Home Run Fiancé (Faking It Book 2) Read online

  I open the car door and hop out, Asher following behind me and trying to keep up. “Come on, Jake, just think about it.”

  I keep stalking to the restaurant door. Maybe some food in my stomach will help my mood. “I don’t know, man.”

  “Just think about it for now. That’s all I ask.”

  Right as we get to a free table, I turn and look him in the eye. “Only because it’s you will I even pretend to entertain this asinine idea.”

  Asher shrugs, complete confidence in his stature. “I’ve saved your butt many times before. Just sayin’.”

  I roll my eyes and sit down, ready to get my grub on and put this day behind me where it belongs.

  2

  Rhys

  “Come on…” I mumble. The darn flowers are the same kind of daisy I used before on my trial run, but for some reason, they aren’t cooperating today. Which is kind of to be expected since I have my camera recording everything this time. Just my luck.

  The stem I just tucked under and secured springs free again like an unruly child when my cell phone rings. Probably just as well. These flowers needed to get a little wilty and pliable before I could continue. Pausing the recording on my camera I look over at my screen and see it’s my brother, Asher, calling. I automatically go to pick it up, but stop myself at the last second. I check the antique clock on the wall in my tiny studio apartment and see it’s only ten in the morning on a Tuesday.

  I should still be in class.

  I put my phone back down on the table like it’s a ticking time bomb and eye it cautiously until it stops ringing. The ensuing silence is heavy with guilt. Then it dings again, alerting me to his voicemail and the weight on my chest increases.

  Normally, I share everything with my brother. And I do mean everything. He’s my best friend, and pretty much my only family that cares enough to know anything about my life. But I’m keeping a secret from him for the first time in my life. And it’s a doozy.

  Even though Asher is significantly older than me and probably didn’t want a baby sister tagging around, he’s been the only one I could count on, especially since our parents moved to Oregon after their “oops baby”—aka me—turned eighteen. Literally. On my eighteenth birthday, they left for Oregon right after I blew out my candles. It was enough to give a girl a complex, but Asher took me under his wing like he always did and made sure I had my feet securely on the ground.

  I went to college and shared a room with three other girls, Asher footing the bill the whole time. I did what I could, and thankfully, I had an awesome job in a coffee shop for two years straight to pay for everything I didn’t want to beg my big brother for.

  Problem is, I dropped out of college at the end of last semester and quit my barista job. While technically I had enough units to have my associate’s degree, Asher expected me to graduate with at least a bachelor’s degree and a good job lined up for after graduation. And quitting my perfectly good job would be just stupid, according to him.

  I’m currently dodging his calls and waiting for him to realize he hasn’t gotten a tuition bill for the current semester. I hate it, I really do. But I know he wouldn’t understand. He’d be disappointed in me and I just can’t take that right now.

  I’m not like Asher. He’s driven and straitlaced and a little old-fashioned with his thinking on success in life. I, too, want to be a success, but I want it on my terms. I don’t want to race up corporate ladders and work for someone else until they think I’m too old and lay me off without any possible job prospects. Having someone pay for your college so you don’t graduate with thousands of dollars of debt is a really huge thing and I don’t mean to be ungrateful. I just don’t think a college degree is necessarily right for everyone. Everyone meaning me.

  Toward the end of my freshman year at college, I started a YouTube channel on a whim. Just started showing the life of an undergrad, a girl living in Los Angeles trying to make her way in the world. Well, my audience grew and before you knew it, I was making darn good money just posting videos and getting millions of views. So much money, I decided to quit my job and school and devote all my time to growing my channel.

  I hit play on my camera and got back to the task of building a flower crown with step-by-step instructions thrown in there when necessary. The magic of these videos is in the editing. I’ll cut it down to ten minutes or less and get it posted by tomorrow. Once the crown is complete, I model it and ham it up for the camera. Then I hit stop and turn off the huge ring light that nearly blinded me while I was filming.

