Fake it 'til You Make Out: Love & Luck, #1

By Isla Olsen

Heath


It's a classic story: Boy meets girl, girl breaks boy's heart, boy pretends to be gay to get back at girl, girl outs boy to everyone on Facebook…


Okay, maybe it's not that classic. But it's what happened to me.


When I bump into my cheating ex and catch sight of the moon-sized rock on her finger, there's only one option to save face: pretend to be dating my gay best friend, Declan.


And when she outs me on Facebook and everyone I know sees it, there's still only one option: keep pretending to be dating Declan.


And when Declan and I have to kiss to keep up the ruse and it turns out there's actually a spark between us (more like a blazing inferno, if truth be told) there's once again only one option…


Warning: this book is not appropriate for anyone who doesn't like laughing, anyone who doesn't like dogs, or anyone who doesn't like hot men having a lot of sex…with each other.


*Happily Ever After included

• Language: English
• Publisher: Moonwalker Press
• Release date: Sep 2, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215523858

Book preview

ONE

Heath

I didn’t wake up that Saturday morning with the intention of fabricating a relationship with my gay best friend. I don’t think anyone ever really plans something like that. I’m sure if you found anyone else who’d been in a fake relationship and asked how it started they’d have a similar story: I said something really stupid to the wrong person and twenty-four hours later my entire family and everyone else I knew thought I was gay.

Nope, that Saturday I woke up in a pretty damned good mood thanks to a sexy blonde and her sexy mouth wrapped around my cock.

I was asleep when it started, and am a little disorientated to wake up in an unfamiliar bedroom with my cock in a random woman’s mouth, but it doesn’t take long for my brain to catch up to my dick and alert me to the fact that this is the girl I hooked up with last night. Sarah? Sandra? Sophie? Fuck…I might have been slightly distracted by the incredible tits she kept shoving in my face as she leaned over the bar to talk to me, but I’m pretty sure her name starts with an S.

"Fuck…that feels amazing." I let out a groan as she takes me deeper inside her mouth, my hands reaching out to run through her long golden hair.

Girl’s got skills, I’ll give her that, and it only takes a few more moments of her deep-throating me before I’m ready to blow. "Coming!" I manage to get out just before I shoot into her mouth.

I let my hands slide out of her hair and fall to my sides. Damn, you’re really good at that.

She runs her tongue over her lips and flips her hair back. Thanks. I was kind of hoping you’d stay asleep though.

Huh?

My face screws up in confusion as I attempt to parse her words. Why wouldn’t you want me to wake up?

She flashes me a flirty smile. I have a thing for unconscious guys.

What. The. Actual. Fuck?

I want to believe she’s joking but her expression says she’s completely serious. I guess it serves me right for breaking my sister’s ‘No Going Home With The Customers’ rule, but seriously—what the fuck?

I’m suddenly feeling incredibly vulnerable just lying here in her bed without any clothes on, so I get up and search the floor for my briefs, yanking them on as soon as I locate them amongst the scattering of clothes littering her bedroom. I shove the t-shirt I’d been wearing over my head, the black one with the Rice, Rice, Baby logo on the front, but my jeans...where the fuck are my jeans?

As I begin to seriously contemplate just leaving them and making my way across Manhattan half-naked, I hear Ed Sheeran’s Galway Girl blaring from the other side of the bed and breathe a sigh of relief.

I dig the phone out of my pocket with one hand as I start scrambling into my jeans with the other. Just as I’m answering the call, I hear Creepy Date Rape Girl squeal, "Oh, I love Ed Sheeran too! We have so much in common!"

I roll my eyes. I don’t actually love Ed Sheeran, I just happen to have a best friend whose family hail from Galway.

Okay, so maybe I like Ed Sheeran a little bit—the dude’s songs are fucking catchy, sue me.

"Fucking bastard, Declan says with a chuckle, clearly having overheard Creepy Girl’s comment, I thought you promised to change that stupid ringtone?"

I have no recollection of such a promise being made.

Right…well, I was going to ask for a favor but if you’re busy I’ll call one of my brothers…

Nope, don’t worry, I’m on my way.

Declan lets out a breath of laughter. You don’t even know what the favor is.

Doesn’t matter, I’ll be there. You at the shelter?

Yeah.

Be there soon. I end the call and finish doing up my jeans.

Are you sure you can’t stay for breakfast? Creepy Girl says from where she’s perched on the bed. I can make something for you.

And risk being roofied? No thanks.

I shake my head and offer a tight smile. Sorry, gotta run. And because my mom raised me to use manners, I can’t stop myself from adding, Thanks for everything, Sarah.

Her eyes narrow on me. "Who’s Sarah?"

I cringe. Ah, shit, sorry…Sandra?

My name is Henrietta.

I can’t stop the little bubble of laughter that makes its way out of my mouth. I should probably give a shit that I screwed that up so badly but I really don’t.

She’s not amused. In fact, she looks ready to curse me with some kind of dark spell. Or throw a meat cleaver at me. One of the two. And seeing as how it’s already been established she’s bat-shit crazy, I decide to get out of there, pronto.

The second the front door closes behind me I reach for my crotch just to check everything is still intact and she hasn’t somehow cursed my dick to fall off while she was sucking me.

Thank fucking god. My eyes fall closed and I let out a heavy breath of relief upon giving myself the all clear. When I open them, it’s to find an elderly lady has emerged from the apartment across the hall and is eyeing me with amused curiosity. I yank my hand away and clear my throat awkwardly. Just checking.

The old lady’s mouth curves up in what I hope is wry humor and not actual interest. Would you like some help with that, dear?

