Summary:
Fake Boyfriend #1
Maddox
The reason I rarely go home is three simple words: I’m a liar.
When the pressure to marry my childhood sweetheart became too much, I told her I was gay and then fled to New York like my ass was on fire.
Now, five years later and after a drunken encounter, I find myself invited to her wedding. And I have to bring my boyfriend—the boyfriend who doesn’t exist because I’m straight.
At least, I think I am. Meeting the guy I’m bribing to be my boyfriend for the weekend makes me question everything about myself.
Damon
When my sister asks me to pretend to be some straight guy’s boyfriend, my automatic response is to say no. It’s because of guys like him people don’t believe me when I tell them I’m gay.
But Maddox has something I need.
After an injury that cost me my baseball career, I’m trying to leave my playing days behind and focus on being the best sports agent I can be. Forty-eight hours with my sister’s best friend in exchange for a meeting with a possible client. I can do this.
I just wish he wasn’t so hot. Or that he didn’t kiss like he means it.
Wait … why is the straight guy kissing me?
*Fake Out is a full-length MM novel with no cliffhanger.*
CHAPTER ONE
MADDOX
Fuck my life.
Staring at a ghost from my past is a slap in the face from reality.
What are the chances of my one and only ex-girlfriend walking into the very same bar as me? And in New York. Chastity-freaking-Wells.
Like any self-respecting twenty-three-year-old guy in this situation would do, I scan the room for an emergency exit.
I need to leave. Right now. I slip off my barstool and throw down cash on the bar, but Chastity and her three friends head straight for me.
Sweat drips down my neck as my gaze darts around the small space in search of an alternative route to freedom. Slasher movie music plays through my head when I realize I’m trapped. Not being melodramatic or anything.
Turning on my heel and walking toward the bathrooms as fast as I can, I get cut off by some drunk guy stumbling into me. He drops his glass and it smashes on the ground, the sound of breaking glass dashing any hope I had of going unnoticed.
When I glance over my shoulder, I lock eyes with the woman I almost married. Ironically, she’s wearing a tiara and veil. Along with a flashing badge and sash that read Bride to be.
Her eyes widen as she recognizes her past staring back at her.
I have to go say hi now, but I can’t get my feet to move. If I make a run for it, she’ll tell her mother, and then I’ll never hear the end of it from my Mom. Gotta love the suffocating gossip mill of small towns.
Chastity and New York do not mix. That’s what she told me when I said I was going to Olmstead University. Right before she begged me to stay.
Every step I take toward my ex-girlfriend, the more memories flash through my head.
Wear this, Maddy. Don’t go out with your friends, Maddy. Go to college in Pennsylvania so we can stay together, Maddy. Everyone expects us to get married when we graduate, Maddy.
Maddy, Maddy, Maddy.
With a deep breath, I plaster on a fake smile as my heart tries to hammer a hole in my chest. “Hey, pretty girl.”
Tears well in Chastity’s eyes. “Maddy? Oh my God, Maddy.” Her arms wrap around my neck, and I get a face full of veil.
She still smells like cherry blossom, and something familiar rips through my gut. Affection. Young love. Idiotic behavior on my part.
The truth is, Chastity didn’t do anything wrong back then. Granted, she might’ve turned a deaf ear to my concerns about our future and my attempts to break up with her nicely, but what I did to her when I left for college was unacceptable. I lied to her and ran away, and I’ve been running ever since.
I didn’t have it in me to be the guy she wanted. I was never the settling down type. I’m still not that guy. Probably never will be.
“Has Halloween come early or is a congratulations in order?” I tug on her veil. I’m proud of myself for sounding like a normal human when I’m freaking out on the inside.
She pulls back, but her hands stay on my shoulders. “It should’ve been us,” she whispers.
The tightness in my chest twists. “You know why that wouldn’t work.”
She wipes her nose with the back of her hand. “I know.”
