Page 48 of The Fake Out

The problem was all this intimacy was kind of alarming and not because it would be awful.

Let’s face it. Chris was no slouch in the sex appeal department (hello, People’s Sexiest Man). The problem was that I might kind of, sort of, enjoy it. And that would be terrible. This was purely a business transaction. I was his friend. Anything more than that was not happening. No, sir. Not on my watch.

I looked down my nose at him. “You are slightly revolting, but I’ll figure out how to get through it.”

He smirked. “Besides, this is all for show. It’s not like it means anything.”

“Right. No feelings involved. It’ll be like kissing my brother.”

“Exactly,” he said. “It’s business.”

“Whatever you have to tell yourselves,” Piper said. “We want you to cause a little stir. Enough to get your photos in the blogs and take the attention away from the bad press. So, I need you to be adorably, sickeningly in love. Which leads me to this week. Our first goal is to get this town to see you fall in love.”

“Is that all?” I muttered.

Chris rubbed his hands together with something like glee. “Let’s do this.”

It was going to be a very long week.

NINETEEN

I grew up in a ranching town. One night at closing in our town’s only bar, two cowboys asked my sister and me, “Y’all want to go pig hunting?”

—KERRY C.

“I’ve been thinking about your library situation,” Ali said about four seconds after sitting across from me at the café on Monday. Fried chicken today.

“Let’s hear it.” The library budget had been put on the back burner while I was getting fake-engaged. My stomach had been in knots since I’d said yes to this whole scheme.

That morning I had checked one thing off the list though. I’d called Shane at Chicky’s and explained I needed a few months off for personal reasons. Surprisingly, he’d been willing to take me off the schedule without too much groveling on my part. He was probably relieved he wouldn’t have to comp any more meals due to my “attitude.” At least for a while.

“We need a fundraiser. Something that attracts people and gets them to donate. Or maybe a bake sale? Or a fun run? I haven’t worked out all the details yet, obviously.”

“Obviously.” I grinned.

“Wanna come over tonight, and we can brainstorm? I’ll buy the pizza if you bring the beer.”

My eyes dropped to the tabletop, and I traced a water stain left by a glass long ago. “I can’t tonight.”

“Why? You gotta date?” She scooped up a forkful of mashed potatoes and stuffed it in her mouth.

“Well, yes.”

There. I’d lied. It was official. The first lie of many lies. I was doing this.

“No way. You haven’t been on a date in, like, a long time.”

“Pot meet kettle,” I muttered, giving her pointed glare.

“We aren’t talking about me right now. Spill it. Who is it? Do I know him?” She gestured wildly with her fork. “Oh, my gosh, is it the new guy at the feed store? He’s cute if you don’t mind the missing teeth.”

“It’s, ah, Chris Sterns.”

Ali’s eyes grew so big, I was worried they might pop out of her head. She gave a tiny little anemic squeal. Then nothing. Not a sound. Just my best friend staring at me like I had grown a second head and it was playing the flute.

“Say something.”

“D-did”—she paused to clear her throat—“did you say you have a date with Chris Sterns?”