“How was your three-day extravaganza?”
“Good,” I answer with a lazy shrug.
Eli arches one eyebrow. “Just good?”
“Made bank. So yeah, good.”
Eli presses his foot hard against mine, before tickling the bottom of my foot with his toes. I kick him until we devolve into a small play fight on the couch. Benji jumps over the back of the sofa, effectively stopping our wrestling.
A few moments later, Jackson strolls back into the living room, dressed in an impeccable black suit. He flicks a goodbye wave toward us.
“Heading out. I’ll be back late.”
“Jeez, I come home and everyone leaves,” I tease.
“I’m not going out,” Benji replies with a small frown.
Jackson playfully flicks Benji’s ear. “Be good, Sunshine.”
“I’ll put a snake in your bed.”
Jackson scoffs. “I’d like to see you do it.”
Benji angrily narrows his eyes at Jackson. A couple of seconds pass before Jackson crumbles under the stare, dipping down to sweetly kiss the apple of Benji’s cheek.
“Just kidding, love you, Benji.”
Benji’s face transforms into pure sunshine, dimples on display, light blue eyes twinkling. Scary how fast the man can go from terrifying to downright angelic. We all watch Jackson leave, turning at the same time to look at one another once the door closes shut behind him.
“So?” Benji asks.
Eli jumps up from the couch in a hurry. “I’ve got to go get ready.”
Benji and I look at each other, then quietly agree with no discussion that we’ll go our separate ways for the rest of the evening. Good for me.
I spend an hour or so in the gym, take a shower, then return to my mostly empty apartment a few floors below the clubhouse. I snuggle down onto the blankets of my bed with my phone todo what I always do when I take a job. Social media stalking my future fake boyfriend.
Beau Callahan has no online presence at all. Nothing. What the hell? What kind of man has absolutely no social media?
All I can find is a business in Northeast Florida for a family farm that hosts seasonal events and lets people pick their own fruit throughout the year. One of those sorts of places. They even have a pumpkin patch in the fall. I absolutely do not get absorbed in looking at all the photos of families picking pumpkins.
But that’s when I hit pay dirt.
Finally, a picture of Beau Callahan. I only know it’s Beau because it’s from the sister I assume whose wedding I’ll be attending. Andy Callahan posted a picture and tagged Clay Road Farms. Beau leans against a fence, a ball cap obscuring a good portion of his face, and he’s petting a night-sky-black horse. But I can see the smile on his lips even from the bad angle of the photograph. Scruff covers his chin, and he’s dressed in worn-to-hell work jeans, boots, and a faded work shirt that has Clay Road Farms blazoned across the back.
The back of his shirt is stretched taut against the solid line of his back. He’s a big guy, almost level with the horse. My stomach does a few flips just at the sight of him. Oh yeah, playing fake boyfriend to Beau Callahan won’t be a pain at all.
The flight from Atlanta to Orlando is splendidly short. Is it a little silly to take a flight for what would’ve been a seven-hour drive? Yes. But also, there’s zero chance of road rage from me if I’m sitting in business class with an Arnold Palmer.
Humidity smacks me in the face the moment I step through the airport sliding doors. The sticky summer heat almost makes me gag, the thick air stuck in my throat. With a heavy sigh, I tie my hair up in a messy bun to prevent it from sticking to my neck.
Families eager to get to the theme parks in Orlando bustle around me. A young girl bumps into my side, and apologizes with a smile, so I just smile gently back at her letting her know it’s alright. I watch her disappear with her family, long blonde curls dancing as she skips while holding her mother’s hand tightly. Happy families. Must be nice.
“Trevor?” a deep voice calls out to me.
My brain takes a few moments to reboot when my gaze finally lands on Beau. My God. It’s like looking directly at the sun. The photo I found of him online holds no comparison at all to the beauty of a man that stands before me. Beau is wildly tall, towering over everyone else at arrivals. Leaning against his truck, his forearm presses against the roof, dark green ball cap on his head. But it’s the warm smile that makes him feel a little less large and a lot more sweet.
A whistle rents through the air from the tired parking cop, which I take as a sign to quickly hustle towards the truck. Beau comes around the truck, opens my door, and gestures for me to climb inside. I hop in with my most charming smile. Beau takes it in stride, smiling sweetly right back at me, then slams his own door shut.
