Page 1 of The Fake Out Flex

1

Evie

"Now, you know I don't like to meddle in your life, right?"

Wrong.

My brother, along with everyone else in Comfort Bay, loves nothing more than to meddle. It's the town's unofficial favorite pastime.

I cut off a decent chunk of Camembert from the charcuterie board, plonk it onto a cracker, and take a bite. Something tells me this conversation is going to require cheese and carbs.

"But I've come up with an awesome solution to your problem."

I'm tempted to ask which of my two major life crises he's referring to but instead opt for a cautious, "Go on."

Levi rests the ladle against the side of the saucepan, then turns and focuses his full attention on me. With his skinny jeans and faded Fall Out Boy T-shirt, he could easily be mistaken for a rock star, when in reality he simply manages the hottest pop act on the planet—WHAT NOW. Yes, in all caps because that's apparently a thing bands do now.

"It's to do with the, uh, unfortunate incident."

Ah, so we're on to discussing my love life now.

My cursed love life.

I'm not superstitious, but a string of three boyfriends in a row breaking up with me just before we reach the one-year anniversary mark? Come on. That can't just be three unfortunate coincidences. Is there an unauthorized How to Date (and Break Up With) Evelyn Freeman handbook floating around somewhere that I'm not aware of?

"And by unfortunate incident, you wouldn't happen to be referring to Bryce dumping me on live television, having the video go viral, and forevermore being known as Breakup Sneeze Girl?"

Levi frowns. "I liked my words better."

"Hey. It happened." Two hundred and forty-seven days ago, to be exact. But who's counting? "There's nothing I can do about it but move on."

I scoop up a few blueberries and hope that the whole move on bit sounded believable.

Levi assesses me with the same hazel eyes we both inherited from Dad.

"Yeah, see, I don't fully believe you, Ev. Which is why I've come home for the weekend, forced to activate concerned-big-brother mode."

I plop a blueberry into my mouth. "Remind me again how that's different from meddling-big-brother mode?"

"Let's not get buried in the details." He grabs a spoon, dips it into the sauce, and then extends it over the breakfast bar toward me in a bold and brazen attempt to distract me with chili shrimp sauce. "Here. Try this."

It's piping hot, so I blow across the top before taking a nibble. "Mmm. That's really good."

"Too much chili?"

"Pfft. Never."

One thing that unites my family? Our love of spicy food.

We've been known to make a game of it, seeing who can handle the hottest dish. It's not a real Freeman family dinner until we're all red, sweaty, and crying. It's nice to blame the tears on food and not decades of unresolved psychological trauma.

"I know the heat level is fine for you and me, but would it be too hot for a…normal person?"

"What normal person?" What's he talking about? "It's just you and me for dinner."

Levi averts his gaze.

I sit up taller. "It is just you and me for dinner, isn't it?"

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