The Worst Fake Boyfriend

I haven’t stopped face-palming myself since the moment I decided to let my grandmother assume Cash Walker was my boyfriend. I was supposed to impress her that day—show her that I’m mature enough to handle my inheritance—not prove to her that I’m not.

I thought convincing Cash to play along in exchange for a small portion of the money would fix everything, but I was wrong. And now I’m stuck.

Stuck dating a man who thinks his smile is enough to send goosebumps across my skin.

Stuck hiding those goosebumps every time he flashes his pearly whites my way.

Stuck living a lie that part of me wishes was the truth.

As much as I want to walk away from this whole convoluted mess, I can’t. I need that inheritance, and I need it bad. If Grandmother finds out I haven’t been honest, I’m sunk. No inheritance means no studio time for me. No studio time means no music career. No music career means I’ll never make my dream of following in my mother’s footsteps come true.

But the hardest part about this whole situation is now that I’m fake-dating the flirtiest man alive, the fake part just isn’t working for me anymore. With only days left to play our parts, time is running out for me to find a way to make up for my mistakes and make Cash mine for real.

**Be sure to check out the first book in the Love at First Laugh series, The Worst Vacation Crush. Both of these hilarious, stand-alone romantic comedies will make you laugh 'til you cry and swoon 'til you sigh.

The oyster hors d’oeuvres smelled, my tweed pencil skirt itched like a burlap torture device, and my fancy up-do was now a half-falling-down-do. I was in such a hurry to get my prized box of seafood-themed treats into my apartment that I turned my ankle just before I reached my front door. I so wasn’t a high heels kind of gal.

I sucked in a sharp breath as I fumbled my keys and almost dropped the appetizers. They may have been prepared by a lowly grocery store deli, but I couldn’t afford to buy another overpriced box of them.

In my experience, the more disgusting a food looked, the more it cost. And one look at the stuff in that box made me want to hurl. So, you can imagine my sticker shock when I saw just how much it was going to cost to impress my rich grandmother that afternoon.

But it was worth it. My future depended on impressing her.

I stood in the breezeway of my five-story apartment building and jumped when a large dog barked behind me. I spun around, getting my canvas shoulder bag caught in the potted cactus that guarded my door, but there wasn’t a dog in sight—only my neighbor’s closed door facing mine a couple paces away.

I kept my eyes on Cash Walker’s door as I tried to free my bag from the cactus’s long barbs. The barking was definitely coming from his place, but that sound wasn’t the incessant yapping of the dachshund he’d shared his home with for the past month.

No. There was a fur-covered animal behind that door that sounded big enough to eat wiener dogs for breakfast.

What was Cash fostering this time, a barking moose?

Most women would probably love to live across the open-air hall from a man with perfect looks, a steady job, and a soft spot for animals.

But I’m not most women.

I’d be lying if I said Cash wasn’t knee-wobblingly gorgeous with his sandy-brown hair and moody hazel eyes. But he knew he was a looker and that made him insufferable.

Every woman who’s ever lived has met his type. The type who goes around strutting his stuff, turning on the smolder, and making eyes at any woman with a pulse. All the while expecting waves of sighs and giggles to follow in the wake of his so-called irresistible masculinity.

Gag!

The man was a player—and I didn’t play with players anymore. I had a trail of broken-heart-inducing relationships a mile long to prove I’d wasted enough time on guys like Cash.

Lucky me, I had better things to do with my time these days. Things like showing my East Coast grandmother that I was worthy to be entrusted with the money she promised me when I was a kid.

Cash’s doorknob turned, and the door started to open.

I froze.

My stomach clenched, and I braced myself for the worst when a shiny black nose snuffled at the crack of the door. I gave up on freeing my bag from the cactus, all my focus shifting to protecting my vitals.

Cash was obsessed with rescuing dogs. Little dogs, big dogs—and from the size of that moist snoot gathering my scent, he also took in huge dogs. His love of K-9s was another reason my neighbor and I would never see eye to eye. Getting bitten by a dog at the tender age of five years old has a way of souring a person’s perspective on man’s best friend.

