Page 18 of Fake Crown

“With you? Yes. With me? Not a chance.”

He releases a long-suffering sigh. “All right. Fine.” He fumbles for the kickstand, so I climb off the bike and help him.

I pat him on the shoulder. “Know your strengths, Faulkner. I’ll let you save me from drowning later at the beach.” I waggle my eyebrows at him and trail a finger down his chest. “Might even let you do a little mouth-to-mouth before I’m revived.”

“Sounds like a fair trade. My manhood for some mouth-to-mouth action.” His lips quirk up.

I resist the obvious verbal setup. Manhood. Mouth. Too easy. Gotta keep him on his toes.

Once I’m secured on the scooter, he climbs on behind me. With no hesitation, I take the first opening to merge, and we’re off on our adventure.

Brent collapses onto my thin blanket and sets the pizza between us. “You’re impressing me, Jensen.”

“Was there ever any doubt?” I pop open the box from Upper Crust and grab my slice. We have the same taste in toppings—everything but the kitchen sink—and I couldn’t be happier.

“You drive a bike like a boss. You’ve got excellent taste in pizza. And you somehow had and packed this miraculously large blanket-towel thing, so we don’t end up sandy.” He fingers the yellow material.

“No pinching.” I slap his hand. “I’ve had this since I was thirteen, and I don’t need your careless fingers wrecking it.”

He grabs the largest slice, and he takes a substantial bite. While he chews, he stares out at the gentle waves.

We laughed all the way to the beach from the pizza place as Brent tried to hold onto the pizza and maintain his balance on the scooter. He didn’t trust me that the safest place for the box was between my feet.

Scooter rookie.

There’s a light breeze, and the sun is shining, but it’s not warm enough to swim. There won’t be any mouth-to-mouth action due to a pretend drowning. A good chance I’ll let his mouth encounter mine later. He’s been surprisingly good company.

“Is Bellerive like this?” He turns onto his side to face me, and he squints against the glare of the sun.

“Better,” I say, and I adjust my sunglasses. “More history. Bermuda feels like a tropical island, but Bellerive is a slice of the United Kingdom that got lost. We found the better weather, though. King George would hate that comparison.” I laugh. “Similar architecture to the UK. Similar street design—and by that, I mean narrow and chaotic.”

“Maybe I’ll have to visit someday.”

I flip up my sunglasses to meet his gaze. “Maybe I’ll let you.”

“Like you could stop me.” He laughs.

Stopping him would be easy enough. A word in the ear of the king’s secretary, my sister, would be enough to halt his approval upon arrival. He hasn’t asked me any questions about my family and apparently sucks at search engines.

I slide another slice of pizza out of the box. An amused smile tugs at the edges of my lips. “Eat up,” I say. “I need enough time at the hotel to glam myself up to meet your friends.”

He takes two pieces of pizza and turns them into a sandwich. It’s a good thing we got the extra-large box. “I don’t need to be told twice.” He grins at me between bites.

While he chews, I examine his profile, and a tiny flutter rises in my stomach. I clutch my abdomen in horror. Did I just...? Was that a butterfly?

“Are you okay?” Brent’s light-brown gaze examines me.

“Fine.” I let out a strangled laugh. “Totally fine. Nothing to see here.” But whatever I just felt better not come back.

Sex I can do, but feelings? Those have disaster written all over them. He’s on a hardcore rebound, and I don’t do relationships.

I stare out at the ocean, my palm on my belly button.

One flutter means nothing. Nothing at all.

Brent

When we get to the terrace for drinks, there’s a buzz circulating through the crowd. After Posey and I grab rum swizzles, we step down into the crowd near the waist-high white wall meant to ward off the harbor beyond. Lights from across the inlet are barely visible as dusk approaches.