Fake Crowne

FAKE CROWNE THE CROWNE BROTHERS CD REISS CONTENTS I ALSO WROTE THESE Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Chapter 24 Chapter 25 Chapter 26 Chapter 27 Chapter 28 Chapter 29 Chapter 30 Chapter 31 Chapter 32 Chapter 33 Chapter 34 Chapter 35 Chapter 36 Chapter 37 Chapter 38 Chapter 39 Chapter 40 Chapter 41 Chapter 42 Chapter 43 Epilogue Epilogue I ALSO WROTE THESE Acknowledgments © 2022 Flip City Media Inc. All rights reserved Song lyrics to “Don’t Be” and “Wings of Gold” © N. Reiss Used with permission. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. This came out of the author’s head. Any similarities to persons living or dead makes you a lucky dog—no more, and no less. I designed the cover. I hope you like it. I ALSO WROTE THESE Iron Crowne ~ Enemies to Lovers Crowne of Lies ~ Marriage of Convenience Crowne Rules ~ Forced Close Proximity Fake Crowne ~ Fake Relationship Crowne Jewel ~ Enemies to Lovers Crowne Princes ~ the first three Crowne Standalones all in one bundle. You might also like: The New York Times bestselling Games Duet Adam Steinbeck will give his wife a divorce on one condition. She join him in a remote cabin for 30 days, submitting to his sexual dominance. Marriage Games | Separation Games * * * Monica insists she’s not submissive. Jonathan Drazen is going to prove otherwise, but he might fall in love doing it. COMPLETE SUBMISSION CONTEMPORARY ROMANCES Hollywood and sports romances for the sweet and sexy romantic. Star-Crossed | Hardball | Bombshell | Bodyguard | Only Ever You 1 COLTON My head weighs four tons. My front is cold, and my back is hot. Something wet slaps against the side of my face. “Colton.” My name is a string leading me out of sleep. Guy’s voice. Impatient. Smell of chlorine and stale beer. Sound of birds. High-pitched whee followed by a whrr that’s a good three octaves lower. The orange clouds inside my eyelids are too bright. “Colton. Colton. Colton.” Shit. It’s Logan, and I already have a splitting headache. Blink, blink. The sun’s low on the other side of the garage. Still too bright. My cheek is at the edge of the pool. Jan, the pool lady, in wraparound Oaklies and a trucker cap, pushes the vacuum under the water with a long aluminum pole. Forward, then back. Whee-whrr. “Colton.” Logan’s voice is above me. There’s no rule against sleeping in the backyard and I don’t need his permission to be hungover. All I need is ten minutes to get to the bathroom to piss, then the kitchen for water and a few Advil. Then I need the rest of the day to sleep this shit off. “Colton.” “Fuck off.” He and Ella are supposed to be away until next week, but here he is, live and in the flesh. “It’s my house, Colton. I don’t fuck off in my own house.” I feel a steady pressure at my shoulder. His foot, pushing me harder and harder. Before I can get up, he rolls me into the pool. I catch my breath and hold it before going under. It’s fucking cold and loud down here. I come up facing Jan from Luminous Pool Services. She’s laughing and giving me a thumbs-up for not drowning. Now I’m awake. I shake my hair away from my eyes and turn to Logan standing above me. He’s in a fucking suit, of course, arms crossed, sun behind him so I can’t really see his expression. “What did you do that for?” “So you can experience the toxic dump in my backyard.” “What toxic—?” Just then, a jellyfish bobs onto the tile by his feet, which is impossible. It’s a condom. Judging from the pearly spew of syrup leaking into the water, it’s been used. Last night, when I told Carmy to be careful, I meant don’t fuck in the pool. I lost track of him and everyone else who showed up at my brother’s guest house. Logan’s put me up for the past year and change, and sometimes I forget the house isn’t mine. “I’ll clean it up.” I get out of the pool. My hoodie’s taken on a few gallons, so when I stand, I’m a waterfall. That’s when I realize my legs are bare. I’m in my briefs. Fuck. “When?” It’s a challenge to say anything later than now. “You didn’t call first. If you called, and said, ‘Hey, we’re coming home from wherever,’ it would have been cleaned up already.” “You would have picked the rubber out of the water and left the rest for my wife to swim in.” He acts as if it’s not too gross for anyone to swim in, which it is, but as if Ella’s gonna get knocked up that way. I could tell him he shouldn’t worry, at least it’s not my rubber, and add a backhand about his own virility. That’s what I’d normally do, but I don’t. One, because I need to live here, and two, because my brain is too fucked for backhands. “You want me to take care of it or not?” He looks me up and down, making sure to judge me from head to toe, then says, “We talked about the parties.” Fuck him. We didn’t talk. He said things and I nodded. “It wasn’t a party. It was a dinner.” My head hurts and I need pants. I go toward the guest house before I say another incriminating word. The patio table’s a disaster. Amidst a garden