Chapter 6
EMERY
Me: Can I ask you something without you judging me?
Eli: Like what?
Me: Hypothetically, if I was going to pimp myself out…how much could I get out of a deal like that?
My phone rings, and the screen lights up with a photo of my little brother with his face smushed between mine and Eve’s.
“You don’t do phone calls,” I say, answering the call without a hello.
An irritating groan fills the speaker. “I do when you send me ominous text messages about pimping yourself out.”
“I said hypothetically,” I correct him.
“Fine. Please explain then,” he says, his voice groggy. I look at the time on my phone and almost chuckle when I see it’s before nine. Eli is probably still in bed, and it is the highest honor that he called me this early.
“Did you just wake up?” I ask, hoping to distract myself from my embarrassing dilemma for a minute.
“Yes,” he groans again. “Not all of us wake up at the ass crack of dawn to paint furniture like Mary fucking Poppins.”
“You obviously don’t know anything about Mary Poppins. She was a magical nanny—not a creative genius like me.”
“You have two seconds to stop annoying me before I go back to ignoring your text messages.”
“No!” I cry out. It took me a solid three years to get him to text me back on a regular basis. There’s nothing more humiliating than getting left on read by your baby brother.
He answers with a light chuckle, easing into our early morning phone call. “Can you please stop stalling then and tell me why you sent me such a weird text?”
“Yes,” I agree, adjusting the phone against my cheek. “Let’s say—and again, this is hypothetical—someone offered to cover the cost of replacing the engine in my truck if I pretend to be their fake girlfriend for the summer.”
Silence fills the other end of the speaker, and for a moment, I’m sure he’s fallen back asleep, but then I hear the rustle of blankets that confirms he hasn’t.
“I thought you said Honey Grove was quiet and safe.”
“I did,” I say, not understanding his point.
“You didn’t make it seem like the type of place that had escorts.”
I let out a small gasp. “It’s not like that at all!” Except, now that I think about it, it kind of is. Also, we haven’t exactly discussed the specifics of this deal, so who knows what Knox is expecting.
“Who suggested this hypothetical deal?” Eli asks, adding in an exaggerated yawn at the end of his question. “I’m guessing it’s some rich dude.”
I scoff. “Definitely not.”
“Then who is it?” he presses.
I bite the inside of my cheek. I didn’t want to tell him, but this is why I confided in him and not Eve. “It’s that guy I dated the summer I lived with grandma.”
“The douchebag that made you cry?” Eli badgers, not skipping a beat.
“Yeah,” I murmur.
“Emery, really? I still can’t listen to anything by A Day to Remember. You blared their music day and night, and guess who had to suffer through it with you? The poor little kid whose bedroom was next to yours.”
I laugh remembering the time my twelve-year-old brother knocked on my door and brought me a half-eaten box of chocolates. He even hugged me without gagging and running away. He used to be so sweet.
“I was going through a heartbreak, jerk,” I defend, my cheekbones aching from smiling too wide.
“You were such a drama queen,” he mutters. “You wore a flannel with scary dark eye makeup every day and tried to box-dye your hair black. You scared Mom.”
Black is still my favorite color, and my hair is still recovering from the cheap box dye I’d picked up from the drugstore. “It was just a phase, Eli.”
“If that’s what you want to call it,” he mumbles, “and now you want to fake date the dude who caused it?”
“It’s not like that,” I argue. I tossed and turned all night trying to convince myself it could work without all the feelings bullshit.
I just needed to convince someone else it would too.
“I could really use the help with my truck, and I can handle a few public appearances together. It will be over before I know it.”
“What’s in it for him?” Eli asks. He’s the level-headed one in our sibling trio. He questions everything and never makes a decision without considering all angles first. Eve is also level-headed, but gravitates toward her heart more, even if she’d never admit it.
“He’s buying an auto repair garage and needs his dad to co-sign the loan. But as of right now, his dad won’t do it because the entire town thinks he’s a no-good home-wrecking whore.”
“Come again?” Eli asks. I quickly explain the lore of Knox’s last scandal, giving my little brother more reasons to be apprehensive about the situation I’ve found myself in.
“And hence the no-good home-wrecking whore label,” I say, almost out of breath. My eyes follow Klepto as he moves from one napping spot a few feet across the living room to a new spot shimmering in bright morning sunlight.
A light hum comes from the other end of the phone as my brother debates what to say. I can feel his brain working from here. He used to make the cutest little scrunched-up thinking face when he was younger, so that’s what I imagine.
“Let’s recap, shall we?” he begins. “You’re going to date your emotionally unavailable ex-summer fling that made me wonder if you were unstable for an entire year so he can get a loan co-signed, and you can get your truck fixed.”
I rub my temples. “When you put it like that, it sounds…”
“Fucking insane.”
“I was going to say eccentric, but sure. Let’s go with yours.”
Another beat passes before he replies, “Is there any chance you still like him? Because that would be—”
“No,” I say firmly, not letting him finish his thought. “I wouldn’t even be considering it if I didn’t need the help.”
“If this is a money thing, Ree, I can—”
“No,” I say, cutting him off again. I was getting good at it.
“There’s no way I’m taking money from my baby brother.
Especially when your ass is going to be swimming in student loans after med school.
” Yes, soon I would be the only non-doctor among the three of us.
Add that to the list of things my parents hate about me.
A grumble vibrates the speaker. “You’re not supposed to remind me.”
“What are big sisters for?” I croon.
