Fool for You (Southern Bride #7) - Kelly Elliott Page 0,62

I asked.

“I can help y’all plan your fake wedding! Oh my God, I have so many ideas for the fake engagement party.”

“We should probably stop calling it fake so we don’t slip in public,” Emmerson giggled.

And just like that, my sister launched into planning our fake—er, our engagement party. I knew it was her way of trying not to think about Mike, and so did my folks, because they didn’t make a single comment about the engagement party for a wedding that wasn’t really happening. Any other time, I would attempt to pull my sister back some with her sudden enthusiasm, but with one glance at my father, I decided to let my sister go full throttle. Even though I knew she had a hidden agenda when it came to me and Emmerson.

With the way my mother was smiling, a part of me knew she saw right through our charade of still being friends and nothing more.

“Are you sure the two of you don’t want to stay for game night?” my mother asked, making a sad attempt at pouting.

“I’ve got to get caught up on some work for a wedding this weekend,” Emmerson said as she hugged my mother and then my father goodbye.

“And I’ve got to run by the shop after I drop Emmerson off to check on a fifty-five we’re working on.”

Pulling me in for a hug and kiss, my mother said, “Rain check, then.”

“Absolutely, Mom.”

It took everything in me not to grab Emmerson by the hand and drag her to my truck.

After we both got in, shut the doors, and were heading down the driveway, Emmerson started talking. “I don’t care anymore where we do it, Landon. I can’t take it anymore. I feel like I’m going to die. Can you die from being so horny? I’m thinking yes, you can! Did you have to keep touching me so much with your leg under the table?”

“Me! You kept putting your hand on my leg! Do you know how close you were to my dick? I’m pretty sure you brushed up against my balls. I was so fucking hard I could hardly walk!”

She giggled. “Where is the closest place we can go?”

“I’m not making love to you in the barn or the backseat of my truck.”

“Then let’s go to our spot.”

“The north pasture?”

She chuckled. “I know for a fact you carry at least two quilts in this truck of yours at all times.”

I turned to look at her. “Those are for emergencies, Emme. We’re not that far from your place, only ten minutes away.”

“This is an emergency, Landon. If we go back to my place, or even yours, I know we’re going to get interrupted. No one can find us in the pasture. It’s dark out now. It’ll just be us.”

Before I got to the gate, I made a turn onto one of the side roads that ran across our folks’ property.

Emmerson clapped and bounced in her seat as I laughed. It only took us a few minutes to get to what she called our spot. It was under a large pecan tree—the first place we had ever had a picnic. Not alone, though, because someone was always with us back then, it seemed. Nonetheless, this was the spot we came to when we wanted to talk, sit, and stare up at the stars, or just be away from the world. It was where I often came when I was home and not racing. It was quiet and peaceful, which was something I craved desperately right at this moment, and Emmerson knew it.

I pulled up and parked the front of the truck under the large branches that extended from the tree trunk. I left the bed sticking out from under the canopy, so we could look up and see the stars. Stargazing was one of Emmerson’s favorite things to do. Ever since she was little, she would beg for us all to lie down and try to come up with shapes in the stars. While most people did it with clouds, Emmerson did it with stars.

After I got the two quilts—and one blanket that Emmerson didn’t know about—out from behind my backseat, I laid them out on the bed of my truck.

Emmerson stood a few feet away with her arms folded across her chest, simply staring out over the dark Hill Country. The light from the stars and the half-moon cast the perfect amount of illumination to still be able to make out things in the distance, like