God, I’m still a shithead. And still lying to her after all this time. I should tell her the truth; I owe her that much. I’ve managed to avoid her every trip home for the last five years, but then I run into her at her bachelorette party?
“We need tequila!” her friend screams.
That’s an understatement. I think I need a silo full.
Chastity’s face lights up. “Stay and drink with us?”
“Umm …” No, I should go. Tell her the truth, turn around, and leave.
But she pulls that face—the one I used to give into so well. Her bottom lip droops, and she stares at me with shiny, puppy-dog eyes.
“I can stay for a drink.” One drink, I tell myself. But I obviously haven’t learned from old mistakes and I’m lying again, because twenty minutes and five tequilas later, Chastity falls into my arms and sways to an imaginary beat that doesn’t match the house music.
“I miss you, Maddy. Maybe this is, like, a sign. Some higher power. Of all the people to run into—”
The walls start to close in. Suddenly I’m transported back to my eighteen-year-old self, and I need to run away. The pressure to marry the girl in front of me—not only from her but our whole hometown—was, and still is, too much.
More lies fly out of me without thought. “I have a boyfriend.”
Chastity’s smile is warm. “Figures. I’d love to meet him.” She gasps suddenly. “You should come. Bring him to the wedding next week.”
Uh … what?
“I’ll text my mom right now.”
“No, no. Don’t need to do that. We … umm …” Of all the times to draw a blank …
“Done. It’s no problem at all. We had two people who RSVP’d yes only to turn around this week and tell us they can no longer make it. You and …”
She waits for me to tell her my imaginary boyfriend’s name, but I remain still with my mouth agape.
“You and your boyfriend can take their places. We’d love to have you. Everyone at home misses you. You never visit anymore.”
Yeah, there’s a reason for that. “Umm, okay.”
Wait, not okay…
Did I really just agree to go home next week for my ex-girlfriend’s wedding? With my boyfriend?
I reiterate what I thought the second I laid eyes on Chastity tonight: Fuck my life.
***
The staccato rhythm pounding in my brain has but one name. Tequila. That cold-hearted bitch.
My head rests on the table in front of me while my usual coffee shop bustles with my worst enemy: people. There are too many people for this time of morning and this type of hangover.
“Shhh,” I say into the table. No one listens.
“Wow,” Stacy says, startling me, and I lift my head. I didn’t hear her come in or sit in front of me, but there she is. With two cups of coffee. I officially love her. “How hungover are you?”
I rub my temples. “On a scale of one to ten? One hundred and twelve.”
She laughs, and her green eyes shimmer in amusement.
“Thanks for the sympathy.”
“It’s self-inflicted. Suck it up.”
“Why am I friends with you again?” I’m officially not loving her so much anymore.
“Because I refuse to sleep with you. Had I fallen victim to your charms when we met, you never would’ve seen me again.”
She has a point. I met Stacy at a frat party freshman year, and she shot me down for six months straight before I gave up trying. Probably a good thing she stood her ground. Stacy is the one constant person in my life. We got each other through college, and then we interned together at the same marketing firm where we work now.
“I found myself at a bachelorette party last night,” I say.
“If you tell me you slept with the bride, was hired as the stripper, or had a three-way with two of the depressed single girls freaking out over their friend getting married, I’m out of here.”
I take a large sip of my scalding hot coffee and swallow hard with a wince. “I have slept with the bride. But not since high school.”
“Oooh, shit. Your ex-girlfriend is getting married?”
I tell Stacy the events of last night and how I’m in yet another situation I don’t know how to get out of.
“Wait, wait, wait. Back this up. Your whole hometown thinks you’re gay? How did that happen?”
“I … I may’ve told Chastity I was gay to break up with her …”
She’s trying to hide her smile. I know she is. “I’m so glad I made the effort to come this morning.” Her glee is my misery. “Even your parents? How does that work, and how did I not know about this already?”
“I haven’t introduced you to my parents for a reason. And you know me—I never get serious with anyone. I keep telling my parents I’m single and haven’t met the right person yet, and I make sure to stay gender neutral in all conversations.”
