Hopeless (Chestnut Springs, #5)(27)

I push away from him, chest heaving like I’ve just been on a run. My nostrils flare as I try to pull myself together. Again.

Composing myself, I brush at my dress and steer the conversation in a different direction. “Okay, well, I’m going home. I’ll see you around.” I give him a drive-by smile, one that feels forced and is only turned on him for a beat as I look around myself, settling on the ground like it’s super interesting.

“What about your brothers?”

He snaps my attention back up to him with the question and I wave him off. “Nah. They’ll be sleeping off last night. Without Dad around, they don’t even pretend to stay in line.”

He assesses me a little too closely. His jaw pops, which suggests he doesn’t believe me or doesn’t like the answer. The edge of anger emanating from him makes me nervous.

“Okay, well—”

“We need to tell my family soon. Would be weird for them to find out from someone else.”

“I’m off tonight. We could … ”

“Okay. I’ll see what I can pull together and let you know.”

He’s all business now. Except for the leaf stuck in his hair. My cheeks tug up at the sight.

I expected to feel uncomfortable around Beau, uncomfortable with this deal. But I don’t. I practically showed him my nipples, and now we’re standing here chatting like normal grown-ups who can easily talk about sex and bodies.

“Great. Well … ” I rock on my feet, searching for a way to end this conversation, not sure where we go from here. “Thanks for the … practice.” The word comes out on an awkward laugh, and I shake my head at myself, dropping my gaze again.

Only to see that the swelling in his shorts is still there.

This is fake, fake, fake.

Suddenly, I feel a lot less grown-up. I feel giddy and uncertain, and like I need to get away so I can squeal into a pillow and overanalyze every single thing that has happened in my life for the past few days.

So, I dart to the barely there path I’ve created up this side of the bank because I need to put a little space between Beau and his big dick and me.

A low chuckle caresses the back of my neck.

“Bailey, we’re going to need a lot more practice if we’re going to pull this off.”

“Why’s that?” I call over my shoulder, refusing to turn back to him.

“Because if you act all jittery around me, no one is going to believe we’re madly in love. And I need them off my ass.”

I bark out a laugh. This entire thing is ridiculous. “Well, just don’t ask me if my pussy is wet in front of them.” I hit the top of the embankment and feel more in control now that I’ve got room to breathe. Hands on my hips, I stare down at him, huffing lightly, sucking in the fresh morning air. “Then we should be fine.”

That mischievous smile pops up on his face again, but it’s not all play—there’s an edge of danger to it too. “But it will be, right?”

“No. Because this is fake, remember?”

He stretches now, hands behind his head, grinning like the Cheshire Cat. “You faked those hard nipples real well, sugar tits.”

I have most certainly bitten off way more than I can chew.

And all I can think as I stare down at this beautiful, broken, confusing man is …

What the fuck have I done?





10


Beau


Beau: Dinner tonight at six. All set with the fam.

Bailey: Okay. I’ll have to walk over.

Beau: Why?

Bailey: I have a flat tire.

Bailey: Actually, four flat tires.

Beau: I’m coming over. Right now.

Bailey: Why?

Beau: Because four flat tires aren’t an accident. No one just randomly gets four flat tires.

Bailey: Not sure my brothers will like an Eaton driving onto the property. Don’t come here. It’s not safe for you.

Beau: Bailey, I don’t give a fuck what they like.



I drive onto the Jansen property like I own the fucking place. I’m going to play it cool enough not to freak Bailey out, but I want to smash something. The rage that’s always in me simmers too close to the surface for comfort.

My palms twist on the steering wheel of my truck as I run through what I plan to say to her in my head, so I don’t come off like an overbearing asshole.

I drive past the main house, a bit shocked by the neglect. Every side displays chipped paint, while cardboard slabs secured by duct tape cover some windows.

Tattered clothes are hanging on a line, and I wonder how long they’ve been there. Beer cans litter the yard, concentrated around a large burn barrel just steps from the back door.

Too fucking close to the house to be safe. Idiots.

I knew this property was a dump, but seeing it firsthand—knowing Bailey grew up in this squalor—makes something in my chest twist.

She deserves so much better than this. She shouldn’t have to hide in the fucking riverbank from her own flesh and blood or worry about the people she should trust most in the world stealing shit from her.

I keep driving past the shithole her brothers call home, heading toward the river in the general direction of where I know she must live.

I weave through the treed lot, over the dry bramble that collects in the wheel ruts that lead me further back into their property. There’s clearly been zero maintenance.