Hopeless (Chestnut Springs Book 5)

Heavy feet carry me across the lawn, back toward the barbwire fence that divides Eaton property from Jansen property. It seems metaphorical, separating me from what could be a terribly stupid decision. Those sharp little peaks somehow representative of all the ways this bet could come back to hurt me.

I told Beau I needed to sleep on it, but I lay awake in my hot-as-fuck Boler trailer, turning his insane offer over in my mind. I alternated between stressing over going through with the bet and stressing over the prospect of passing it up.

Then I stressed about the fact we didn’t set a time to meet up.

I spent most of my day off obsessively cleaning a seventeen-foot trailer that I barely make a mess in. When the smell of bleach nearly overpowered me, I chased myself out of there. Book in hand, I expected to sit by the river and wait for Beau.

But when I hit the riverbank and peer down toward the water … he’s there. Waiting.

His head snaps up at my approach and our eyes meet from across the water. Unlike last night, I can see him clearly in the sun’s fading light. Every hard line. The way his thighs strain against the simple swim trunks he’s wearing, the cut line of his quads blending down into his knees.

His white socks and dorky white sneakers.

He nods at me in acknowledgement and my stomach flips.

Sitting there on the shore, thick arms propped on the peaks of his knees, he looks casual, yet coiled and ready to spring into action at any moment. He looks haunted yet at peace.

He looks beautiful.

Too good. Good enough that I could end up standing here gawking at him while my lack of experience flaps in the wind.

So I offer a nod back and forge ahead, clearing my throat and dropping my gaze as I do.

On the path down to the river, my feet lose purchase, but I go with it. Years of taking this path in the dark make doing it in the light feel like child’s play. I slide down, still landing on my feet, even though my nails now have dirt stuck under them.

It’s when I right myself that I realize Beau has shot up to standing, the tips of his sneakers touching the water.

“You okay?” His voice echoes around us as he projects over the sound of rushing water.

Maybe he’s overbearing, but after a lifetime of being ignored or lavished with negative attention, his concern wraps around me like a warm blanket.

I feigned indifference, but I secretly got off on him tossing my brothers and their sketchy friend out of the bar.

His violence doesn’t scare me. It should. In most cases, it does. But with Beau, it feels different. Somehow, his vicious streak soothes me.

And standing here, caught in the snare of his concerned gaze, seeing his chest rising and falling, like he’s ready to blast across the river just to check if I’m okay … I already know what I’m going to tell him.

“We should do it,” I call back.

He goes deathly still. “Yeah?”

I nod, taking tentative steps toward the water, trying to act more casual than I feel. “Yeah. But we need to talk about it.”

The column of his throat works as he swallows, eyes narrowed in on me, like he can see right through the calm and collected facade I’m trying to put up. I struggle not to let my eyes skate down over his broad chest. Instead, I fixate on the day’s final rays of sun and how they hit the thick stubble over his jaw.

“Your place or mine?” I joke, trying to cut the tension.

His gaze drops to the water. “I don’t know if I can go in the water. I thought I wanted to, but … ”

My head tilts, urging him to explain.

“The burns. They were infected so badly before. I don’t know if I want to chance it.”

I’ve had it in my head he backed down yesterday because I’m me. To think the reason he didn’t join me in the water was health-related lessens the sting of him turning away.

“Are they healed?”

All he gives me is a shrug. I don’t know Beau well enough to push the conversation, so I remove my flip-flops, hooking them through my fingers as I make my way to the log that spans most of the river.

I can feel Beau’s gaze latched on to me in an almost unnerving way, but I keep my eyes cast down as I walk the log like a balance beam.

“Careful,” he grumbles when I get about halfway across.

I roll my eyes, but I don’t think he sees it. “Been doing this for a while now. I’m fine.”

“You crossed to this side of the river?” he asks, catching me in a moment of loose-tongued focus.

Fuck.