Her smile finally fades. “You’ve been lying to everyone for five years. I thought you were sad before, but this … this is—”
“You don’t need to say it. I’m a shithead. Tell me something I don’t know. But last night, I’m at this bar and in walks my small-town girl in the big city, drunk off her ass. So, I make my way over to her, and she’s throwing her arms over me, saying it should’ve been us. I have a boyfriend fell out of my mouth. And then …” I blow out a loud breath.
“Then what?”
I lower my voice. “I said I’d go to her wedding next weekend. With my boyfriend.” My head hits the table again and bangs against it repeatedly. Why the fuck did I agree to that? Not that she gave me much choice. That’s exactly how I ended up staying in a relationship with her for three years.
“You what?” Stacy shrieks.
“I was expecting a ‘I was so drunk. Maybe you shouldn’t come’ text this morning. Instead, I’m woken up by a phone call from my mother. Chastity had texted her mom, who called mine, and now everything’s screwed. Mom’s asking why I didn’t tell her I was seeing someone and how disappointed she was to find out from the Wellses. She demanded I come home and bring my boyfriend with me to stay the weekend while I attend the wedding.”
Stacy sniggers.
“Real helpful, Stace. Have you ever had to endure a guilt trip from a small-town mom? I’m surprised by the time we hung up this morning I hadn’t agreed to move home with the boyfriend I don’t actually have.”
She bites her lip. “What are you going to do?”
“Well, I was kinda hoping …”
“I’m not dressing up as a dude and pretending to be your boyfriend.”
I laugh. “I was actually hoping you could convince your brother to do it.” I’ve never met him, but she does talk about him a lot.
Stacy purses her lips. “Damon’s always working or studying. It’s pretty sad. I don’t know if he’ll be able to take the weekend off.”
“He’s a sports agent, right?”
“Soon-to-be, yeah.”
I don’t want to play this card, but it’s all I’ve got. “What if I could get him a meeting with a high-profile hockey player in the NHL?”
Stacy’s brow furrows. “Who?”
There’s a reason I don’t tell anyone I’m related to Tommy Novak. I barely know the guy. He’s married to my sister, who I’ve never been close to, and family gatherings are few and far between. It feels wrong asking him for favors, but I’ll do it if it means Stacy’s brother will help me. “All I can say is he plays for Boston.”
“And you’re really going to go through with this charade if I get Damon to agree? Why can’t you tell the truth? Come out of the closet. But in reverse.”
“It’d be a big scandal if the town found out the truth, and that’s definitely not what Chastity needs right before her wedding.”
“So, you’re doing this for her? She’s your ex. Why do you care?”
I rub my neck. “She’s the only relationship I’ve ever had. I was a dick for lying to her, and I don’t want that to come out during her wedding to some other guy. I figured if I ever found a girl I got serious with—which I’ve always doubted I’d do anyway—that I’d tell everyone then. I’ll tell them eventually, but this weekend is not the time to do it.”
“Why don’t you just say you can’t make it?”
“Do I need to give you the guilt-tripping mom story again? And if I go home and say we broke up, she’ll force comfort food into me and make me stay a week to wallow. That’s the type of mom she is.”
Stacy searches in her bag and pulls out her phone. “I’m on it.”
“Really?”
“I’d love to say I’m doing this because I’m your friend, but honestly? The thought of you having to pretend to be gay for forty-eight hours entertains me immensely.”
Of course, it does.
Eden Finley
Eden Finley is an Amazon bestselling author who writes steamy contemporary romances that are full of snark and light-hearted fluff.
She doesn't take anything too seriously and lives to create an escape from real life for her readers. The ideas always begin with a wackadoodle premise, and she does her best to turn them into romances with heart.
She's also an Australian girl and apologises for her Australianisms that sometimes don't make sense to anyone else.
RB MEDIA / AUDIOBOOKS / CHIRP
EMAIL: edenfinley@gmail.com
