Pretend It's Love (8 page)

“You’ll have to ask Gracie about that story,” he said, brushing his hands down the front of his jeans. “Want another sneaky shot before dinner?”

“I’ll be under the table before the food comes out.” She held up her hands and laughed. “Multiple shots on an empty stomach is a bad idea.”

“I’m open to bad ideas,” he said, stalking around the side of the bar and placing his hands on her shoulders.

She swallowed, her eyes darkening instantly. “That’s why I need to be careful around you.”

Paul opened his mouth to protest but Gracie’s shrill giggle came from outside the house. Bad ideas would have to wait—tonight they were on a mission.

Chapter Eight

“T
hese are seriously delicious,” Gracie said, knocking back the remainder of her third cherry vodka Bellini. “And they smell amazing. What flavor is the vodka again?”

“This one is marshmallow and rose.” Libby jumped up from the table and brought the bottle over. “It’s my personal favorite.”

Gracie unscrewed the cap and took in a big breath. “I love it, and I adore this cocktail. I would never have thought to put the cherry
in
the Bellini.”

“I’m curious, what’s the story behind it?” Libby asked, taking a long sip of her cocktail.

At the current rate, Gracie was drinking her under the table. Libby was halfway through her second drink, and Gracie was motioning for Paul to make her number four.

“Didn’t Paul tell you?”

Libby shook her head and watched as Paul mixed another drink. His shirtsleeves had been rolled up, revealing strong forearms covered in a smattering of dark hair. His eyes caught hers, crinkling as he stifled a smile.

Busted.

“Oh, it’s such a funny story.” Gracie grabbed Des’s hand and gave it a squeeze. “I used to bring all these loser guys to First because I had it stuck in my head that I needed to marry some corporate bigwig. But they were always terrible! When I ordered a Bellini with a cherry on the side that was Des’s signal to come and save me.”

“It took her a while to figure out I was the better choice,” Des said with exaggerated smugness, though his love for Gracie filled the room like a heady perfume.

Libby’s heart squeezed. She had no idea how it felt to be looked at as though you were the only thing in the world that mattered. But she’d bet her last dollar it would make everything else pale in comparison.

“But I got there in the end, didn’t I?” Gracie beamed, her eyes bright, cheeks pink with love and alcohol.

“You sure did.”

“That’s such a lovely story.” Libby didn’t try to hide the awe and envy in her voice. If Paul questioned her she’d claim to be an amazing actress. Again.

“So you came up with all these vodka recipes yourself?” Des asked.

The boys had moved on from the cocktails to straight shots after dinner had been cleared away. Now they all sat around the table, feasting on a bowl of chocolates that Libby brought with her and sampling the vodka flavors.

“I started out following recipes I found online.” Libby selected a chocolate with a bright green foil wrapper. “But then I experimented with my own. These six flavors are the core ones I decided to launch up front, but I’m currently perfecting another four flavors and I’m in early stages of testing a few others.”

“I like the orange and basil,” Des said, lifting the bottle to his nose. “It’s not sweet at all.”

“It works really well as a mixer with plain soda water or tonic water. I felt like I needed something a little more masculine given how sweet some of the other flavors are.”

Des nodded. “I’ll be honest, when you first came to me I thought the whole thing was a bit gimmicky. But I misjudged the product—it’s really good.”

Hope curled in Libby’s gut; she had the feeling Des wasn’t one to hand out praise too easily. This was definitely a positive step forward, all she had to do now was convince him that his customers would select her bottles from the shelf.

“Having a few flavored vodkas would really open up the opportunity for a specialized cocktail menu,” Paul interjected, opening the last bottle and pouring four shots. “And mixology classes.”

Des raised a brow. “Mixology classes?”

“Libby and I came up with this brilliant idea—”

“I’m not taking credit,” she said, holding up her hands. “That was all you.”

“We—I—want to start up my own mixology school. I thought we could run classes on how to create professional cocktails at home or for parties, teach people the theory behind mixing the perfect drink. It would be a perfect branding partnership for Libby Gal Cocktails as well.” His face was neutral but she sensed a nervous energy in the way he bounced his leg next to hers under the table. “I could run it during the week. It will bring more people into the bar on our quiet nights, make some extra revenue if we couple the classes with a dinner here.”

“Do you have a business plan?” Des asked.

“Uh…no.”

“A concept without a business plan is just an idea. I’d need to see numbers, stats, and how you think we’ll fund this activity before I can even consider it.”