  A full hour or two of editing requires sustenance in the form of caffeine. I throw my MacBook in my leather satchel and it’s off to Hit Me, the coffee shop where I used to work. My best friend, Charlotte, still works there, which makes my visits frequent and long. She’s also the only one in the whole world who knows I dropped out of school.

  I find an empty table toward the back of the shop and set up camp. I see a few regulars from my time there as a barista and smile my greeting. Charlotte finally looks up and sees me, her face morphing into a radiant smile. I hold up three fingers and she nods.

  The girl is straight-up gorgeous, combining with that mysterious accent of hers to make for a total catch. Anytime we’ve gone out together, the men flock to her. I don’t mind playing second fiddle though because she doesn’t go home with any of them, or really give any of them the time of day. She’s the most curious girl I’ve ever met. We’re besties, but sometimes I feel like I don’t even know her.

  By the time I boot up my laptop and download the raw video from my camera, Charlotte sits down at the table with a giant cup of coffee for me and a plate of goodies for her. Caramel latte, three shots, drizzle of caramel on top. I’m predictable, which some may say makes me basic, but thankfully I don’t buy into all that.

  “What’s that on your head, girl?” Charlotte flicks her eyes up and I remember I’m wearing my flower crown.

  See? Not basic at all. “Oh! My latest craft project and the video I’m about to edit.” I rub my hands together and then dive in to my coffee, that first sip like nectar. “How’s your day going and when are you going to dump this place and become a model?”

  Charlotte smirks and takes a giant bite of scone, talking around it. “You know I can’t quit this place. I love it too much. I’m not made for stardom and photoshoots and people telling me to starve myself into a size zero.”

  Setting down my coffee, I pull up my YouTube stats page. I chuckle at Charlotte’s idea of what modeling would be like, but she has a point. If someone wanted me to give up my lattes for the runway, I really would run away.

  My gaze zeroes in on my estimated revenue and my eyes go round. “Holy crap, Charlotte. I did it!”

  She leans forward, eyes sparkling. “Tell me!”

  I take a deep breath and feel some of the guilt and doubt slide off my shoulders. “I’m on track to make five thousand dollars this month.”

  Charlotte, who knows how huge this milestone is for me, jumps up and comes around the table to hug me, looking at the number on the screen herself.

  “Oh my gosh, girl, I knew you’d do it.”

  Her belief in me means everything, helps buoy me up on days I don’t believe in myself. I’d gotten my income up to four thousand dollars a month when I quit school at the end of the holidays. My goal is to increase it by a thousand a month until I hit the big 10k. Where I am now would pay my rent and for my car. Next up, pay for all my expenses so Asher isn’t helping me financially at all and I can start paying him back for my two years of college tuition. I want to stand on my own two feet.

  I have tears in my eyes when Charlotte sits back down. “Makes my check from this place seem a little paltry.” She’s teasing, but I sense an unease in her that I’ve never been able to pull out. She won’t tell me much about her family or her past, but I know she can’t be living in LA with only the paycheck from Hit Me. She has money coming in from somewhere, but she’s never shared, which always bothers me. I tell her
everything and she is such a source of encouragement for me, but I can’t give her much in return because she won’t open up.

  Charlotte hops up and scoops up her empty plate. “I won’t interrupt you. Get that next video edited and uploaded so you can hit your next goal.”

  She kisses the top of my head and takes off, grabbing her apron off the counter and getting back to work. I shake my head absentmindedly. She’s so beautiful and smart and personable. And it’s all going to waste in a hole-in-the-wall coffee shop.

  I put thoughts of Charlotte aside and get busy editing, my headphones in place and my heart rate zooming with the latte on board. I’m just saving the final version when my phone screen lights up.

  Asher’s calling again.

  I look at the time and decide to take the call since I’d be out of class by now normally.

  “Hey, Ash!” I infuse my voice with as much sunshine as I can, even while I feel bad for keeping things from him. I also try to keep my voice down so I’m not one of those people in a public space yelling into their cell phones and annoying everyone in a three-mile radius. Everyone tells me I have a loud voice anyway, so I put in the effort to dial it back.

