rather it be me that sleeps poorly than her.

“Colt, you’re used to sleeping in that ginormous king-size bed you insisted on moving into my house because Jameson’s existing bed wasn’t big enough. There’s no way you’re going to be able to get comfortable on a couch.”

“I brought my bed with me when I moved in because I sleep there every night that I’m not on the road. I’ll be fine on the couch for one night.”

“You sure you didn’t bring that big bed for all your hookups?”

I’ve made it abundantly clear that I haven’t hooked up with anyone in months. I even showed her my updated contacts in my phone. But she’s not willing to let go of my reputation—kind of seems like she’s clinging to it so she doesn’t have to see that maybe she’s a part of the reason I’m changing.

“I don’t do sleepovers.”

“Because you need that big bed all to yourself?” I can tell by the way she curls her legs up onto the leather seat and turns toward me that she’s teasing.

“Because I don’t want to set any expectations.”

“Don’t worry. Not only are we not going to be sharing that bed tonight, but even if we did, I wouldn’t have any expectations that it meant something.”

“Maybe that’s your problem, Jules. Maybe you don’t expect enough.” I chance a quick glance at her so I can watch the flush of embarrassment creep across her cheeks. It’s too damn easy to make her blush, and I enjoy it too damn much.

“Like I said”—her voice is defensive—“I wouldn’t expect anything from you.”

“What if I was your real fiancé?”

Shut up, you idiot, my brain screams. Why am I letting her know that I’ve even considered that, when I’ve already told her that I can’t act on anything I’m feeling toward her? I’m a fucking mess.

She coughs out a laugh. “Colt, the world would have to be ending before I’d actually agree to marry you.” Despite her words, there’s no heat behind them. It’s clearly an attempt to rebuild those walls she occasionally lets down around me.

“You’re going to at least have to pretend that you like me if we’re going to sell this engagement this weekend.”

“Nah, you’d never marry someone who was always fawning over you. That would be the surest sign ever that this wasn’t real. You need someone to put you in your place, Colt. And I plan to do just that, even in front of your family.”

Driving through my hometown is surreal. Everything’s the same, yet everything’s different. Same buildings on Main Street, different stores. Same high school, with a huge new addition off the side. Same grocery store, new name.

It’s been so long since I’ve let myself think about this place, and about what I’m missing by not coming home, that I actually have a lump in my throat as we drive through the center of town. As if she knows how I’m feeling, Jules reaches her arm over and rests her hand on my thigh. It doesn’t have the calming effect I’m sure she intends. Instead, it has my heart beating faster. Or is my heart rate increasing because now that we’re here, I’m going to have to tell her what happened between Gabriel, Cheri, and me so long ago?

My GPS directs me to take a left, but I’d have been able to find the inn without it. Pinevale is small enough that you don’t come here unless you’re visiting someone. There’s only one inn in town. But when we pull up to the white Victorian with its contrasting pale sage green gingerbread trim and wide front porch with floorboards painted in the same shade, I realize my mistake. I’ve waited too long to tell Jules the truth about my past.

Because sitting in three of the rocking chairs on the front porch are my brother, my mom, and my dad—and they wave enthusiastically when we pull in.

I drive to the farthest parking spot I can find, down at the end of the wide circular driveway, and then turn toward Jules in my seat. “I haven’t seen my brother in fifteen years, and I wasn’t expecting him to be waiting for us.”

“It’s going to be fine,” she says, squeezing my thigh, but I feel like she’s saying it as much for her own benefit as for mine.

“No, it’s not. Because I haven’t told you everything that happened between us, and there’s no way it’s not coming up right now, and no matter what’s said, I need you to pretend like you already know all of it.”

“Uhh . . .” She glances behind me, and when I look over my shoulder, my family is standing on the grass waiting for us to get out of the car.

“Please, Jules,” I whisper, then take her hand and bring it to my lips. “There’s no way they’ll believe that this is real if you don’t already know the whole story.”

“When were you going to tell me?” she asks, her brow furrowing.

“When we got inside.” I brush my lips over her knuckles. “Please play along.”

Dropping her voice, she says, “I like it when you beg.” Then she turns and is opening her door, leaving me speechless for maybe the first time in my life.

Mom must go around to the passenger’s side the minute Jules’s door opens, because as I open my door, I’m face to face with my dad and my brother. On the other side of the car, I can hear Mom gushing over “finally” meeting my fiancée.

Dad holds his arms out and wraps me in a hug, and when I pull back, Gabriel extends his arm, offering me his hand to shake. I just look at it, then up to his face, nodding in acknowledgment before I head to the back of my SUV, popping open the lift gate and pulling out our bags.

Mom and Jules come around from the other side of the car, and my mom takes one look at my carry-on suitcase and Jules’s over-the-shoulder bag and says, “Where’s the rest of your stuff?”