I opt to ignore the question, gasping when I step down into the cold water to make it the rest of the way. After treading carefully over sharp rocks, I come to stand beside him, still not making eye contact. I toss my foam sandals down and lift a foot to slide one in, but the rocks shift beneath me, and I find myself tipping.

And then not.

Beau’s warm palm captures my upper arm, and he rights me with a deep chuckle. “You can walk that log, but lose your balance putting on sandals?”

When I peek up at him, he’s grinning. Right now, he seems more like the carefree man I remember before that final deployment. For a few beats, we get lost in each other’s eyes. In the warm light of the golden hour, his take on less of a silver tone, trending more toward the soft gray of the river rocks surrounding him.

He’s beautiful almost always. But he’s blinding when he smiles.

“Yeah, yeah.” My lips twitch and my cheeks heat as I drop my head to slide my feet into the sandals. I try to ignore the fact he still hasn’t let go of my arm. His gentle hold brands my skin, and the minute I get those plastic thongs wedged between my toes, I step away, offering him a bright smile in return.

“Wanna come to my place?” he asks. “We can chat there?”

My heartbeat speeds up. “Your place?”

“Yes.” He points to where I already know his home sits.

“What if someone sees us?”

He snorts a laugh, scrubbing a massive hand over the stubble on his cheeks. “Well, if you’re about to be the future Mrs. Eaton, it would make sense that you’d be at my house, no?”

My tongue darts out over my lips as I shift my focus to the embankment. He seems … happy about this.

I can’t wrap my head around that. It all feels so fucking weird.

“Okay. Yeah.”

This time, his hand lands at the base of my neck as he guides me away from the river, fingers so long they curve over my shoulder and dust over the pulse point in my throat.

I can’t help but wonder if he can feel my heart rate accelerating, if that was his casual way of checking, or if it was a mistake. I have a sinking suspicion this arrangement is going to leave me overthinking every little touch, every little look.

“Maybe I can make you tea this time.”

My laugh comes out a little shrill, his fingers absorbing the vibration in my neck. “I could use something stronger than tea for this conversation.”

His hand drops as we walk the path up the embankment. I’m so starved for touch; I wish he’d put it back.

“Well, that’s perfect. I’ve got a couple beers in the fridge that have been ignored. They’ve got your name on them.”

He leads me up the hill and I try not to stare at his ass. But his broad shoulders aren’t any less distracting. They flex against the black polyester of whatever workout shirt he’s wearing, and they taper down into a perfectly narrow waist. My thoughts drift to what it would be like to prop my legs over them while he buried his head between my thighs. How would that feel?

I remember the way the moonlight hit his bare torso the other night. It’s impossible to forget. I wonder how heavy his body would feel over my own. How another person’s skin would feel sliding against mine.

I clear my throat and give my head a shake before I ask, “You haven’t been drinking at all? Not even at home?”

“No. I’m addicted to chamomile tea now.”

It seems like an intrusion to ask if he’s sleeping, so I don’t. Plus, seeing as how we met down at the river in the middle of the night, it seems like I can make an educated guess.

“Huh,” I reply stupidly, before adding, “Good for you.”

“Yeah, well, someone I respect told me I couldn’t keep drinking the way I was.”

The skin on my chest vibrates with the heavy thud of my heart.

Does he mean me? It could only be me.

“She also told me I’d embarrassed myself and called me an asshole.”

I can’t stop the shy smile that curves across my lips. “Wow. She sounds really smart.”

It’s right as we hit the top of the embankment that he turns and glances over his shoulder. “She’s pretty too,” he murmurs, the golden sky glowing around his silhouette.

He almost freezes me in place with that little addition, but I cover it and roll my eyes with a light laugh. “Cute. Really cute.” I gently slap him across the shoulder to cut the tension, not wanting to bask in him and his smooth words for too long.

I remind myself that Beau is older and charming and about to be my fake fiancé.

He’s always been a flirt—a showboat—and it’s nice to get a peek at that side of him. It feels good to be the one who can bring it out in him, but if I’m going to go through with this bet, I’ll need to keep reminding myself that we’re pretending.

