Parrish Partridge’s True Facts:There’s nothing hotter than a tall, gruff, bewildered, tattooed mountain of a man cuddling a sweet, orphaned baby, so you can tell yourself that you’ll resist him…

But that’s a lie.

And when that man asks you to do him a favor and pretend to be his very temporary, very fake fiance to help him get custody of that adorable baby, you can pretend you know better than to say yes…

But that’s a lie, too.

And when you actually get to know your kind, strong, pullet-loving prince of a fiance, and all his crazy, lovable, meddling neighbors, you can tell yourself you’re not really falling for Diesel Church and the town of Licking Thicket…

But that might be the biggest lie of all.

I couldn’t let those assholes raise my sister’s baby. I’d do whatever it took to win full custody of her the way my sister had wanted.

I swallowed my pride and forged ahead. Parrish looked at me with an innocently eager expression on his face, like he’d be willing to change another diaper or warm up the casserole if I’d needed.

This wasn’t quite as simple.

“Um, so… you know I’m trying to get custody of her, and…” I closed my eyes and tightened my jaw. I hated telling people my personal business. No one in town really knew what was going on. Hell, I didn’t think anyone other than Birdie and Dot even knew I’d had a sister once upon a time.

“And, what?” Parrish encouraged softly.

“And I’m not a good enough candidate. Stewie thinks I’m going to lose even though my sister stipulated me as Marigold’s guardian in her will.”

“How is that possible?” Parrish asked, seemingly disgusted on my behalf. Then his face fell. “Do you have a record or something? Is that why?”

I narrowed my eyes at him. It wasn’t the first time someone had made a snap judgment about me, but it stung more coming from him for some reason. “I do not have a record.”

He at least looked a little embarrassed. “Sorry,” he muttered, focusing back on Marigold. “I… sorry.”

“Anyway, the reason is because the people who adopted my sister, the ones claiming to be Marigold’s grandparents, are rich and perfect on paper in a way I could never be. So, by comparison I look like gutter trash. I have temporary custody of the baby while the hearings are ongoing, and the Kensingtons only have visitation, but that could all change if the judge decides to overrule my sister’s wishes.”

Parrish’s chin firmed up. “You’re not gutter trash. You’re…” He looked around, glancing outside the window where a stack of rusting vehicles glowed in the afternoon sun. “A businessman,” he finished lamely.

I appreciated the effort.

“Yeah, well, they aren’t very impressed with my business since most of my transactions are in cash and trade. On paper I look like an unemployed loser as well as some kind of single man playboy.”

“You’re a playboy? What does that mean, exactly? You sleep around or something?” Parrish looked like he didn’t want to appear curious, but I could see right through him. “How would they even know that about you? Did they hire a private detective?”

As if I needed one more thing to worry about. The Kensingtons were totally the kind of people who would hire a PI to dig up dirt on me. Thankfully, there wasn’t much to find that the Kensingtons didn’t already know.

“No, I… no. I don’t sleep around. I mean, I…” I sighed and shook my head. I couldn’t help but laugh. “I get around fine, but no, I’m not a playboy.”

“Why are we even talking about this?” Parrish asked a little snappishly. “Whoever you choose to sleep with is your business. It’s certainly no business of mine. I only came with the apology chicken. And now I should go.” He stood up and plunked Marigold in my lap before putting the bottle in the kitchen sink and heading for the door.

“Wait!” I called out. I hadn’t even gotten to the favor yet.

He turned around and snapped his fingers. “Of course. The chicken passie. Here.” He pulled something out of his pocket and handed it to me. It was one of Marigold’s toys from the courthouse.

“I need you to pretend to be my fiancé to help me get custody of Marigold,” I blurted.

Parrish blinked at me before turning on his heel and marching out of the house. This time, unfortunately, he picked the correct door. By the time I raced after him, he was skidding his way out of my driveway in his dusty red Mustang.

“Well, fuck, baby girl,” I muttered into Marigold’s dark curls. “That didn’t exactly go the way I’d planned.”

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About Lucy:

After enjoying creative writing as a child, Lucy didn’t write her first novel until she was over 40 years old. Her debut novel, Borrowing Blue, was published in the autumn of 2016. Lucy has an English Literature degree from Vanderbilt University, but that doesn’t hold a candle to the years and years of staying up all night reading tantalizing novels on her own. She has three children, plays tennis, and hates folding laundry. While her husband is no shmoopy romance hero, he is very good at math, cooks a mean lasagne, has gorgeous eyes, looks hot in his business clothes, and makes her laugh every single day.

Lucy hopes you enjoy sexy heroes as much as she does. Happy reading!

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About May:

May is an M/M author who lives in Boston. She spends her days raising three incredibly sarcastic children, finding inventive ways to drive her husband crazy, planning beach vacations, avoiding the gym, reading M/M romance, and occasionally writing it. She also writes MF romance as Maisy Archer.

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