“But seriously, Ree. If this is something you feel like you need to do, then I’ll support you. But if this dickhead hurts you again, I will personally make the six-hour drive and beat his ass.”
I bite my lip, trying my best not to laugh as his tone turns serious. My brother has never been in a real fight in his life. He is more of the type to mediate a conflict—not work it out with fists. But it still warms my heart to know he cares.
“Thanks, Eli,” I say, squeezing the phone in my hand. “I miss you like crazy, you little dweeb.”
“Okay, you’re getting sappy. That’s my cue to hang up.”
“Whatever, kid. I’ll talk to you soon. Love you.”
“Love you too, Ree. I can’t wait for more updates on your weird small town escort business.”
Before I can shoot off a retort, a beeping noise comes through the speaker telling me that the little shit hung up. I shake my head before tossing my phone on the couch cushion beside me.
And then my delightful conversation is sullied by the thought of what comes next. My smile sinks into a deflated frown when the imaginary to-do list in my head expands into a very irritating scroll.
Top of that list? Agree to becoming Knox Cooke’s fake girlfriend.
The smell of anti-freeze and motor oil hits me instantly when I walk through the front door of Sal’s Auto Shop. The small bell above the door loudly announces my entrance—similar to the one at the antique shop. Except this one sends a fresh jolt of annoyance up my spine.
Maybe this is a bad idea.
I could’ve simply called or texted the guy, but I have to get used to his presence if we are going to make our relationship look legit. Besides, there are ground rules to establish, and I am far less intimidating over the phone.
My eyes trail around the freshly painted waiting room. It’s clean and tidy. Almost inviting enough to draw my attention away from the pile of papers strung across the front desk. It looks eerily similar to my own desk.
I sigh and swivel my head back and forth, searching for any kind of life. I can feel my pulse buzzing across the surface of my skin. God, I’m nervous and I hate it. My body snaps to life when I hear the light banging of metal-on-metal echoing from the other side of the wall. I walk toward it.
The soles of my boots squeak against the polished linoleum floor as I make my way toward the door, hopefully connected to the garage.
I know Knox is here. I saw his pick-up parked beside the building.
I can’t believe he still has the same truck.
I can’t believe that thing still runs. I have a very vivid memory of me steering while he pushed the hunk of junk off the road until he could get cell service to call his friend to come pick us up.
I also remember what we did to pass the time.
I squeeze my eyes shut, willing the memories to fall back into the mental box of things I don’t think about. Except once that box is open, it’s impossible to close.
Another clang of metal bounces off the walls, vibrating through my body. “Hello?” I call out, my voice quiet and shaky. Hearing no answer, I walk deeper into the garage, sidestepping random oil stains painted on the concrete.
It doesn’t take long to spot two boots poking out from underneath a Honda Civic. There’s another clang, but this time it’s followed by a few mumbled curse words.
I stand in place, not sure whether to announce my presence or awkwardly hang out until he emerges. But luckily, I don’t have to decide.
“Bambi, can you do me a favor and grab me the 9 mm socket off my workbench?”
My bottom lip falls open. How did he know it was me? I clear my throat and mutter a dense, “Okay,” before following his directions.
It doesn’t take long to find the right socket. His workbench is surprisingly organized. Everything is neatly stowed away in the proper nook and cranny. If Knox ever saw my workspace, he might combust.
I fight the smile playing on my lips and grab the socket before crouching down to hand it to him. A greasy hand pops out, and I plop it down effortlessly without a second thought. This may be the most normal interaction we’ve had since seeing each other again.
“Yup, that’s much better,” he says. The sound of wheels against concrete scratches my ears and the rest of Knox’s long body appears from under the vehicle.
He pops up effortlessly, and when our eyes connect, something simmers in the air. No. More like crackles. I wish I knew how to bottle that feeling up and toss it over a cliff just high enough that I can’t hear the sound it makes when it crashes to the ground.
“You know your tools, Bambi,” he says, pointing the socket at me.
I crane my neck and look anywhere but those baby blues. “Yes, it’s amazing what a basic education can do for you.”
Knox laughs and I hate how much it loosens the straight line cemented on my lips. “You’d be surprised. There are some grown men who don’t know the difference between a Phillips head and a flat head screwdriver.”
I nod and force a tight smile to my lips.
“Yeah, right.” But I knew all too well the kind of guys he was talking about.
My ex was not handy and could barely hang a picture frame on the wall.
Well, actually, he couldn’t. I had to do it after he got too frustrated from trying to figure out how to use the Stud finder.
Knox quirks his mouth, bending over to collect his tools and take them to his workbench.
I take a brief moment to let my gaze inch up the coveralls tied around his waist to the white tank top that fits snugly against his broad back.
If I squinted hard enough, I could even see faint black lines teasing me from behind the fabric.
I bite my lip, inwardly cursing whoever blessed this man with arms that looked ripe enough to take a bite out of.
I wish my fake boyfriend were slightly ugly. Maybe some disfigurement or a scar. Nope, a scar would be even sexier. Dammit.
“I’m assuming you’re here to talk about our conversation from yesterday.”
My eyes snap back to his, and I want to die from the smugness painted there. A blush is locked and loaded underneath my skin, and it takes everything inside me to suppress it. Knox cocks his head and smirks cockily, waiting for my answer.
I clear my throat. “Yes,” I say, the word coming out thicker than I intend.
“And the verdict is?” he asks, grabbing a stray rag from the counter and wiping up the grease on his hands. Why was that kind of hot?
“I’ll do it,” I respond, sucking in a deep breath, “but there needs to be ground rules.”