Small Town Pretender by Brighton Walsh

At Nat and Asher’s wedding, things had been awkward. Not only had it all been sprung on them, but they’d also been dancing around each other, trying to balance the public persona of being in love, all while having experienced the mind-blowing kiss that morning in their bedroom.

Today couldn’t have been more different. While their paths hadn’t crossed much thanks to Nat’s bridesmaid and sisterly responsibilities, she’d felt his eyes on her all day. When Will and Finn had said their vows, she’d made the mistake of seeking him out.

He’d sat sandwiched between her momma, who had June in her lap, playing with her pearl necklace, and Gran, always the baby hog, entertaining Owen. And despite getting slapped in the face by a wayward baby fist, Asher hadn’t looked away from her.

She’d felt this overwhelming tug to go to him. Which was stupid for so many reasons. She hadn’t ever been controlled by her emotions. And besides, the emotions she was feeling now were just residual from the day’s festivities and her concern over the outcome of the custody hearing coming up.

It hadn’t mattered how much she’d wanted to go to him anyway, because her task list was full. First, there were the group photos with the definitely-not-as-good-as-her photographer. Then, she’d been pulled into a hundred different conversations with Havenbrook townsfolk, all of whom acted like they hadn’t just talked to her a couple weeks prior at her own wedding. And, of course, she’d had to make sure Will had been well fed and had plenty of water throughout the day, especially now knowing she was pregnant.

Watching the bride and groom had made Nat ache in a way she wasn’t at all familiar with. How Finn had looked at Will, how he’d held her—like she was precious. She’d snapped a photo of them when they no doubt thought no one was watching. They’d been off in a corner, Finn’s arms surrounding her, his hand resting on her belly, lips pressed to her temple. It was love captured in a single moment.

She had no idea why seeing them like that had her missing Asher. All day, they’d been like ships passing in the night. They hadn’t managed anything more than a quick kiss as they traded places, Asher passing the kids off to her as he grabbed his guitar and prepared to play for Will and Finn’s first dance.

All she could say was thank God for her nieces, because Ava and Ella were laughing and playing with June, keeping her occupied while Nat focused on Owen. The baby was contentedly sucking down a bottle in her arms, which meant she could focus on the man who’d taken the stage.

Asher wore what he’d worn to their wedding, and the sight stirred something deep inside her, a wave of possessiveness enveloping her, especially when his ring caught her eye.

He sat in the lone chair onstage, his guitar in his lap, and ran a hand through his hair before adjusting the mic. “How y’all doin’ tonight?”

The murmur of the crowd lowered until a hush fell over the room, everyone no doubt as mesmerized by his presence as she was. He’d always been magnetic on a stage—didn’t matter if he was the solo performer in a dive bar or if he was playing in a band with the lights of an arena on him.

“No, you didn’t get lost and end up at an open mic night,” he said, one side of his mouth kicking up in response to the crowd’s laughter. “Will asked me to come play for y’all tonight. So how about we get the bride and groom out here for their first dance?”

Finn led Will onto the dance floor, spinning her out and away from him before pulling her in close. Her sister laughed as she crashed into Finn’s chest, the two of them looking at each other like they were the only people in the room. And that damn ache settled in her chest again. Reflexively, her fingers twitched to capture the moment with her camera, but her hands were a little full.

It didn’t matter anyway, because her attention was snagged by the man strumming his guitar.

She returned her gaze to him, and their eyes locked as the first words of the song she’d yet to hear filtered out in his deep, gravelly voice.

I wanna breathe you in, to keep you inside.

But that’s only a cell, ’cause you were born to fly.

She’d been in the audience during those first open mic nights, when there were three people in the room—including her. She’d been backstage when he’d played on tour with Luke Bryan. She’d even been the one recording the video of him singing at The Bluebird Cafe that had gone viral. But none of the hundreds of times she’d listened to him sing had ever felt like this.

If I let you go, will you come back to me?

’Cause if so, baby, I’d set you free.

He strummed the chords, his fingers moving effortlessly over the strings. Fingers that had played her body just as well. His voice was a husky croon as he sang into the mic, his gaze she felt straight to her toes locked on hers.

I can’t keep pretending, don’t wanna try.

But, baby, you were born to fly.

She had little doubt that every single woman in the audience and a few of the men probably felt the exact same way she did. That was his job as a performer—to sell the performance. It didn’t matter that she was wearing his ring. Not really. Not when it wasn’t real.

Can’t stand the sight of you walking away, but I won’t beg you to stay.

I don’t know what’s right, don’t know what to do

The only thing I’m sure of is that it’s always been you…

Asher sang the last chorus of the song, his eyes closed when the final note floated from his lips. Applause erupted in the space, snapping her out of whatever crazy trance she’d gotten locked in. What was she doing? Getting lost in his eyes and pretending like the song he probably wrote for her sister’s first dance had been for her?

