“Nothing,” she says quickly. “Just... it’s weird seeing you with my parents.”
“I’ve been with them a million times.”
“Yeah, but now you’re doing it as my boyfriend. Fake boyfriend,” she corrects, a flush creeping up her neck. “It’s different.”
I don’t know what to say to that, so I change the subject. “So, this broadcast prep. What exactly are we doing?”
She snaps into professional mode. “We need to practice our on-air dynamic. Banter, transitions, that kind of thing. And we should work out our relationship backstory in detail, since people are going to start asking tomorrow.”
I nod, unbuttoning my shirt. Sydney’s eyes widen slightly before she turns away.
“I’ll, uh, go change in the shed.” She grabs her bag and heads for the small wooden structure next to the spring.
While she’s gone, I strip down to my swim trunks and ease myself into the hot water. The relief is immediate—a pleasant burning sensation that seeps into my muscles and makes my injured shoulder throb less. I lean back against the stone edge, closing my eyes and letting the heat work its magic. It smells a little sulfur-y, but the atmosphere of trees and woods as far as the eye can see more than makes up for it.
“Room for one more?”
My eyes snap open to find Sydney standing at the edge of the spring in a navy blue bikini that makes my mouth go dry. She’s so damn fine. Don’t get me wrong, I dig the Smurf pajamas, but this getup… whoa.
“Plenty.” I move to one side even though there’s already enough space for her.
She slides into the water with a small hiss of pleasure that makes my dick over-inflate again. “Oh, that’s nice,” she sighs, sinking down to her shoulders.
And my brain is back to having her underneath me, making those squeaky noises as I do everything to please her.
Enough.
For a moment, we just sit, letting the hot water do its thing. Sydney has her eyes closed, her head tipped back, exposing the elegant line of her throat.
A droplet slides down her neck, disappearing beneath the surface, and I have to force myself to look away.
“So.” She breaks the silence. “Our story. Details.”
“Right,” I say, too quickly.
She nods, opening her eyes to look at me. “After that first date in Boise where you were a gentleman. What happened next? We weren’t in the same town. So when did we see each other again? Did we hook up?”
The thought of Sydney and me hooking up sends another jolt through me. “I sneaked over to Dickens to see you.” I keep my voice neutral. “I took you to my grandfather’s old cabin up in the mountains behind Meema’s house.”
“I forgot about that place—I’ve only ever seen it from a distance. I bet the view’s beautiful.”
“It is. So, yeah, while we were there, I—again—apologized profusely for being such an ass all these years.”
“Wow, fake Brooks is much moreemotionally available than real Brooks.”
“Fake Brooks has his shit together. Unlike the real version.”
Something flickers across her face—concern, maybe? “Okay, then what?”
“Then you made me dinner.” I laugh. “Just kidding. No one would believe that.”
She gasps, but I can tell she’s faking it. “Hey, my cooking isn’t that bad.” After a hesitation, she says, “Okay, it’s that bad. You cooked again.”
“That works. Then, outside by the firepit roasting s’mores, maybe you finally admitted you always had a secret thing for me. Or at least my cooking.”
“In your dreams, Brooksie,” she shoots back. “But fine, in this fake world, I admitted those things. What else did we talk about?”
“Sports, duh. Your job at the station. My career. Neutral territory.”
