Page 3 of Fake Engagement with my Brother's Best Friend

The truth is, that moment felt a little too close to flirting for my comfort. I shake it off and stand up.

Emily says, “I’m going to find Joseph. He’s probably off talking to everyone.”

As I watch her weave through the crowd, I decide to leave the table too; but I’m only a few steps away when Jess’s words reach me.

“By the way, Grace, I noticed the ring. Logan picked a nice one. Didn’t peg him as the type to go for something so classic.”

I freeze mid-step, my heart skipping a beat. My hand instinctively goes to the ring on my finger—my lategrandmother’s engagement ring. It’s always been a sentimental piece for me, nothing more, but the thought of Jess mistaking it for my actual engagement ring sends my mind spinning.

She thinks Logan and I are engaged.

Part of me wants to turn around and correct her, set the record straight. For some reason, the words catch in my throat. Maybe it’s the tequila making me bold, or maybe it’s the little thrill I get from the idea, but I find myself walking away without saying a word, leaving Jess in her misunderstanding.

Chapter Two

Logan

The moon hangs low over the beach, casting everything in a soft, silvery glow. The tequila has been flowing freely, and I’m feeling it—light-headed, loose, and just the right amount of reckless. Joseph and I have been shooting the breeze, reliving old stories, and the night has taken on that fuzzy, surreal quality that comes after too many drinks.

“Come on, man, you couldn’t handle it,” I tease, giving him a shove as we stand knee-deep in the sand. He stumbles, laughing, and shoves me back.

“Oh, please, Logan, you’re all talk,” Joseph fires back, his eyes twinkling with mischief. We’ve always been competitive, and it doesn’t take much to push us into a friendly fight, especially when alcohol’s involved.

Before I know it, we’re full-on wrestling, kicking up sand, and drawing the attention of the few stragglers still on the beach. Out of the corner of my eye, I spot Grace sitting with a drink in hand, watching us with a mix of amusement and something else—something that makes me want to show off a little.

“You’re going down!” I taunt, grabbing Joseph and flipping him over into the sand. He laughs, rolling away, but I take the opportunity to peel off my shirt and toss it aside, knowing full well that Grace is watching. I flex a little more than necessary, making sure she gets a good look. I catch her eye, and she quickly looks away, pretending not to notice, but I see the slight flush on her cheeks even from here.

“Show off,” Joseph mutters, trying to catch his breath, but he’s grinning, clearly enjoying the spectacle as much as I am.

“Just making sure everyone’s entertained,” I say, flashing a grin in Grace’s direction.

After a few more minutes of roughhousing, it suddenly hits me—I never checked in. My bags have been sitting by the bar all evening, and I’ve been too caught up in the fun to even think about it.

“Shit,” I mumble, raking a hand through my hair as I pull on my shirt. “I forgot to check in.”

Joseph claps me on the back, still laughing. “Better get on that before you’re sleeping on the beach, bro.”

I give him a nod and start heading toward the resort, my steps a little uneven from the booze. As I approach the bar, I see Grace getting up, her drink still in hand, looking like she’s had her fair share of fun too.

“Heading in?” she asks, her voice a little slurred, but still carrying that familiar edge of curiosity.

“Yeah, forgot to check in,” I admit, feeling a little sheepish. “You?”

She glances back at the lively group by the bar, then shrugs. “Just needed a break from all the noise. Mind if I tag along?”

“Not at all,” I say, feeling a flicker of something that’s not camaraderie.

When we reach the front desk, the receptionist looks up with a tired but polite smile. “Good evening, sir. How can I help you?”

“I need to check in,” I say, leaning on the counter, still feeling the alcohol’s warmth in my veins.

She taps a few keys on the computer, frowning slightly. “Can I have your name, please?”

“Logan Marshall.”

Her frown deepens as she checks the screen. “I’m sorry, Mr. Marshall, but I don’t seem to have a reservation under your name.”

I blink, not quite registering what she’s saying at first. “What do you mean? I was told everything was set up.”

---