And that Eatons don’t mix with Jansens.

“Your house is nice.” I spin the cold bottle of beer between my palms. Truthfully, I’m not a beer gal, but this feels like a situation where beggars can’t be choosers. “Super modern.” I keep my head turned, peering around the open space.

Doesn’t suit him if I’m being honest. It’s all sharp corners and cold materials. Polished concrete floors. The odd wood beam paired with gray walls. Big floor-to-ceiling windows that face out over the open expanse of land on one side and the creek bed on the other.

“Yeah. After growing up in what felt like a mountain lodge, I built something a little different. Less Old West and more … ” He shrugs from across the table, dipping his tea bag into the steaming mug of water … over and over again.

It’s almost sexual. In, out. In, out.

This fake relationship is going to be painfully long if I can’t even deal with the way this man handles a tea bag.

I lick my lips, cross my legs, and take a deep swig of my beer, internally berating myself to get my shit together.

“Fresh. Sleek,” he concludes thoughtfully.

“Yes, well. It’s very masculine. Just like you.” My eyes snap to his. Smug humor graces his every feature. “Fuck. Just … ” I look away, spinning the bottle again, trying not to be overwhelmed by sitting across from him at a small dining table. “I’m nervous. You make me nervous.”

“Why?” He doesn’t budge, keeping his focus entirely on me.

Because I’m endlessly horny, and have you met yourself?

“This situation makes me nervous,” I clarify instead of blurting out the first thought that runs through my mind.

For once.

“Okay,” he leans back in his chair, appearing so relaxed. I envy his level of confidence. “Let’s talk it out. Plan it. Lay it all on the line.”

I nod, nibbling at my lip, trying not to let my eyes take the slide back down his body again. “Yes. We need some ground rules.”

He leans forward now, elbows propped on the table, mug between his big palms. I stare.

I wish I was that mug.

“No anal sex, Bailey,” he deadpans. “I know you’re really interested, but I’m just not that into it.”

I jolt, eyes about to bug out of my head. My hand shoots up over my lips, and I force myself to swallow the beer in my mouth so I don’t spray it all over him. “Oh my god!” I say from behind my fingers. “It was just a question!”

“Yup. A question that no other person has just casually lobbed out to me.”

“Well, who else am I supposed to ask?”

“Google?”

I lean back in the chair, groaning as I stare up at the ceiling. “It didn’t seem like a weird question in the moment.”

Truthfully, I enjoy watching him react. He’s so … unaffected by me all the time. But when I ask questions like that, I get a reaction. It’s like proof of life.

“Really?” He’s laughing at me now. And who could blame him? He must think I’m nuts.

“No, I just saw the video, and it got me thinking. It was funny. And you seem experienced, so I wanted to know. You could have told me it was personal if you didn’t want to answer.”

On a chuckle, he says, “Have you had anal sex, Bailey?”

I snort and tip my chin back down to meet his gaze. “I haven’t had any sex, Beau.”

All the humor that laced his body moments ago drains away. I swear I watch it just—poof—evaporate.

“Any sex?” He looks incredulous.

“None. Big fat zero. Felt like I should lay that out on the table if we’re being honest with each other tonight.”

“How?” His eyes spark with interest. Not disgust or pity, just … disbelief. “Aren’t you twenty-two?”

“Yes, but I don’t know. I just don’t go anywhere. The opportunity hasn’t presented itself and I don’t want to tick it off like an item on a grocery list. And … who is there? In this town, it’s people who wouldn’t touch me with a ten-foot pole or people who want to touch me just to say they did.”

I hold up a finger like I’m having an aha! moment. “In fact, that was the last bet I was unknowingly involved in. So, yeah, I need there to be a very clear plan so nothing gets confused.”

So my feelings don’t get hurt.

He stares at me for several beats, a glint of steel in his silver eyes. His jaw pops as his teeth grind, and I can’t help but notice the way his long fingers flex around his mug, like he’s envisioning strangling someone. “We’re not going to have sex, Bailey. That’s not the point of this arrangement.”

