The heavy thud of my heart in my chest accelerates, pumping faster as the thrill of a new idea courses through my veins. A new mission.
“Is that a bet?”
“What?” She glides her hands through the water, giving me a confused look.
“That things would be different if you had a different last name?”
“It’s not a bet. It’s a fact.”
“I’ll take that bet.” My body thrums as this new idea takes shape in my mind. I’d also be willing to bet a therapist wouldn’t approve of my plan. But I stopped seeing one a couple of months ago, so nothing is holding me back.
“What bet? For a guy who drinks chamomile tea all night, you seem awfully confused.”
“I’ll give you my last name and we’ll see if people treat you differently.”
She goes deathly still. “How?”
“We get married.”
There’s a pregnant pause. It seems like even the creek stops babbling. And then, “I’m not marrying you. That’s insane.”
I wave off her words. I’m not accustomed to being rejected. Rejection doesn’t factor into my mindset. I usually get what I want, at any cost.
“We’ll get engaged. That will give you the promise of becoming an Eaton. We can plan a wedding that never happens.”
“Fake engaged?” She sounds incredulous, and I can’t blame her. This is a cracked plan. I’m definitely not thinking straight, but I also feel more excited than I have in literal months.
“Yes. We test our theories in public and break up before a wedding ever happens. Obviously.”
“Did you spike your tea with something?”
A deep laugh bubbles up out of me. “No.”
“Are you high?”
I roll my eyes now. “Bailey.”
“Don’t Bailey me!” She slaps the water with both hands as she laughs—a high, unhinged sort of squeal. “You’re acting insane. Why would you want to pretend to be engaged to me? Why would you do this?”
“Because it would get my family off my ass about how I’m doing, and where I spend all my time, and all that other overbearing shit they constantly ask me about. And I love a competition. What do I get if I win?”
“I haven’t agreed to this yet.”
Yet. I’ll take that.
Her white teeth drag across her bottom lip as she turns the idea over in her head.
I give her more to consider. “If you’re right, you’ll get everyone in town off your back for however long it takes you to get out of here. Maybe you can even get another job that pays better.”
“People won’t believe this.”
“Why not?”
“Because you’re like town royalty. And you’re … how old are you? You’d never go for me.”
Wrong.
As soon as the thought springs up in my head, I shove it away. I sidestep every part of myself that knows there’s a self-serving aspect to this arrangement.
Every part of myself that knows I don’t care about the bet at all. I keep telling myself I am in control when it comes to Bailey.
I want to have control.
But I don’t.
“I’m thirty-five. And I’d definitely go for you.”
Fuck. I shouldn’t have said that. I’m losing it tonight, running on the familiar sensation of adrenaline coursing through my veins. Flush with the confidence that the old me possessed.
She tears her gaze away, staring down the river, and a shiver runs through her.
“Shit, you must be cold.” I sense her gaze back on me, tracing my outline in the dark. “Why don’t you get out?”
“Because I’m not wearing anything.”
My heart crashes against my ribs before coming to a screeching halt.
“I won’t look.”
Her head tilts. “Why don’t you get in?”
“Why?”
Her lips twitch. “So I can see what I’m signing up for. Are you husband material, Beau Eaton?”
“Probably not.” I smirk. “But if you want to show me yours, I’ll show you mine.”
She doesn’t respond. She just stares. It feels like an entire conversation passes between us in the dark river alley.
Knowing I won’t follow through with that challenge, I drop her gaze and turn my back to the water. Cutting the thread pulled taut between us. Not wanting to be that guy. She’s vulnerable right now, and my control is horribly frayed.
But I find myself desperately hoping she’ll humor me and go for this arrangement. On paper, it seems like she’d get more out of the arrangement.