Paul looked as though he’d run full speed into a brick wall. Sure, she hadn’t expected Des to fawn over his idea, but some semblance of positive feedback would have been nice. Some brotherly support perhaps?

Knowing Des a little better, she had the feeling it wasn’t personal. He took his business very seriously, and Paul was his younger brother. Maybe this had something to do with why Paul felt it necessary to have a fake girlfriend?

“Sure, I’ll put something together,” Paul said.

“I’m not going to be able to make it to the car if we keep drinking at this rate,” Gracie said, in an obvious attempt to move the conversation along. However, she didn’t hesitate to accept another shot when Paul handed it to her. “Is this lavender?”

“Yeah, I source it from a huge farm in Daylesford. They have a whole food and drink menu based around it, and that’s where I got the idea to make a lavender infusion.” She turned to Des. “You might like this one, too. I didn’t add anything sweet to it, so it’s more herbal than floral.”

“Lavender?” He looked sceptical. “I guess we’ll soon find out.”

“
Salute
!” Paul lifted his glass, and everyone else followed.

Glasses slammed down against the table in a disjointed beat. Libby’s head swam with fuzzy warmth. She’d have to ease off if she had any chance of being able to drive home…ever. Frowning, she stole a glance at the clock. The hour hand hovered just before the ten. She’d definitely be getting a cab at this rate.

“You know,” Gracie said, toying with her now empty shot glass. “The Bellinis would be a great thing to serve at the wedding. We could make them the toasting drink for the speeches.”

“Wouldn’t your mother have a heart attack if we deviated from the very carefully selected menu she presented us with?” Des asked, a cheeky glint in his eye.

Gracie shot him a look. “We don’t have to serve them all night, but I love the story behind our drink. We can make it part of our speech and then get the waiters to hand them out. They are absolutely beautiful.”

“I could make you some miniature bottles to give away as gifts for your guests or bridal party,” Libby offered. “I did it for a friend, and they looked so adorable. We did custom labels with drawings of the bride and groom.”

“We haven’t figured out the bonbonnière yet.” Gracie turned to Des. “I know you were keen to do that since it’s such a big Italian tradition.”

The discussion between Gracie and Des dissolved into a checklist of wedding preparation activities.

Paul leaned in close to Libby. “You totally sold Des. He looked damn impressed.”

“You think so?” She turned her head. He sat so close that his heat enveloped her, awareness danced along her nerves, filling her body with a delicious hum.

“You nailed it.” He pressed his lips to the shell of her ear, a throaty chuckle reverberating against her neck when she shivered. “I, on the other hand, need a business plan.”

“I could help you with that.”

“I’d prefer it if you help me with something else.” He trailed a fingertip down the length of her neck.

“Don’t think you can get all handsy just because we’ve had a few drinks,” she whispered, shooting him a look.

“Isn’t that what a boyfriend does?” He grinned. “You seemed to enjoy it yesterday.”

When it came to seduction Paul could run rings around her…with his eyes closed and both hands tied behind his back.

“I’ve got an idea,” Gracie suddenly announced, her eyes twinkling with mischievousness. “Since we have all this vodka at our disposal, why don’t we play a drinking game?”

“You’re going to have a killer hangover tomorrow,” Des warned, brushing a stray curl from her face.

“I’ll be fine.” She waved off his concerns. “I want to play Never Have I Ever.”

Paul groaned. “I don’t feel like condemning myself tonight.”

“Okay, I
definitely
want to play now.” Libby raised a brow.

If he wouldn’t open up to her under normal circumstances, maybe he’d let a few things slip in a competitive situation. Their arrangement was supposed to be business, but pleasure had crept in, and curiosity had followed close behind.

“Fine,” Paul said, bending down close to her again. “But I won’t hold back.”

She sucked in a breath, willing her heart to beat more slowly. “Bring it.”

“Why don’t we fix the ladies a drink?” Des motioned for Paul to follow him to the bar. “Make sure Gracie’s is 90 percent soda water.”

“I heard that!” Gracie pointed at her fiancé.

“She’s a big girl, she can handle herself,” Paul replied, winking at Gracie.

“You haven’t seen her hungover. She gets so miserable.” Des shook his head ruefully. “I hate seeing her like that.”

“Awww, true love,” Libby said, her tone teasing though envy coursed through her like poison.

Since when did she want that? She shook her head, trying to dislodge the strange sensation. Instead she concentrated on watching Paul make their drinks, mesmerized by how his hands seemed to caress everything he touched. Or was she drunk?

