Page 17 of Don't Fall For Your Fake Boyfriend

Anya’s next in line, and she started dating Griffin not too long ago. He’s been a friend of the Atwood family since high school, and they had a rough go at it in the beginning, trying to keep their relationship hidden from her older brother, Callum. But everything’s worked out, and they are so cute together. Griffin’s the head chef at Atta Boy Brewery, and Anya works the private events.

Brock is next, and he works at the brewery too. He makes all the delicious beer that I love to drink. I’ve known Brock for years, being best friends with his sister, Anya. But we’ve never really gotten along. As I stare at Brock talking with his younger brother, Tripp, I’m not even sure why we don’t get along.

Tripp is the youngest, and honestly, I don’t really know him all that well. He’s always just kind of been there. I know he’s too young to drink, and I know he’s not very happy about it.

I study Brock as we all sit here having dinner, and my previous thoughts trickle back into my brain. What would Brock be like in the bedroom?

Would he be able to get the job done?

Would I like it?

I focus on Brock’s hands as he casually spins his beer bottle in one hand, and has the other traipsed lazily on the back of my chair. His fingers trace small circles on my shoulder, and it sort of gives me the chills.

My eyes meet Lake’s from across the table, and I stiffen in my chair. He studies me, studying Brock, and I square my shoulders, leaning in to rest my hand on Brock’s lap.

Brock nearly spills his beer as my palm comes in contact with his thigh under the table.

“Hi,” I whisper to him, and his brown eyes widen.

A slow smile spreads across his face. “Hey there,” he says back.

“Can you two please keep your hands off each other while at the table?” Anya says, rolling her eyes.

“I don’t know if I can,” I say with a smile, my hand rubbing Brock’s muscular thigh under the table. Wow, I’ve never felt a thigh this solid before. His pants tighten, and I pause, knowing I’m awakening his…item.

Brock clears his throat, placing his large hand over mine. “Don’t stop,” he whispers to me, and I reposition myself.

Now I’m sitting, facing the table, engaged in the conversation around me, as my hand runs over Brock’s thigh, feeling every muscle tense and loosen beneath me.

He’s slowly moving my hand closer to the danger zone the longer I rub on him.

Nobody’s paying us any attention, and we all laugh as Paxton says something funny that I can't even remember at this point.

All I can focus on is Brock’s thigh underneath my palm, and how good it feels.

Brock leans over toward me, his mouth near my ear and whispers, “You might want to stop now because if you keep doing this I can’t be held responsible for what I’ll do to you next.”

My eyes widen. “Really? Like four times worth?” What am I even asking? I need to put a halt on this, now. I stand up in a rush. “Anya, let’s go to the bathroom.” And then I rush out of the room.

Chapter 8

Brock

“Dance lessons? You can’t be serious,” I groan, running my hand through my hair.

“It’s supposed to be fun. Plus, you’ll be able to have your hands all over Willow like you obviously love doing,” Hartford says.

We’re having breakfast and Paxton just announced we’ll be attending dance lessons this afternoon. I’d rather stick needles into my eyes than spend the afternoon twirling around the dance floor with Willow.

At dinner last night when she was rubbing my thigh under the table, it was the first time I even considered pulling her back to our room and making her take care of what she started. After I told her to stop or I couldn’t be held responsible for what happened, she bolted from the table. Everyone was staring at me and I grinned as I shrugged, telling them she needed to go cool down. They all laughed, except for Lake. He looked like he wanted to leap over the table and grab me by the throat. I enjoyed the reaction and I winked at him before turning my attention to Callum.

After Willow and I got back to the room, that’s when things slipped right back to the way they always are with us. I’ve been sleeping on the couch, allowing her to take the bed. I’m a gentleman after all, but last night I made the suggestion we share the bed because my back was hurting.

Apparently, asking her to share the bed was equivalent to kicking a puppy. She started yelling asking if I was crazy. I thought she was joking at first, so I made another mistake and laughed.

Needless to say, I slept on the couch again and today my back is worse. Now, I need to spend the afternoon spinning Willow—the cause of said back pain—while acting like the happy couple we aren’t.

“I love dancing,” Willow says with a quick clap of her hands.

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