I’m slightly disappointed by the conviction with which he conveyed that message. But it also puts me at ease. Honestly, part of what kept me up last night was worrying about how far we’d have to take the act.

And how I’d keep from getting attached if we took it too far.

“Let’s just keep anything physical public. Does that work? Has anyone kissed you?”

I give him a droll look, offense flaring in my chest. “Just because I haven’t had sex doesn’t mean I’ve been living in a bubble,” I bite back. “I just haven’t found someone I want to go all the way with. But I want to.”

“Bailey.” He scrubs a hand over his face. “God. It’s like you have no filter around me at all.”

I chuckle and glance toward the plush sectional in the living room, envisioning us cuddling there. The weight of his body against mine. The way he might roll me under him and—

The sound of him swallowing is what hits me first. Then him taking a sip of tea. When I finally glance back at him, I can see the amusement swirling in his eyes.

“Shut up.”

His lips press together, barely containing the laughter that threatens to spill from him. “I didn’t say anything.”

I wave a hand over him, my cheeks tugging up as I do. “You might as well have. You say my name like it’s a bad word. Or like I exhaust you.”

“You’re entertaining, Bailey. Possibly even funny. You don’t exhaust me. You invigorate me.”

“Gee, thanks. Now I feel really fucking young.”

He ignores my jab and forges ahead. “Okay, so if you meet this person who you really want to have sex with, you’re going to tell me. And we’ll break it off.”

My eyes close. “I hate this conversation passionately.”

He laughs now. It’s deep and warm and makes me wonder how I’ll ever find someone else I want to have sex with when I’m spending all my time with Beau Eaton.

When my lashes flutter open, I pin him with my glare. “Same for you. If you meet someone who you actually like, you’ll tell me.”

“That won’t happen. But fine.”

He sounds so sure.

“Why not?”

“An actual relationship?” He flicks a hand over the table as though swatting a fly away. “You don’t see the shit I’ve seen and still believe a single thing is permanent. I saw the way it crushed my family when I went missing. I don’t want to put anyone else through that. Once you’ve been sent on your way with a shiny new reputation, it’ll just be me and my tea. I’ll never fall in love, won’t let myself.”

He holds the mug up in a cheers, but it’s not a happy one.

There’s a profound sadness—a profound loneliness—about the sentiment, and I don’t cheers back.

“When we break up, you have to do something awful,” I say.

His brow quirks in question.

“Well, if you dump me, you’ll be Poor Beau, who got swindled by the trashy Jansen girl. If I break up with you, I’ll be the she-devil who hurt Poor Beau. But if you do something shitty, everyone will forgive you and I’ll still get to walk away with my head held high.”

“Why do you care? If you’re leaving and never coming back?”

I breathe out a heavy sigh that leaves my lungs feeling almost painfully empty. “I’m just so tired of being the bad guy.”

“I’ll be the bad guy,” he says with a firm nod, not needing to think about it.

My chest flutters, but I press on. “How will we convince people it’s real?”

A sly grin graces his handsome face as his tongue traces his bottom lip. “Act like we can’t keep our hands off each other. Just follow my lead.”

“Right.” I force my breathing to remain calm at the thought of touching Beau. Kissing Beau. I’m accustomed to hard work, but this doesn’t seem like it’ll be a real hardship.

What are the fucking chances?

I brush a crumb that doesn’t exist off the table. This place is immaculate. “Sure. Cool. I could use the practice.”

A rough huff of air sounds from his side of the table, and I glance up to see him shifting uncomfortably.

“What about your family?”

His brow drops lower at the mention of the Eaton clan. “What about them?”

“Should we tell them? You all seem so close. Will that bother you?”

Beau drops his gaze and stares thoughtfully at the liquid in his mug. “That’s the thing, Bailey. I’ve been lying to them for years. And they’re just now figuring it out, I think.”

“What does that mean? Oh my god.” I gasp. “You’re gay, aren’t you? Everything makes so much sense. I’m totally cool with it, by the way.”