I’m good…thanks. I give her a polite nod of my head and then take off for the stairwell, darting down five flights and bursting out onto the street.

I’m instantly hit by the thick heat that is New York City in mid-July. It’s still early, not even 8am yet, but the sun is already fierce and there’s barely a breeze to speak of.

I briefly consider the possibility of going home to swap my jeans and boots for something more weather appropriate, but that would take me way out of my way, and I don’t want to keep Declan waiting.

There’s a subway station just down the street from Creepy Girl’s apartment, and I’m able to get to the animal shelter in Brooklyn in under twenty minutes.

The shelter won’t open to the public for another couple of hours, so when I get there I bypass the bolted-up front door in favor of the side entrance I know Declan would have left open for me. The moment I step inside, my senses are instantly assaulted by the stench of dog shit. And yeah, I know certain odors are to be expected in a freaking dog shelter, but that’s not what this is. This is bad. Explosion at the sewage treatment bad. What the fuck has Dec roped me into?

I slap my hand over my nose and draw in deep breaths through my mouth as I go in search of Dec. It doesn’t take long to find him; as I move toward the back area of the shelter, I can hear him muttering and swearing under his breath and when he comes into view I immediately see why: he’s down on his hands and knees in one of the dog cages, cleaning up a giant mess of liquid dog shit.

Oh, fucking hell, that’s disgusting—what the hell happened?

He stops his cursing and glances up at me, the relief in his green eyes palpable. Oh, good, you’re here. That didn’t take long—I take it you weren’t at your place?

Nope. What the fuck, man?

He lets out a sigh and backs out of the cage, standing to his feet. How he managed to even get his six foot plus frame in that cage in the first place is beyond me. He’s wearing a pair of blue scrubs, the front of which are smeared with bits of dog shit…urgh.

You know that rescue we bought in a few days ago? The lab mix? Declan asks.

The one they found in the Hudson?

"That’s the one. Well, we had him checked out when he came in and he was fine. Exhausted, obviously, and needed de-fleaing and de-worming, all the usual stuff. But other than that, seemed healthy.

"Yesterday he spewed up his dinner—we figured he might be having trouble adjusting to the food we’ve been feeding him. But then this morning I come in and there’s shit everywhere. And it’s not just him, Thor and Bruce are sick as well."

"Jesus. Where are they now?"

In the yard. I wanted to separate them from the other dogs, hopefully contain this thing… If that’s even possible. He lifts his hand, no doubt intending to scrub it through his dark blond hair, but drops it with a grimace of disgust when he realizes the glove he’s wearing is covered in shit.

What do you want me to do? I’m dreading the answer, but I offered to help so I’ll just have to suck it up. Besides, I don’t like seeing Dec all stressed out like this.

We need to clean the cages—and I mean seriously clean them. They need to be hospital-grade disinfected. And we’ll need to bathe the dogs, but that can wait ’til after Dale’s been in. He promised to stop by before we open today. Hopefully he can give them something to make them stop shitting everywhere.

I shake my head, letting out a resigned sigh. You got any more of those scrubs?

TWO

Declan

Much to Heath’s annoyance, I don’t have another set of scrubs. I only had the set I’m wearing because I haven’t gotten around to unpacking my locker here since the semester ended; as it turns out, that was a good decision. Instead, I let him borrow the shorts I was wearing when I came in today. They’re old and from Walmart, so if they get ruined it’s really not a big deal. And I won’t have to listen to Heath bitching about getting dog shit all over the expensive jeans he’s got on.

I toss him the shorts and he gets changed, removing his t-shirt and boots as well, evidentially deciding he doesn’t want to risk them either.

Hey, where d’you keep those bandanas you send the new adoptees home in? he asks once he’s changed and set his clean clothes as far out of the way as possible.

"Why?" I ask warily.

Why do you think? He threads his fingers through a clump of the straight dark hair that falls to the nape of his neck. Yeah, I can see how that could be a problem; it’s not really long enough to tie back, but definitely long enough to get in the way.

I nod toward the front part of the shelter. Through there, behind the counter. Second drawer.

Heath disappears for a minute, and when he comes back, green bandana in place, I can’t help the bubble of laughter that rises out of me.

He narrows his gray eyes at me, thick dark brows lowered in annoyance. What? What’s so funny?

No, it’s nothing. It’s just, you look more like you’re about to join a beach volleyball game than…this.

He lets out a wry huff of laughter, followed by a resigned grunt. Come on, let’s get this over with.

"You’re insane!" Heath cries.

"I’m insane? Do you even hear yourself?"

"Do you?"

I get to my feet; the sponge I’ve been using to scrub out Thor’s cage dangles loosely from my hand, water dripping everywhere as I stare at my best friend, completely bewildered by what he’s suggesting. I’ve heard Heath try to hold up some seriously dumb arguments over the years, but this is absolutely beyond me. Wolverine has fucking adamantium running through his entire body! I argue. "And he has super-healing ability. That makes him virtually indestructible. There’s no fucking way Black Panther would beat him."

"Black Panther is really fast and really smart. He’d get in quick under Wolverine’s guard and go for the throat. One big slash and bye, bye Wolverine."

"There is no way Wolverine would ever let Black Panther get that close to him!"

We stare each other down for a long moment until I finally throw my hands up in exasperation. Fine, let’s ask an impartial judge.

Heath shrugs. Fine.

I peel off the rubber gloves I’ve been wearing and go in search of my phone. Once I’ve found it, I hold it up between Heath and me. Hey Siri, who would win in a fight between Black Panther and Wolverine?