Fake Crown - Bellerive Royals - 1 [Sample]

3. Posey

Most people would probably be nervous or scared about meeting a stranger at the airport for a weekend get-away. Not me. I'm excited to see the look on Mr. No-Drama-rama's face when he realizes Jensen is Posey Jensen, and I don't just stumble into drama, I thrive on it. Give me all the nonsense, and I'll give it right back.

When I get to the terminal, I head to the check-in. He messaged me to say we'd meet up on the other side of security for a beer before boarding. Just thinking about our exchanges makes me chuckle. Rather than fessing up, I poured more half-truths down the chat lines. Hair brown, eyes brown, average build, beer drinker (any alcohol, who am I kidding?), sports enthusiast (I enjoy men's assets)—all true. Not quite who he'll be scanning the crowd for. In for a penny, in for a pound.

Once I'm checked in and on the other side of security, I sashay through the terminal with my short skirt and high heels. Rather than my usual low maintenance makeup application, I went full face. There's something about any man implying women are difficult and saddled with drama that gets my back up. Lots of women aren't like that at all. Sometimes I'm one of them, and sometimes I'm not. I hate the idea of being slotted into some jerky guy's preconceived notions of what a woman should and shouldn't be.

Enjoy your weekend, asshole.

When I'm near the pub, I shoot a message into the chat app to let him know I'm here. He messages back that he's in a booth near the rear of the pub wearing a Northern University baseball cap. My heels click across the faux wooden floor on my way to the scattered tables and booths. In a far corner is a broad-shouldered man staring at his phone with a baseball cap concealing his face. I bet he's one of those types that lives in the gym and stares at himself in the mirror.

A hint of a grin twists my lips as I approach. I cannot wait to see his face.

"BF?" I ask when I'm standing beside his table.

He glances up, and my heart stops. Holy-fucking-shit. Heat rushes through my body followed by a jolt of ice cold.

It's Brent Faulkner. My mouth drops open. He's not the one who has been obsessively staring at his body: I am.

"Jensen?" He frowns and sits straighter in the booth.

"Brent Faulkner?" The disbelief in my voice is palpable. But it's him. I'd recognize those golden-brown eyes, angular face, and jet-black hair anywhere.

"Your name is Jensen?"

"Posey. Posey Jensen." I slide into the booth across from him. "You have a girlfriend."

"You're supposed to be a dude." His lips twist in distaste. "I said no drama. Does this situation seem drama-free to you?"

I cross my arms, clench my jaw, and slump into the booth. Of course my thirst trap secret crush would turn out to be Mr. No-Drama-rama judgmental jerk face. It annoys me to no end that I can't stop scanning his features and comparing them to the hundreds of photos I've drooled over.

"Okay, so technically I never told you I was a dude. You assumed, I guess, based on my name."

"I would have been less shocked if Jensen Ackles showed up here."

"Yeah, sure. You and Jensen, slaying demons in Bermuda." I roll my eyes. "Total bros weekend."

A hint of a smile curls his lips, and he glances away while sweeping a hand over his face. When he meets my gaze again, all trace of humor is gone. "Am I going to regret this, Jensen?"

"Regret inviting me? Probably." I lean across the table toward him and try to decide whether his attitude is a turnoff or a turn-on in person. The fact that he's chiseled like a Greek god is definitely softening my rock-hard resolve to make his weekend hell. "To assume all women are filled with drama and trouble is—quite frankly—not a good look."