Paul reached for some fresh tumblers and measured out half shots of vodka into each of the girl’s glasses. He topped them up with plenty of soda water and added a dash of syrup.

At the rate her head was turning fuzzy, the watered-down drink would be a blessing.

“It’s for their own good.” Des slapped Paul on the back and returned to the table. “Can I get a reminder on the rules?”

“We go around in a circle and make a statement starting with never have I ever,” Gracie said, accepting her drink from Paul. “If you’ve done the action then you take a drink. For example, if I say never have I ever gotten a tattoo, Des would have to drink but I wouldn’t. Got it?”

“Let’s go.” Des reached for his own drink.

“I’ll start,” Libby volunteered, looking around the table with a dramatic pause. “Never have I ever cheated on a test.”

Both Chapman boys took a swig of their drinks and looked at each other, laughing. Seeing them together in such a relaxed atmosphere, they were startlingly alike: dark hair, darker eyes, olive skin, and great bodies. But Paul had a mischievous charm about him whereas Des was more serious, the typical older brother.

“Delinquents.” Gracie shook her head. “Never have I ever been to Europe.”

The rest of the group all raised their glasses with a cheer and Gracie pouted.

“Never have I ever flashed someone,” Paul said with a sly grin.

Silence settled over the table and curious eyes darted around the table until Libby took a swig of her drink. Her cheeks felt hotter than the pavement on a summer’s day.

“I did Mardi Gras for my twenty-first birthday, so sue me.”

“You wanted those beads, didn’t you?” Paul threw back his head and laughed.

“Someone dared me, and you know how I am with dares.”

His eyes darkened. “That I do.”

“Never have I ever woken up somewhere and had no idea where I was.” Des raised his glass but no one drank. “Nice to see we’re all responsible adults here.”

“Never have I ever dumped someone via text message.” Libby looked around and Gracie took a swig of her own drink.

Paul followed. “Guilty as charged.”

“That’s terrible, guys,” Libby admonished. “Don’t you think people deserve to have it said to their face?”

“The face-to-face breakup is overrated.” Paul’s lips twisted into a grimace, and Gracie nodded.

“I agree. Sometimes if you know the person is going to have a meltdown, text is better.”

“You better not do that to me.” Des pulled her into a hug and kissed the top of her head.

“Never,” Gracie said solemnly. “Okay, never have I ever been publicly dumped.”

Libby looked at her glass, contemplating a white lie. Paul would no doubt ask about it, and she hadn’t really shared anything about her past relationships. Make that relationship. Singular. After that disaster she’d never gotten close to anyone…what was the point? Her ex had only reinforced what her parents taught her—relationships were risky, especially with men who had a lot of female attention, and there was little chance of reward.

“Define publicly?” Paul toyed with his glass. “Are we talking in front of a crowd?”

Gracie drummed her fingers on the tabletop. “In front of at least one person who wasn’t in the relationship.”

Paul picked up his glass and took a longer than necessary swig, looking at Libby the whole time as if daring her to ask him about it. His eyes remained hard, his jaw set tight. So he knew what it was like? No wonder a fake relationship appealed to him.

She responded in the only way she could, raising her glass and matching his gulp with hers.

“Aww, you poor things,” Gracie said, crestfallen. “I was hoping no one would drink to that.”

“Life goes on.” Paul shrugged. “It won’t happen to me again, I’ll make damn sure of that.”

Libby reached out under the table and grabbed Paul’s hand. She had no words, nothing that would soothe the past for either of them. Screw her ex and his, too. They were great people who deserved better than to be treated like garbage.

“Never have I ever had a nickname,” Des said, breaking the tension and moving the game along.

When Libby didn’t drink, Paul’s elbow dug into her ribcage. “Why aren’t you drinking?”

“I don’t have a nickname,” she said.

Gracie looked at her incredulous. “Never?”

“It’s a lie,” Paul brought the drink to her lips and held it there. “Your nickname is Tiger, in case you’ve forgotten.”

He proceeded to stare at her until she took a sip of the drink, knowing she’d later regret accepting his declaration while he regaled the group with the story of how he came to give her the only nickname she’d ever had.

Glaring at him because she really did hate the nickname, she couldn’t stop the spread of a smile across her lips. Nicknames and in-jokes weren’t something she was used to. She’d never had any siblings to share them with, and her circle of close friends was shockingly limited.