  “You’re a hard one to get ahold of these days, Rhys. Buckling down and studying hard?” His voice comes through the line, instantly calming me with its familiarity, then jacking my anxiety with his question.

  “Oh, yeah, you know me…” I chuckle uneasily, but he moves the conversation along.

  “I want to hear all about it, but first, I have a favor to ask.” I hear a horn honking somewhere in the background. He must be out and about seeing clients.

  “Sure, what’s up?” I take a sip of my latte and find it’s mostly cold.

  “Can you come over to dinner at my place on Friday?”

  That’s weird. He sounds so formal about it when we normally get together all the time anyway.

  “Friday sounds great. What can I bring?” Last week he made steaks and I brought dessert. Maybe this time I could make some sort of fancy dish and film how I made it for another YouTube video.

  “Don’t need to bring a thing. I’ve got a friend coming over that night too so I’ll probably just order takeout somewhere.”

  I narrow my eyes. “You aren’t trying to set me up with someone are you?”

  “What? No!” Asher’s voice gets louder. “That’s like the last thing I’d do to my baby sister. I just have a job proposition for you if you want it. Wouldn’t take much of your time as I know you’re focused on your classes, but it would be good money.”

  I shrug and hurry to answer, trying to outpace the school references. “Yeah, okay, that sounds good. Text me what time and I’ll be there. Can you tell me now what the job is?”

  Asher hesitates, which makes me suspicious. “Kind of a lot to explain so I’ll just wait ’til Friday. See you then.”

  And then he hangs up.

  This from the guy incessantly calling me and asking questions. Every single time we talk, I have to practically hang up on him to get the conversation to stop. Now I’m doubly nervous about whatever this job is that he has for me.

  I pack my things up and head home in my VW Bug to upload my video and respond to comments. As much as people like to think this “job” is just a hobby or passing fad, it takes time and well-thought-out and produced content to make a channel worth watching. You don’t get videos with thousands or millions of views by uploading boring content that’s badly edited. I spend hours producing just one video, not to mention the time to be on social media and connect with other YouTubers.

  One day, I hope to tell Asher everything and have him understand why I chose this path instead of the traditional path of college. Sitting in class all day long listening to a professor drone on about a subject I really don’t care about just isn’t for me. Getting a diploma certainly opens doors, I admit, but the type of job I want doesn’t require it. I don’t want to be some corporate stiff sitting in a cubicle, dreaming of a corner office.

  I want to help people. I want to learn new things. I want to do it on my own time and in my own way. Maybe it’s a pipe dream, I don’t know. But now, when I’m only twenty years old with no one depending on me, it seems like the right time to jump. And if it doesn’t work out, I’ll go back to school and try the more traditional route. It feels really darn good to soar through the air and experience the freedom that comes with doing what you want and making decent money at it.

  Logically, I know if I took my YouTube gig and moved somewhere in the country where it was cheaper to live, my income would go even farther. Everyone and everything I know is in Southern California, so that idea doesn’t appeal to me, but if I have to, I will.

  Back at my studio apartment, I lock the three deadbolts and change into comfy sweatpants and an old undershirt I stole from Asher. My poor flower crown is looking a bit too wilty now so I place it in the trash and thank the flowers for their sacrifice. On my little two-burner stove, I fry up a gluten-free, dairy-free grilled cheese sandwich for an early dinner. I’m attempting to eat a little healthier. Surrounded by Hollywood hopefuls in this town can be hard on a girl’s self-esteem. Women keep getting thinner and thinner. Not that I have aspirations to compete with them, but I have to compensate for my caramel lattes. Priorities, you know.

  Comfy now in the uniform of the self-employed, I’ve got a video to upload and new blog ideas to brainstorm. I can’t wait to sit down and get to it. I could be doing boring Chemistry homework right now, but instead, I’m building my future empire and it feels like heaven.

  3

  Jake

  “Come on in.” Asher waves me in through his front door and shuts it behind me.