He chuckles, moving that sly, playful look over my face. “Bailey, I am very straight.”

I swallow. “Well, I can see how someone would think you weren’t.”

His head quirks, his stare unnerving. “Oh yeah? How so?”

I shrug, having to blink away to escape the pressure of … him. “Never seen you with anyone.”

“Been watching me?”

I blow a raspberry and roll my eyes. “Please, everyone in this town watches you.”

Strong fingers rap against the table as he fires back, “I’ve never seen you with anyone, either.”

I laugh, because of course he’s never seen me with anyone. “I suppose my extensive vibrator collection doesn’t prove much either, huh?”

He groans and shifts again. “Jesus, Bailey. You always just blurt shit like that out?”

I shake my head, trying to push my embarrassment back down. “Nope. I only seem to blurt stuff out to people I’m comfortable around. So, you. And maybe Gary.”

Beau drops his head into his hands, heels of his palms pressing into his eye sockets. “Please tell me you haven’t told Gary about your vibrator collection.”

I take a swig of my beer. “Don’t worry. He was hammered. I doubt he’d remember it.”

Beau’s head shoots up, an expression of shock painting his face. “Are you joking right now?”

I bite hard on the inside of my cheek. “No. I told him about the one that has all these different vibration settings and the one that has this little suction cup that attaches to the wall. Oh, and the one that straight up looks like a real dick but way, way bigger—” He leans across the table and covers my mouth to silence me.

In response, I hold my hands out, gesturing a good twelve inches as I widen my eyes. I’ll never admit it, but his palm against my lips has me fighting the urge to let my tongue trail over his skin. The pressure. The smell of him. My lips move ever so slightly against him, and his hand flies away. Then both come up to cover his eyes again.

Beau’s expression has morphed from shock to interest, to … whatever he’s doing hiding behind his palms.

I finally close my slack jaw and let my smile peek out, taking another drink.

The beer doesn’t even taste that bad anymore.

“You can’t just run around telling creepy old men about this stuff,” he says in a strangled voice.

“Give yourself some credit, Beau. You’re only thirty-five.” His shoulders jump on a chuckle, and I let a laugh slip now. “And for a tier one operator, you sure are gullible.”

His head snaps up to me, tips of his ears just a little pink. “Gary doesn’t know about your vibrator collection?”

“No, sir.” I salute him. “You’re the only one.”

He scrubs at his face as though he’s considering what to say next. “I guess it’s fine that I know about your collection. Seeing as how we’re engaged now. And I’m not even threatened by the twelve-inch one.”

I swallow and parry the joke away like I didn’t hear it as I drop my tone. “You sure you’re okay with lying to your family just to help me get a job?”

“There’s lots I could never tell them. Lots I never will. This is just another one of those things. And I really need … ” He trails off, glancing around the pristine kitchen. It’s truly so clean I could eat my meal off of almost any surface. It almost looks like it hasn’t been lived in. It’s sterile.

“ … I really need to feel something.”

I start in my seat, eyes snapping up to his.

“And honestly?” He scrubs at the back of his neck, lips twisting in a wry grin. “This already feels like the most fun I’ve had in a long time.”

I decide in this moment that if he’s not going to bug me about my virginity, I’m not going to bug him about whatever haunts him.

We’re both getting something out of this arrangement, and I see the practicality in that. And the practicality soothes me.

It makes sense.

“Okay. How did we meet?”

His jaw works, and I can hear his teeth tapping together. “At the bar. That’s the simplest explanation, and also true.”

I nod my agreement. “And what’s the end date on this deal?”

“Until you’re ready to leave. Free and clear. New town, new job. Whatever you want.”

“Or until you meet someone real,” I add solemnly.

My heart twists because I already know this is going to hurt when it ends. But I also want that for him.

Someone real.

His throat works. “Same for you.”

I slide my hand across the table, and he envelops it in his large palm.

We shake. We exchange numbers.

And just like that …

I’m engaged.