I took a quick inventory of my current situation as my life flashed before my eyes. I was stuck to my cactus, holding a box of hors d’oeuvres in my open palm like an off-balance waitress, and was still locked out of my apartment.

Add to that the fact that I was mere moments away from potentially being mauled by Cash’s latest foster dog, and this was starting to look like a pretty typical day in the life of Willow Lennox, your friendly neighborhood screw-up.

Cash’s door flung open, and he stepped out with a beast of a dog on a short leash; thank Heaven for small mercies.

His black fur was thick around the shoulders and stuck out in tufts on the backs of his legs. His bushy tail swung from side to side as he tugged toward me.

Now I knew what a deer must feel like the moment before it’s eaten alive by a lone wolf!

Cash’s eyes widened when our gaze met. I stomped out the flutters in my stomach. There was no way I’d allow a flight of rogue butterflies to respond like that to the white tee clinging to his toned chest and arms. I was immune to his wiles. So what if I had to remind myself of that little fact more often than I’d like? The truth was the truth even if it had to be repeated daily like some sort of anti-love potion mantra.

I was immune!

Besides, I barely had time to enjoy the view with that panting dog bearing down on me.

“Whoa,” Cash said, “who are you and what have you done with my neighbor?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” I swallowed my nerves and used my best aloof voice as I resisted the urge to scratch my hind end—this skirt was seriously giving me a rash in all the worst places.

“Willow, is that you?” he said. “I almost didn’t recognize you. What happened? Did that free spirit of yours run away and leave you all alone in my great-aunt Edith’s closet?”

“Ha. Ha. You’re too hilarious for words. I’m about to have an important meeting, if you must know. And I like to dress for success.” Even if dressing for success meant not wearing a single item of clothing from my own closet.

“Sounds fun.” He winked. “Can I come?”

I gulped, willing my temperature to remain steady on this toasty August afternoon. “Absolutely not.”

Cash’s new “moose” came closer. He was still wagging his tail, but I wasn’t buying it. Stranger danger was just as real with animals as it was with humans, and I was going to keep my distance.

I shrank closer to my door, but a solid jab in the back of my arm from my traitor of a cactus reminded me to stand still.

Ouch!

“Will you please keep your animal on your side of the walkway?”

“Oh, he’s not mine. He’s—”

“I know. He’s a foster,” I said as Cash turned to lock his door. “The last fifty dogs you’ve had have been fosters. But will you please keep him back?”

My heart pumped at a breakneck speed, and it wasn’t because of the way the seat of Cash’s jeans fit his booty as he took his sweet time with the key in his lock—I’d hardly noticed that. My heart raced because of the dog’s invasive nose.

He was coming for me. There was nowhere for me to run and nowhere to hide.

I breathed a sigh of relief when Cash pulled the dog closer to his side. Okay, so I might have liked the way his bicep looked when he put it to work, but that didn’t mean I liked him!

When he was done locking up, he cocked his head to the side and eyed me up and down with a question written on his face. “Need a little help there?”

“No thanks. I’m not the kind of woman who needs a knight in shining armor to come to her rescue.” I gritted my teeth, pretending I actually believed what I’d just said. But the fifteen cactus needles prodding the back of my arm were pretty hard to ignore. A little help would have been nice, but I couldn’t afford to give Cash the satisfaction of being the help I needed.

I made a move for my door despite the spines embedded in my skin.

Bad idea!

The cactus refused to let go of me and my bag, and the whole pot was ready to fall over on me.

Quicker than lightning, Cash was by my side steadying the pot and working to free me from the cactus. “You might not need my help, but you have a habit of accepting it often enough.” The soft rumble of a chuckle that rolled around in the back of his throat sent a wave of goosebumps across my skin that I hoped he wouldn’t notice. “What’s one more time?”