by Ivy Hunt
I cock an eyebrow at her. Seriously?
Biting her lip, she slowly, slowly releases her grip on me. But instead of taking a step back, her hands splay on my bare chest, and she drags them down my front. A jolt of pleasure rushes through me, the contact feels good. Too good for someone I finished fucking only a few hours ago. Down south, my cock twitches.
Wandering hands stop below my pecs and press in.
Yep, she’s super serious.
Jenna clears her throat, and my attention snaps up. She’s been watching us the entire time.
“Hey, Jen.”
“Good morning, Logan. And, yes, what a coincidence, isn’t it? I never realized I was interviewing your girlfriend.”
Girlfriend? My chest hairs rise in alarm under Rebecca’s hands, and I cover them with my own.
She must sense I’m about to bolt because she digs her nails into me. A grunt escapes instead. I frown down at the woman clutching me. She’s a sexy mess—all wild chestnut hair, flushed cheeks, and swollen pink lips. Freshly fucked. She didn’t come across as a nut job last night, but I’ve been accosted by crazies before. Avoiding them in my profession is like separating shit from sneakers.
Jenna continues, “To be honest, I was surprised to run into Rebecca here of all places. She’s one of our most promising candidates. You and her…”
I stiffen but force myself to keep my voice bland.
“I see.”
My jaw clenches at Jenna’s dubious tone. Big Sis’s opinion of me has always been bottom barrel, and that extends to the women I date. Not that I actually date-date. Not my MO.
I try to extricate myself again, but Rebecca whimpers and her already hammering pulse speeds up. My gaze shifts to Jenna.
How to play this?
Instead of pushing Rebecca away like she’s expecting, I spin her around and haul her against me, locking her back to my front with my hands over her middle. A small gasp escapes her.
“It’s new,” I tell Jenna.
Becs’s shoulders drop an infinitesimal inch, and the deranged woman in my arms starts nodding with the grace of a bobblehead doll. “Very new. So, so new.”
I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from grinning.
“Well, we were very impressed,” Jenna draws out her words.
I lean over Rebecca’s shoulder, ignoring her shiver, until my mouth is right by her ear, my stubble scratching the delicate skin of her neck. “You should be.” I slant my gaze at the warm woman in my grip, “I’m very impressed with her, too.”
Rebecca squirms, her face beet red, her lips swollen and softly parted. Her breath kicks up a notch and awareness slices through me. I picture her as she was last night. Her mussed hair spread on my pillow, her legs wrapped around my hips. The soft moans that left her mouth with every thrust. I want those lips on my cock. We didn’t get to that last night. I was in too much of a hurry to get inside of her, and she wasn’t stopping for foreplay either. Missed opportunities. Maybe.
My cock hardens in my boxers behind her and she jolts, but that only brings her closer to me. When she wriggles, I grit my teeth but keep her tucked close, leaving no room to escape.
Jenna’s deliberate perusal continues until she finishes her coffee. She washes her cup, her movements precise and efficient, and sets it on the drying rack.
“I must be going.”
“Bye, Jen,” I say, my attention barely on her.
“Logan,” she acknowledges, before directing her attention to Becs. “It was nice to see you again, Rebecca.”
“You too, Ms. Barnes,” Becs squeaks out.
“Jenna, please,” my sister says smoothly. “I’m sure we'll be seeing more of each other.”
Chapter Four
LOGAN
The moment the door shuts, I drop my hands and step back, but all my focus stays centered on Rebecca, her droopy shoulders still angled towards the exit. Her brown curls are wild, and her hands are clenched against her side making her petite frame even smaller.
I’d been disappointed to wake up alone. I would have welcomed a replay of last night. Strange, because I don’t do repeats. Should have just tied her to the bed. Then we wouldn’t be in this mess.
“So…,” I drawl.
She spins, almost as if she’d forgotten I was there, and jams a lock of hair behind her ear. “Small world, huh?”
“Very,” I agree.
Her eyes lock on my bare chest, and I watch her take a deep inhale that makes her breasts rise. Her cheeks burn at my gaze, and she smooths her skirt down her legs. I trace them all the way to barefoot, pink-tipped toes. What would they feel like dragging against my skin? The little piggies curl and my attention is drawn to familiar blue lace on the ground beside them. Rebecca is panty-less.
Becs looks down to see what I’m staring at and reddens. She grabs the underwear and shoves it into her purse and scrambles into her shoes.
“Hey. So yeah.” She gives me a fake smile even as she eyes the door, “Thanks for playing along. I didn't want your sister to think…,” Rebecca bites her lower lip for a second before releasing it, “whatever she’s thinking, you know?”
