Page 3 of The Fake Out Flex

"I was going to say, young. But anyway, no, that's not who I locked down for you."

"Please don't use the term locked down in the same sentence as my dating life. I know I've had a run of bad luck when it comes to love"—understatement of the decade—"but I'm not resorting to locking anyone down."

"Fine. I won't use that term again. Consider it banished."

"Thank you." I hesitate, almost too afraid to ask. "So, who, then? Not some slimeball music exec friend of yours."

"My music exec friends aren't slimeballs, thank you very much. I'm very discerning about who I associate with in LA, and my friendship circle is filled with plenty of fine and upstanding?—"

"Stop rambling, and just tell me already."

"Okay. Fine." Levi smirks, lifting his chin. "Fraser."

The blueberry I just popped into my mouth goes down the wrong pipe, sending me into a coughing fit. Levi watches in amusement as I try to regain my composure.

Between sputters, I hear him say, "I was wondering if you still harbored a crush on the guy, and now I berry much know you do."

I grab a peanut and toss it at his stupid face because good people cannot leave bad puns unpunished.

Annoyingly, he ducks out of the way.

Even more annoyingly, he's now laughing.

I take a sip of water, square my shoulders, and level my brother with my most serious look. "I do not still have a crush on Fraser. My feelings for him are where I left my bangs, my anxiety about failing algebra, and my love of bracelet-making. In. The. Past."

"So that whole coughing fit was, what, your attempt at slapstick comedy?"

"I hate you." Then I point to the pot and smile sweetly. "Your sauce is boiling over."

"Oh no!" he cries, dashing over to the stove. He lowers the heat and begins cleaning up the overflow.

While Levi's dealing with the mess, I pile some more cheese onto a cracker—because blueberries are clearly a health hazard; point taken, universe—and take a minute to process the host of emotions Fraser's name has stirred up.

Yes, it's true. I developed a teeny-tiny crush on Fraser when I was a sophomore in high school and he was a senior.

We got close over a few months in the spring. Nothing physical ever happened. Fraser was a complete gentleman.

We just talked.

And not just about hockey, which was what our conversations normally revolved around whenever Fraser would come over and be forced to wait for Levi who, to this day, takes longer to get ready than my sisters or I do.

We really talked.

Fraser opened up and told me what was going on with him and his family. How much he hated filming the reality TV show his parents had signed them all up for. How he couldn't wait to get away, make it to the major leagues, and leave Comfort Bay for good.

Well, his dreams have come true.

He's playing in the NHL. He's one of the highest-scoring forwards since my dad. And he's just as reclusive and mysterious as ever. He only ever returns to Comfort Bay for the obligatory family holidays.

But I meant what I said to Levi—I am over my silly high school crush.

And the fact that Fraser left without saying goodbye, without so much as acknowledging the bracelet I made for him?

Yeah. I'm over that, too.

He probably did us both a favor, bypassing one epically awkward conversation.

Listen, Evie, thanks for the bracelet. It's really nice of you, but I don't want things to be awkward between us. Not with you being my best friend's little sister and all…

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