I point at the suitcase and say, “That’s mine,” and then at the bag sitting on top. “That’s hers.”

“Wow, you pack light,” she says to Jules.

“I’m pretty low maintenance.”

Mom laughs and says, “Good. Someone in the relationship should be, and I know it’s not my son.” Then she introduces Jules to my dad and brother, and I don’t miss the way Gabriel eyes me after Jules shakes his hand, as if to say: See, at least she’s mature.

“So,” I say as we walk up the path to the wide steps leading to the porch. “What are you guys doing here? I didn’t expect to see you until the party tonight.”

Mom looks away as we climb the steps, and Dad says, “We thought maybe it was best if the first time you and Gabriel saw each other again was . . . more private.”

“See, now I completely disagree,” I say, setting the suitcase down with Jules’s bag on top of it once we reach the porch. “I came here to see you guys. I have nothing to say to him, and the party would have been the perfect place for us to avoid each other.”

“You can’t avoid me forever,” Gabriel says, frustration ringing out in his tone.

“Want to bet?” I push the front door to the inn open, ushering Jules through. I’m about to shut the door behind me when Dad’s hand shoots out and holds it open and I hear my family shuffle in behind us.

“Hey, Patrice,” Dad says to the woman standing behind the counter. Her auburn hair has a few streaks of gray in it, and she looks familiar. But she’s too young to have been friends with my parents when I was growing up, and too old to have been in school with me. I can’t place her, and I wonder how many times that’s going to happen tonight.

“Thanks for setting aside the sitting room for us,” Mom says. “We’ll head back there while you get Mathieu and Jules checked in.”

“Sure thing. It’s all yours until teatime at four,” the woman says, before turning her attention back to us. “My, my,” she says, looking at me. “Haven’t you grown up?” Then she turns to Jules. “This little devil child was in my third-grade class my first year of teaching. He gave me such a run for my money.”

“Oh my god,” I say with a laugh. “Ms. Wilder?”

“I’ve been Mrs. Benson for quite some time,” she says. “When Roger’s parents decided to retire about ten years ago, we took over the inn so it would stay in the family. I’d had enough of dealing with eight-year-olds by then.”

“I’m surprised you made it that long after having to deal with this one,” Jules says with a smile as she pokes me in the side. “I’ve known him since he was a teenager and he’s barely matured since then.”

Mrs. Benson lets out a laugh, the kind that comes from deep in your gut, and then says to me, “I’m glad you found someone to keep you in line.”

“Oh, she does more than just keep me in line,” I say, unable to resist.

Jules rolls her eyes, and I do my best to ignore the way that makes my dick twitch, as always. “See what I mean,” she tells my former teacher. “He’s pretty much still a child.”

“But the most successful one to have ever left Pinevale.” Pride is evident in her voice. “It’s been a lot of fun watching you play over the years.”

“Oh? Are you a Rebels fan now?” I tease. We’re deep in Montreal territory, and if there’s one thing people around here take seriously, it’s their loyalty to their local team.

“As if,” she says with a laugh, then turns and grabs a key with a pale green retro tag off a hook behind her. “You’re in luck with the room. I know you were concerned about the size of the bed, and we had a cancellation for this weekend. The couple that was supposed to take the honeymoon suite had to change their plans, so that room is all yours. It’s going to be the last door at the end of the hallway.” She points to the wooden stairs next to the registration desk. Then she turns back, winks at Jules, and adds, “Biggest bed in the Pinevale Inn.”

I’m already afraid of what we’re going to find when we get up there. “I’m sure the original room will be just fine,” I say, because at least we know that one had both a bed and a couch.

“Nonsense,” she insists. “Besides, we already rented out that room to your cousin, Lane. He and his wife were on the waitlist, and now they won’t have to stay with your aunt and uncle.” She purses her lips, and we both understand exactly why this is better for Lane and his wife—my aunt is a raging bitch, or at least she was when I was younger. It doesn’t even surprise me one bit that Lane went to Ottawa for university and has lived there ever since. “They checked in about an hour ago and were so grateful for the room.”

Jules looks at me and, with laughter in her voice, says, “Guess we get the honeymoon suite a bit early.” Holding out her palm to get the key from Mrs. Benson, her eyes meet mine again. “Why don’t I go get our stuff settled in the room so you can have a few minutes to catch up with your family?”

It’s the perfect solution, really, as it allows me to explain the situation to her privately, later, instead of her hearing the drama unfold when I sit down with my brother for the first time since he got my girlfriend pregnant.

“Oh no, honey,” Mrs. Benson says, gently pushing Jules’s hand away. “I promised the Coltiers that I’d take your stuff up so you all can catch up before tonight’s party. You guys go ahead.”

She steps around the desk and grabs the handle of the suitcase from me. Well, fuck.