I can't help but be sympathetic. You could be a trained zebra and even that wouldn’t impress Jenna. “It’s fine,” I say.
“I mean, I know it won’t help me now.” Rebecca’s shoulders droop.
Yep, her chances are pretty much nil. Jenna is both suspicious and as stubborn as a rock. It runs in the family. Plus, Becs saying she’s with me? Not sure that will help her chances.
She leans back against the counter with a thud reminiscent of the racket we made last night. I’m tempted to tell her things could be worse—Jenna could have come out and surprised us at 3 a.m., but why be an asshole?
“Well, at least she won’t have to see my skanky face again.” Rebecca’s exhale is long and weary.
Jenna used similar words on me just last week. I don’t want to run into any of your skanks while I’m staying over.
She’s always thought I was a brat, and I can’t exactly blame her. I was a little shit when I was a kid. Demanding and spoiled, my parents didn’t know what to do with me. I came from a long line of professionals. My parents were both accountants before they retired. They were surprised when I preferred football over school but were very supportive. They even learned the sport and came to all my away games, but I did hog all their attention. Jenna was born with a broomstick up her ass and flying on her own by the time she was three.
She was forever told to set a good example, but I made her life hell, strutting around school like a douche, coming home drunk and high. Fucking around even then, often with older women, including a couple of her friends.
Unreliable. Irresponsible. That was me. By the time I figured out what an ass I was, it was too late. I was the family fuckup. Even though I make millions now, my family worries about my 401(k) and whether or not I’ll be arrested.
Hard to believe, but at two months shy of thirty, I’m not as much of a prick as I used to be. But sometimes I’ll play it up just to annoy Jenna. Eventually, at some far, far off date in the future, I may settle down with a wife and kids, but why ruin the fun and tell her that? In the meantime, the goal is to enjoy my remaining football days. I’m retiring after next season. Just as soon as I figure out what comes next. To date, my only life plan has been to make it out of the NFL with my brains intact.
Rebecca stands in front of me, stress lines at the corner of her eyes. I hate to see her experience that same crushing disappointment.
“Well, you never know. It’s not like Jenna went all Apprentice on your ass and said, ‘You’re fired!’” I grab a bottle of juice from the fridge and shake it before bringing it to my lips.
Rebecca shifts her weight from one foot to the other. “True.”
A sidelong glance later, she says, “Maybe, you know, don’t say that I was a random hookup? I’m supposed to hear about the job next week. Monday, probably.”
Yeah, no. It was fine to play
along for a few minutes, but I don't need more complications in my life right now. That she's even in my penthouse is an anomaly. Contrary to what Jenna thinks, I don’t bring random women home. More so, because I forgot she was staying over. Fuck. I should just check into the Four Seasons or crash at Jake’s or Connor’s. Or maybe not. Connor has a new roommate to worry about and Jake…is Jake.
“And why would I do that?” I find myself asking Becs.
“Out of the goodness of your heart? Maybe if we’re a…thing, she won’t think I’m such a whore?”
No one’s going to mistake Rebecca for a whore. She’s the furthest thing from my usual hookups.
“A thing, huh?” I know exactly what she is asking, but the devil in me still wants to see where she’s going with this. It’s not as if I’d say anything anyway. Jenna and I don’t do heart-to-hearts.
“A committed thing? A relationship…?” she says. I wince at the R word, even if it’s just pretend, and her voice trails off.
But it’s an interesting proposition. I consider her long and hard, and a glimmer of interest rushes through me. Under that sex-mussed sheen is a woman my sister is considering for a job at her beloved company.
Maybe there’s no need to find alternate shelter. I could play along for a few days, get Jenna to stop thinking I’m a waste of space. Plus, Rebecca in my bed again? I take in her flushed face and the delicate curves of her petite form. Her tongue sweeps along her lower lip before she worries it between her teeth. Something tells me sex isn’t part of this bargain.
My lips quirk as I feign disbelief and bring a hand to my chest, “You mean, you want me to lie to my sister?”
“You already did!” Becs protests, but her lips twitch in amusement.
I scratch the side of my head. “Not like this. Nothing premeditated.”
Her face falls, and pink-tipped fingers, the same color as her toes, play with the buckle on her bag. I’d like to give her something else to play with.
“Unless…,” I drag out.
Rebecca’s shoulders perk up, and she swivels back to face me. “Yes?”
The hope in her voice is unmistakable.
I tap my chin and leer. “What do I get out of it?” Teasing her in the daylight is almost as fun as fucking her at night. Maybe I should try to talk her into a rerun.
Her mouth forms a soft O before her lips compress. “Not. That.”
