Felicity had blindsided him with their breakup, and he’d spent a little too much time trying to figure out where he’d gone wrong. They’d been happy, he thought. They laughed and had sex and brought each other presents every now and again. Sure, they disagreed on a few things. Neither one was a fan of the other’s profession—why would someone want to sell their soul to the corporate world and travel for a marketing company that seemed to praise stuck-up appearances more than hard work?—but that had never bothered Brady enough to make a big fuss over it.

It was only after Felicity had ended things that Brady realized that, for her, it had been a much bigger deal. She couldn’t stand being with a bartender at a local, small-time bar just as much as he couldn’t stand being anything else. She had wanted growth, but all he heard was money and power.

After he’d finally put that together? Well, he’d become a grouch.

“Even Santana started avoiding you at work. And that woman loves being in our business. Which, by the way, this whole shenanigan thing you’re doing is going to blow her mind. Fake relationship with some strange woman? She’s going to eat it up. Wait, you’re going to tell her, right?”

Brady wavered a moment.

He’d told Dixon about the fake dating—but not the real identity of Guy—for the simple fact that Dixon was his person. As mushy as that was, Dixon wasn’t just his cousin. He was, and had always been, Brady’s best friend since they knew what that meant. Not only that, but they also lived together. Brady could lie to him, sure, but it just made tactical sense not to try. At least not about the charade.

It was either that or run the chance of Dixon calling him and Sloane out in front of the entire bar.

As for Santana? It also probably wouldn’t hurt to tell the only other close friend he had. Since she had started working at the bar, they’d become somewhat of a trio. Plus, she was just smarter than the two of them, if he was being honest. She could probably help out in a pinch.

Then again. Santana was a fan of, as she put it, hot goss.

“I shouldn’t have even told you,” Brady admitted, still undecided. “Last time I shared a secret with you, I got grounded for a month.”

The tortilla chip flew through the air. It skidded across the breakfast bar in front of him.

“Hey! I don’t know how many times I gotta tell you this, but Mom knew someone took the car out. It was either you or me, bro, and I chose me. That was an isolated incident.”

Brady picked up the chip and threw it back.