She blinked out of her daze when Owen plucked the empty bottle from his mouth and shook it. “All gone, buddy,” she said, lifting him upright to burp. “Just so you know, if you puke all over this dress, your auntie Will is gonna be super mad.”

“How about you let Auntie Mac give it a try, then?” Mac asked as she slipped into the seat next to hers.

“Nah, it’s fine. I got it. Besides, she’d be just as mad at you. At least if he throws up on me, I actually signed up for it.”

“That’s what spit-up rags are for.” Mac peeled it off Nat’s shoulder and placed it on her own. She reached for Owen, smiling when the baby gripped her face between his tiny fists with a laugh. “Besides, thought you might wanna go break up the groupie fest surroundin’ Asher. Your husband. You know, for appearance’s sake.”

Nat snapped her head around to where Asher stood on the stage, bending to put his guitar back in its case. Two women she recognized from high school stood flanking him, their laughter a little too loud, their touches a little too familiar. She set her jaw and pushed to stand.

“Excellent actin’ skills,” Mac said dryly. “I’m sure everybody in here is gonna buy the fake jealous wife act. It is fake, right?”

Nat ignored her as she strolled toward the trio, her vision going red when one of them brushed their hand up and down Asher’s biceps before squeezing. Just who the hell did these women think they were, touching a man who clearly wore a wedding ring? Her wedding ring.

Surprisingly, she’d never gotten in a physical fight before—with women, anyway, though she’d handed men their asses a time or two in her life—but she wasn’t opposed to starting something tonight. She probably wouldn’t be detained for assault once she pled her case—that these two were hitting on her very hot, very fake husband, and what was she supposed to do? Just stand by and let it happen?

“Not sure why you’d need to buy me a drink at an open bar,” he said flatly to the women, and if Nat hadn’t been seeing red, she probably would’ve smiled at that. He was giving the ladies the cold shoulder as best he could, his attention solely focused on his guitar.

He stood, still bent over his case, and glanced up, face blank before he did a double take and straightened at her approach.

“Hey,” he said, his voice low.

She slipped right between the two women, not sparing them a single word when her focus was on him. On this ridiculous, unfounded jealousy that felt like a volcano inside her, suddenly erupting after lying dormant for years. Without hesitation, she reached up and under his vest, flattening her hand against his abdomen. She pressed up on her tiptoes, wrapped her fingers around his neck, and tugged his face down to hers.

Without hesitation, he crashed his mouth into hers. This kiss was nothing like the ones they’d shared at their wedding. Nothing like any they’d shared in a public setting before now. Those had been chaste. Tame, for all intents and purposes. Fake. But nothing about this one was fake. Not the way his lips moved under hers, or how his tongue stroked into her mouth, or how he gripped her, so tight against him. As if he couldn’t bear to be separated from her for even a moment. As if he never wanted to let her go.

She had no idea how long they kissed before they finally broke apart, only that when they did so, Macy and Corinne were no longer standing there. The dance floor had filled as music poured into the room, everyone’s attention there, save for one person. Gran smirked at Nat from her spot at the family’s table. She held up a champagne flute and tipped it toward Nat and Asher with a wink.

Well, at least that show had been completely real.

“Not that I’m complainin’ or anything,” Asher said, his voice rough, “but what the hell was that?”

Nat lifted a shoulder, her fingers playing with the buttons of his shirt beneath his vest. “Turns out I like listenin’ to you sing while I’m wearin’ your ring.”

He made a gruff sound in his throat and tugged her closer, allowing her to feel the thick ridge of his cock. “Turns out I like singin’ while I’m wearin’ yours.”

She licked her lips, her gaze caught on his mouth. On the feel of him against her stomach. On thoughts of him moving inside her just that morning, and on the fact that he hadn’t given those women a second glance, even when she hadn’t been near. “Momma’s got June, and Mac has Owen. And there’s a great big dressin’ room upstairs without anyone in it.”

In response, he grabbed her hand and tugged her toward the back staircase. She could barely contain her grin as she hurried along behind him, weaving in and out of the crowd. Just before they ascended the stairs, she caught Rory’s gaze. Her sister watched the two of them with something that looked an awful lot like concern.

But this was fine. She was fine. Her sister was probably just worried about Nat ripping her dress and showing up in her shorts and tank. Definitely not about whatever this was that was developing between her and Asher.

The beat of the music shook the stairs as they ran up them, Asher’s hand gripping hers tightly as he tugged her along behind him. They burst into the darkened space, lit only by a strand of lights hung over the doors that led to the balcony.

“There wasn’t a lock,” Asher said, pulling Nat to a stop and pinning her between himself and the wall. “And we definitely won’t be able to hear if someone’s comin’ while I’m fucking my wife.”

Nat bit her lower lip, loving his words a little too much. “On the plus side, they definitely won’t be able to hear us either.”

He raised a brow. “You plannin’ on gettin’ loud, wifey?”

