“I’m Clare. Nice to meet you.”
“And I’m Maddie, the fun one.” My sister appears in the doorway, looking like she swallowed a basketball but somehow still managing to be graceful about it. She’s got flour in her hair and that glow pregnant women are supposed to have. “Also the one who’s going to grill you about your intentions with our baby brother. Someone has to do it since Ryan’s deployed until February.”
“I’m twenty-seven,” I point out.
“You’re still the baby.” Maddie grins at Clare. “So, Clare, what’s your story? How’d you meet this disaster?”
Clare glances up at me, and something in those dark eyes hits me like a body check I didn’t see coming. She’s gorgeous, even when she’s not trying to be. Focus, Drake.
“He was being difficult about a charity event schedule. I had to put him in his place.”
“She’s got a mouth on her,” I add, letting my fingers trace a small circle against her back. “I was intrigued.”
“Intrigued,” Clare repeats, and there’s something in her voice that makes me look down at her. She’s watching me with those intelligent eyes, like she’s trying to figure out where the performance ends and something real begins.
Join the club, sweetheart.
“Well, I like her already,” Maddie declares. “Anyone who can handle Mitch’s ego gets my approval.”
“My ego is perfectly reasonable,” I protest.
“Your ego has its own zip code,” Evan says dryly.
Clare laughs—really laughs—and the sound does something dangerous to my rib cage. This is the first time I’ve heard her genuinely laugh all day, not the polite chuckle she gives to difficult reporters or the nervous giggle from the airplane. This is real, unguarded, and beautiful.
And watching her fit into my family, like she’s always belonged here makes me wonder how the hell she’s still single. She’s smart, funny, gorgeous, and she’s handling my mother’s enthusiasm and my siblings’ teasing like she was born for it.
What kind of idiot let her get away?
“So,” Maddie continues, settling into the couch with the careful movements of someone carrying precious cargo, “have you two been naughty or nice this year? Because I’m pretty sure Santa’s keeping a close eye on my brother.”
Clare’s blush deepens, and she shoots me a look that’s pure mischief. “Well, I’ve been very good. Your brother, on the other hand...”
“Hey now,” I say, pulling her closer so she’s pressed against my side. “I’ve been a perfect gentleman.”
“That’s debatable,” she murmurs, just loud enough for me to hear.
The teasing tone in her voice sends heat straight to my core. This woman is going to be the death of me, and I’m starting to think that might not be the worst way to go.
“Don’t believe a word he says,” Maddie advises Clare. “Mitchell’s been on Santa’s naughty list since 2005.”
“What happened in 2005?” Clare asks.
“He convinced me that Santa only brought presents to kids who were asleep by eight PM,” Evan says. “So I went to bed early while he stayed up and ate all the Christmas cookies.”
“Strategic thinking,” I defend. “Basic hockey tactics.”
“You were eight years old,” Mom calls from the kitchen.
“Prime age for developing competitive instincts.”
Clare shakes her head, but she’s smiling. Really smiling. And standing this close to her, feeling the way she’s relaxed into my touch, breathing in that intoxicating scent of her perfume, I’m starting to forget why I thought keeping this fake was a good idea.
Because watching Clare laugh with my family, seeing her fit into this chaos like she’s always been part of it, makes me realize something I wasn’t prepared for.
This fake girlfriend thing might be the smartest idea I’ve ever had.
Or the most dangerous.