  He’d invited me to dinner this morning via text and I raced over here after practice, freshly showered and in my most comfortable clothes. I’m ready for a relaxing night with my friend, just hanging out and watching some television without having to put on a front or worry about anyone taking my picture.

  Normally, I have to wear trendy, uncomfortable clothes and watch every little move I make, which makes hanging out at restaurants or bars something I rarely do these days. I just want to throw on my threadbare jeans and an ol’ T-shirt and have a real conversation. Maybe burp if I feel like it, slouch in my chair, scratch whatever needs scratching. You know, normal guy stuff. Can’t do any of that when fans record everything on their cell phones or paparazzi is hanging around.

  I follow him through the living room and into his kitchen, seeing his dining table set for three. I swivel my head and see two large white bags of what I presume is takeout on his counter. Two candles are lit and twinkling on the table like we’re in a French restaurant. He’s rushing around the kitchen opening and closing cabinets and taking out fancy dishware.

  “You planning to propose to me tonight?” I stroke my beard, already growing out from how I’d trimmed it up for the court appearance, feeling slightly awkward and hoping the humor will diffuse the situation or at least help explain what in the world is going on. I feel like I didn’t get the memo about what was on the docket for the evening.

  Asher stops his frantic movements and rubs his hands on his slacks. Yeah, slacks. Not casual jeans or sweats. Something has run afoul. “Uh, no. I, uh, invited my sister actually.”

  Well, now isn’t that interesting. I’ve never actually met his infamous sister. I’ve heard him talking on the phone to her more times than I can count, but I’ve never met her face-to-face.

  “She actually exists?”

  Asher looks up at me, eyes wide, a hint of a smile. “Of course she exists. I just don’t go around introducing her to the idiot athletes I represent. No offense.”

  “Just because you say no offense doesn’t make it less offensive.”

  Asher tips his head and I enjoy his discomfort. “You know what I mean. She’s my baby sister and I wouldn’t want most of the athletes I represent to come within fifty yards of her.”

  I puff up my chest and rub my soft T-shirt
. “Well now, I feel quite complimented.” Then I drop my hands and get serious. “So why am I meeting her now?”

  Asher goes to answer me, but his doorbell cuts him off. He spins around and rushes to the door, looking relieved to escape my question. You don’t reach the ripe old age of twenty-eight without learning to spot red flags. And right now there are so many red flags waving, I can barely see Asher at the front door. Something is definitely not right and I’m already wondering how quickly I can excuse myself and get out of here. I did not sign up for a night of stilted conversation with some young girl, having to watch my every word for fear of offending her sensibilities.

  “Ash!” I hear her call out, right before long arms wrap around his waist. I bet even the neighbors heard that. Not only am I surprised by the volume, but also the throaty rasp that does a number to a spot under my sternum. I rub my chest, suddenly very intrigued with who this sister is and what game Asher’s playing. I wrack my brain and vaguely remember her name to be Rhys or Tris or something funny like that.

  Asher finally untangles himself and spins around, tugging a tall woman into the kitchen with him. The ten-yard walk over gives me a precious few seconds to drink her in. She’s almost as tall as Asher, her hair a golden brunette and the lighter ends aren’t from a salon either. She’s got bright white and yellow flowers in her hair, which both intrigue and irritate me. Who wears flowers in their hair past the age of five? Her long dress swishes around her ankles, a white jean jacket keeping her upper body mostly covered, but I can still see multiple strands of necklaces winking in the light from around her neck.

  “Jake, this is my sister, Rhys. Rhys, this is my buddy Jake.” Asher makes the formal introductions and I extend my hand out of habit. She lifts her stunning hazel eyes to mine and takes my hand. The moment freezes and hangs there, the seconds ticking much slower than normal. Then she leans forward and pulls me into a hug, which isn’t easy to do with a guy my size. But I go with it, mesmerized by those eyes, or maybe it’s the smell of flowers that permeates the air in a cloud around her. Either way, I’m participating in the hug and enjoying it very much, to my surprise.