Page 114 of Gin and Lava

“Secret Fiancé, your bar is amazing!” Shauri sings, waving with both hands as she squeezes her way up to the bar with Naomi and the wedding party in tow.

They’re all wearing tropical prints: Hawaiian shirts and flower sarongs. The Gin n’ Lava doesn’t have a dress code, but I’m digging the matchy-matchy kitsch vibe. Shauri’s definitely the type of bride who would buy her entire wedding party matching robes, and dresses, and bedazzled flasks. Why not sarongs and flipflops while she’s at it? Naomi is wearing a peach-colored wrap dress that’s covered in palm fronds and hibiscus blossoms. The straps tie behind her neck, making the dress backless. It shows off a sinful amount of skin that I want to cover in coconut juice and start licking.

Trifecta’s at the back of the gang, giving a metaphorical middle finger to me by wearing a white button-up shirt and khakis instead of Hawaiian shirt debauchery like the rest of his group. He sizes up the Gin n’ Lava like a health inspector ready to shut me down; a prime example of the asshole doctor who thinks he’s better than everyone.

“I love your Instagram!” Shauri yells over the crowd, sporting a big hibiscus flower tucked into her hair. “You’re so funny!”

My eyes cut to Naomi, my eyebrows raising.Looked at my Instagram, eh?Naomi shrugs, her cheeks coloring.Good girl does her homework, and she might need to be rewarded for it.

“Oh! And your drink names!” Shauri points at the chalk board above my head and starts listing off names and laughing. “Hot Bitches Brew, Cranberry Swizzle Dick, Coconut O-hito. Those are all so you!”

“You looking for a Big Bamboo tonight, Shauri?” I ask, grabbing the extra-large tiki head glass the drink comes in and nodding to the groom-to-be. “Thick wood, massive head …” I point out the features of the glass as I start mixing the alcohols that go in it. “Fruity seven-alcohol surprise inside. It’s guaranteed to fuck you up.”

Shauri faux-fans her face. “This place is dangerous, Secret Fiancé,” she compliments. “I may have to chase this big boy with a Pussy Pounder, or one of those infamous Wet Hawaiians.”

Shehasbeen looking at the Instagram.

“The Wet Hawaiian is not on the menu,” I say to Shauri with a devilish smirk. “Have you been stalking me online?”

Shauri’s cheeks color just like Naomi’s did. “Guilty,” she admits, pulling up her phone and flashing the app at me. “I love this one with the coconut tits. You’re naughty, Secret Fiancé!”

I garnish the drink and slide it over to Shauri with a laugh. “On the house. Any chick who loves the coconut tits that much gets free alcohol.” I nod to Naomi at Shauri’s elbow. “You want one of these Big Bamboos, too? I can sugar the rim for you and give you something to lick.”

Shauri laughs again, but Naomi shakes her head, inadvertently biting the side of her mouth. Mmmm-hmmm. That’s what my Viking Princess does when she’s thinking about my dick.

“I’ll take a Rum Away With Me instead, please,” Naomi says, leaning over the bar and crooking her finger to sayCome here and give me a kiss.

“My Big Bamboo and I will Rum Away With You anytime, Princess.” I meet her halfway, her lips grazing mine before she nips at my bottom lip hotly. “I’m working,” I growl when her tongue decides to get frisky. “Trifecta is going to punch me in the balls if you keep acting like you want to crawl on top of this bar and do the humpty-hump.”

“Stop offering me Big Bamboos then,” she quips, sliding back to her side of the bar.

“Holy fuck, Naomi!”

A new voice jets in between us, and a shiver hacks at my spine.

That’s Arie’s voice—as in Arie, the owner of Flambé, Connor’s girlfriend, and my arch nemesis.

“When did you start sucking face with Mason?” Arie asks, standing to Naomi’s left and wearing a tight black 50’s pin-up dress. Her swooping red hair is twisted into an acrobatic up-do that accentuates the contorted frown on her face. Less than a month ago, no one would’ve put Naomi and me in the same room together, much less imagined Naomi openly flirting with me in public, or worse, swapping spit. Arie’s face is proof of that fact.

“Oh God, please tell me you’re not fucking Mason Haas!” Arie bellows, causing Naomi’s face to fall. Naomi is best friends with Esme—Arie’s twin—but Esme got all the nice girl genes and Arie got the bitchy ones.

Trifecta’s eyes zip to us like a hawk. His spidey senses have been tingling ever since he got an eyeful of the Naomi/Mason surprise. His gut is telling him something’swrongabout us together—and here comes Arie, swooping in to validate all his suspicions.

Our two worlds are crashing together.

I glance through the crowd and see Connor, Ned, and Olivia making their way to the bar. Our rule was Connor, Ned, and Esme were allowed to know the truth about the fake couple arrangement. Neither of us thought Arie would show up and threaten to burn down the illusion.

Arie who hates me.

Arie who’s a stubborn dragon that purposefully breathes fire, leaving havoc in her wake. It’s times like this that I really hate that Connor and her are dating.

Naomi tosses her blonde hair over her shoulder and turns awkwardly to face Arie, opening her mouth to explain the situation—but no words come out. The two of us together is too hard for her to say out loud.

It doesn’t make sense.

It’s a farce.

We’re simply not possible.

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