“Don’t know. You plannin’ on makin’ me come?”

“Once or twice.”

“How about let’s not get ahead of ourselves and just aim for the one.”

With a growl, he crashed his lips to hers, his tongue delving into her mouth while he fumbled with the excess material of her dress. Pulling away on a groan, he said, “How many layers is this fucking thing?”

She breathed out a laugh and lent a hand, gathering up the silk in her arms until her lower half was exposed, bare save for a pair of lace panties. “How about I get this out of the way, and you worry about gettin’ your pants down?”

“I have a better idea,” he said before dropping to his knees, slipping her panties to the side, and swiping his tongue through her slit.

“Oh God,” Nat breathed, widening her stance as he flicked her clit, biting her lip to stifle a moan before remembering there was no need. Not when the music downstairs drowned out the two of them. The thought that someone could stumble on them at any time—that Will and Finn were no doubt planning to use this very space for this very thing at some point tonight—only worked her up that much faster.

When Asher slipped two fingers inside her and curled them to catch on that spot that made her see stars, she was lost, thrown off the cliff headfirst into the abyss as waves of pleasure crashed over her. With one hand holding up her dress and the other gripping his hair, she rode out her orgasm against his mouth. She hadn’t even managed to catch her breath before he stood, gripped her under the ass, and lifted her up.

“That’s one,” he said against her lips. He braced her between himself and the wall, one hand clutching her ass as he dragged his cock through her slit with the other. “How about you give me this next one while I think about you claimin’ me out there in front of everyone?”

Before she could respond, he thrust deep, stealing her breath along with her words.

He groaned loud and low, the deep resonance sounding like it was pulled straight from his soul. “Fillin’ you up is never gonna get old. Tell me what’s better than this.”

“Paris in the spring?” she panted, her eyes rolling back as he thrust deep.

“Nope.”

“Swimmin’ with dolphins?”

“Wrong again.”

“Seein’ the Northern Lights?”

Asher rested his forehead against her shoulder, his breath sweeping across her chest as she held him tight to her, rolling his head side to side. “Nothing. Nothing is better than this.”

His hips worked at a frenzied pace, his cock sinking deep, somehow knowing she wanted it fast and hard.

“I don’t know…I think Corinne and Macy were angling for a threesome. That might’ve been better.”

“You think I’d want anyone else but you? Any other pussy but this one that fits my cock like it was made for me?” He thrust as deep as he could, grinding the base of his erection against her clit, whether in punishment for suggesting such a thing or purely for the pleasure, she didn’t know. “There could’ve been a whole harem lined up, and I wouldn’t have been tempted. It sure as fuck wouldn’t have compared to this.”

“That’s an awfully tall order.”

“Yeah, well, I’m your husband, so that means I get to make that call.”

A roller coaster set up camp in her stomach, flipping her insides and turning them this way and that. She didn’t want to think about why she loved the thought of him wearing her ring…why she loved him having the title of her husband…why she loved when he called her his wife. Needing to distract herself from that, she reached between them, fingering her clit as he continued driving deep.

He groaned. “Lift that dress out of the way so I can see that pussy you’re claimin’ me with.”

“Fuck, Asher,” she breathed, her body tightening more with each passing second.

“If you’re worried about two women whose names I’ve already forgotten, maybe you need a reminder of who I’m fucking right now. Who’s gonna be in my bed tonight. Who’s wearin’ my ring. My wife.”

The rough, possessive way he said the words shot straight through her, and she groaned, moving her fingers faster against her clit, her breath speeding up.

“Though God knows I’d be jealous as fuck if I found two guys hoverin’ around you, just hopin’ for a chance to feel what I’m feelin’ right now.”

She bit her lip, her body tightening at his words and his thrusts. At the possessive way he gripped her ass, holding her up as he drove into her. “I’m not the musician who’s every woman’s wet dream.”

“No, you’re just every man’s.”

Her breaths sped up, eyes fluttering. “What about you?”

“What about me?”

“Am I your wet dream, Ash?”

He groaned and slammed his hips into her, the friction detonating a shock wave in her body. They came together in a crash of lips and tongues and flesh, her body pulsing around him as they found their releases.

“Every fucking night,” he said, breathless, still seated fully inside her. “Thought that went unsaid.”

That was the trouble, though. All the things that had gone unsaid between them. Asher had always been the one she could confide in about anything. The one who’d talked her down at three in the morning, or who’d listened to her vent about her daddy or sisters. The one who’d rushed to her side whenever she’d needed anything at all, code word or not.

But she hadn’t told him this whole thing had started to feel a little too real. Hadn’t told him she’d lain awake in bed, counting down the days to the custody hearing because it meant they were that much closer to this being over. She hadn’t told him she’d grown used to this life. That she’d actually come to like it.

And she sure as hell hadn’t told him she was pretty sure she was falling in love with her fake husband.