Chapter 2

“Hey, Bran, aren’t you forgetting someone?”

Casey turned from the fridge, holding the carton of half and half. Drew held the guest list. “Who?”

“George.”

“George?”

“Your own boyfriend.” Drew snorted. “Jesus, you’ve been dating him since August and I still haven’t met him.”

Casey tried desperately to tamp down his panic. Fuck a duck. He’d forgotten all about his invented boyfriend, George. Drew hadn’t brought him up in weeks and neither had Casey. He’d hoped the whole “Georgething” had blown away. In fact, he was kind of surprised Drew remembered because Casey had first mentioned George to his sister at a summer barbecue when she would not let it go about who he was interested in. Which was Drew, of course, but it wasn’t like he could tell Dahlia that. Or anyone.

So he had invented George on the spot. Sort of. He had a neighbor, George, who was an actor, like just about everyone else in the area except Casey. And for some reason, George had popped into his head when his sister was pestering him.

The thing was, George had subsequently gotten him out of a lot of crap he hadn’t wanted to do. Go to Dahlia’s baby shower? “Oh, sorry, George is taking me to the Pantages to see a play that day. Already bought the tickets.” Dog sit Killer for a week? “Oh, sorry, but George booked a cottage on the beach for a little getaway.” The lies had become easier and easier. And it didn’t occur to Casey that Drew had actually been paying attention.

“Casey?”

“Well, George is pretty shy. And, um, anyway, he’s going to his family’s Thanksgiving.”

“I’m sure he could pop in for a bit to meet your family and friends. Has Dahlia or your parents met him?”

“No.”

Drew huffed out a breath. “I’m beginning to think he doesn’t exist.”

“What?”

“I’m kidding,” Drew said with an easy grin. “But invite him over. You’ve been seeing him for four months. It’s past time. I want to meet him. And tell him we won’t take ‘no’ for an answer.”

Casey put his hand on his suddenly queasy stomach. “I’ll try.” 2

Casey had been staring at George’s door for a good five minutes. And during that time, he realized he didn’t even know George’s last name.

Which was okay, since George was a neighbor not a friend, and Casey didn’t really even know the names of his other neighbors surrounding him in the condo complex either.

But the thing was, Casey didhave a history with George. Albeit a brief one.

A year ago, Casey’d had a plumbing disaster when his kitchen faucet fell off. He’d run outside in a panic, trying to locate the water shut-off valve, and had run directly into George. Together they’d shut off the water and George had ended up following Casey into his condo.

For a brief moment, Casey had thought maybe George had some plumbing knowledge he didn’t. But alas, George knew absolutely nothing about plumbing other than the number of a plumber to call. After the plumber had left, Casey opened a bottle of wine, which they’d shared. It had sort of occurred to Casey that it was a little odd for George not to have gone back to his own home, but whatever. Casey had no trouble playing the friendly neighbor.

But after a few glasses of wine, Casey ended up being a friendlier neighbor than he had intended and George had ended up with a blowjob. Funny, afterward, Casey had wondered if George was even gay or if he had basically seduced a straight guy or something.

George had left, and thereafter, Casey pretended nothing had ever happened and he avoided seeing George when he could. And it seemed George felt pretty much the same, because Casey certainly didn’t see a lot of the man either.

So it was twice-over stupid for him to be standing in front of George’s condo about to knock and ask him to Thanksgiving dinner as Casey’s fake boyfriend.

Casey tapped lightly on the door. If he didn’t knock too loudly maybe George wouldn’t hear him and Casey could tell himself he’d tried.

But he’d forgotten George had a dog until ferocious barking began the minute he’d done his tapping. An ugly dog, as Casey recalled. A big black terrier mix of some kind, called some name like Abraham. Stupid name for a dog.

The door opened abruptly.

A dark brow arched at him from behind black-framed glasses.

That was the thing about George. He was gorgeous. Insanely so, actually. So far out of Casey’s league as to be laughable. Only Casey wasn’t laughing.

George had Italian and Irish ancestry. At least according to George while they were drinking that wine. His coloring seemed to favor the Italian side. He had dark brown, almost black hair. Smoldering brown eyes. And a perpetual five o’clock shadow that gave him an unfair sexy advantage as far as Casey was concerned. Sometimes he wore the glasses and sometimes not, but either way he was dreamy.