in and deal with them. Deacon would do that, and fists would fly for fucking sure.
Chapter Eight
Sunday afternoon, I blew out a breath when Sam pulled up in front of my foster parents’ house. He and Dane had picked me up on the way to the barbecue. A few cars were parked nearby, including Simon’s, Ashley’s, and—ugh—Heather’s.
I’d offered to give my dad a ride to the barbecue, but he’d wanted to get there early to help Wyatt set everything up. The two men got along seriously well, and I loved that. Loved that neither felt threatened by my relationship with the other.
I looked at Dane, whose thumbs were tapping away on his phone. I’d never seen him in jeans before. He didn’t look any less appealing. Or any less smart, for that matter. That was mainly due to his crisp, white shirt that was open at the collar and flashing a patch of lick-able golden skin. No one should possess that much natural raw masculinity. No one.
He seemed utterly relaxed. But then, of course he was. He wouldn’t be feeling the standard “meeting the parents” pressure. It wouldn’t matter to him if my family liked him or not. He didn’t need it to matter. He only needed them to buy that we were a happy couple.
“We’re here,” I told him.
He briefly looked up, but his thumbs didn’t still. “So I see.” A few moments later, he finally pocketed his phone. “You ready?”
“Yes. Are you? Because they’re going to quiz you and study you and watch every move you make. And considering you plan to marry me in a few days”—cue stomach roll— “you’re going to need to convince these people that you care for me so that the elopement isn’t too much of a shock for them.”
“You’re not telling me anything I don’t already know. Now come on, let’s go.”
“Wait, one more thing. You should know that Melinda and Wyatt’s daughter, Heather, is going to flirt with you. Like a lot.”
He frowned. “Why, when she believes I’m with you?”
“Being a bitch is kind of her thing. She loves to provoke me; gets off on it. No one’s going to tell her to stop flirting, because they’ll want to see how you react, so just be aware that your response to her will be watched closely. If you show the slightest bit of interest in her, they’ll write you off as no good for me.”
“Understood.”
We both exited the car. By the time he’d joined me on my side of the vehicle, his demeanor had changed. Gone was the cool, curt, indifferent male I worked for. In his place was a guy who looked open and easygoing, and I was confident that he’d fool every person waiting to meet him. And that made me feel like utter shit.
I was going to let him play these people—most of whom I cared for. Hell, I would be playing them as well. Although I didn’t regret that I’d let him take care of the sextortion extravaganza, I often wished he’d called in a different kind of favor.
“Did you ever take acting classes?” I asked him quietly.
He threw me a slight frown. “No.”
Slipping into another person’s skin apparently just came naturally to him, then.
Having used the front door key that Melinda had long ago given me, I led Dane through the house and out into the backyard. Music played, but it wasn’t too loud to override the sounds of chatter, laughter, and the grill spluttering. The warm air was laced with the scents of smoke, beer, charred meat, and the various foods on the patio table.
Simon, Wyatt, and Tucker stood near the grill, deep in conversation. Junior was playing tug of war with Ranger—both were gripping an old frisbee tight. Soaking up a drink spill on the table with a clump of napkins, Melinda talked with her elderly neighbor, Nancy—who often invited herself to her neighbor’s get-togethers. Ashley lounged on a chair, sipping soda, nodding along to whatever Melinda was saying. Heather stood off to one side with her friend, Jana, who was just as much of a bitch as Heather. Well, like often called to like.
Melinda spotted us first. Beaming, she dropped the soggy napkins on the table. “There you two are.” She crossed to us, pulled me into a hug, and then eyed Dane with a smile. “You’re taller than I expected. And just as hot as Ashley told me you were.”
I sighed. “Dane, this is Melinda. She’ll remember her manners in a few