I laugh. “Somehow I didn’t think so.”
Am I really considering this? I eye Becs again. She really wants this job. And if she can get Jenna out of my hair…what the hell. It’s not like I go by the playbook off the field anyway. A shaft of anticipation buzzes through me. I hit the pause button on my brain and straighten to my full height.
“Fake boyfriend at your service.” I complete the statement with a small bow.
“Really?” Her eyes double in size. She tips her head to the side and examines me as if she thinks I’m putting her on.
I shrug. “Sure. Why not?”
“Thank you! Thank you! Thank you! I’ll never forget this.” She throws her arms around my neck and clings.
Static splits the air between us. Images from last night splice together in my brain and rush right down to my cock. I swell, balls tight, and she stiffens and jerks back, her cheeks going red. I have to huff in a breath to calm myself, but one side of my mouth curls up when she refuses to meet my eyes.
Instead, she hitches her bag over her shoulder and rolls her spine back, giving her rumpled ensemble a little more panache. I take another swig of my juice to hide a grin when she finally presents me with a wide, fake smile of her own.
“I’ll be out of your hair in a minute, let me just call an Uber.” She pulls out her phone, but the corners of her lips curl down at the dead screen.
I grab my mobile from the counter. “Give me your address.”
Her eyes swivel to mine with suspicion. “Why?”
“I was going to call you a car. You’re getting the full fake boyfriend experience.” I raise a brow at her. “Also, I need to know where you live, so I can pick you up tonight.”
“Tonight?” she echoes.
“Yes. Tonight. Family dinner.” You didn’t think it would be that easy, did you?
Her mouth opens and shuts. “I thought the deal was to not say anything?”
“Go big or go home, I always say. You want to turn this around, don't you? Impress Jenna?” I challenge.
She bites her lip, and her gaze flits back to where Jenna’s cup is drying.
“Hey, this was your idea.” I shrug nonchalantly. “But if you'd prefer to take your chances, I can always tell Jenna that my girlfriend,”—I accompany those last two words with air quotes—“had other plans and couldn’t make it to her boyfriend's family dinner. How would that look?”
She sucks in her cheeks, preparing to argue, but I cut in, “Just to get her off my back while she’s staying here. Keep all the attention for yourself.”
Understanding lights in her eyes. “So that’s the trade? I keep her off your case? She won’t be suspicious?”
“Can’t hurt to try.” I lean back against the counter, shoulders relaxed. “We won’t be any worse off than we are now.” My jaw tightens, and I give her a grim look. “Just remember, this is a short-term thing. I don’t do relationships,” I warn. Becs isn’t my usual type, and I don’t want her getting attached.
“You don’t have to worry. You’re not my type.”
I lift an eyebrow at that.
“Not usually.”
We stare at each other, contemplating this new reality.
“We should probably get our stories straight, plan this out,” Rebecca says.
“I can’t right now. Got practice.” My mouth stretches into a grin some might call shark-like. “Besides, I’m more a think-on-your-feet kind of guy.”
Chapter Five
BECS
The rest of my day is packed full of self-recrimination: How could I have gotten so drunk? How could I have gone home with a stranger? How could I have had a one-night stand? Of all the poor life choices I’ve made, this ranks in the top three. (Nearly electrocuting myself with the hair dryer at age six still holds the top spot.) And finally, running into my potential boss—though that one was by no fault of my own—just the universe topping off a crappy night with an even crappier morning.
I alternated between cursing my luck and praying that it was all a dream, but a phone call to Carrie quickly refuted that. Oh my God! You lucky, lucky bitch. No, it wasn’t a fluke that you went home with him!
God, what would my mother say? I’ve been avoiding her calls all day. She’ll want to know what happened with the interview, and I have no idea what to tell her. She’s already unhappy that I plan to stay in the city instead of returning to Michigan.
And to compound it all, I’ve embarked on this asinine plan to fake a romance with a self-confessed playboy in an attempt to salvage my chances at a job. No one’s going to buy it. I know nothing about football, except that there are goals and touchdowns and guys in tights that toss around almond-shaped inflatables they call balls.
I google Logan and the New York Titans. His resume is impressive—two Super Bowl championships and countless glowing write-ups. Countless women as well. Most photos I find online feature Logan with different versions of the same type—tall, blonde, and busty. There’s one woman who appears on his arm more than any of the rest. Kirstin Richardson. Huh.
In the end, I have to rush through my shower then frantically blow dry my hair before scouring my closet for appropriate clothing.
A bedful of outfits later, I’m in a black sleeveless shift dress that stops at a respectable length. I was saving it for my first day of work, but there might not be one of those if I fail to impress Ms. Barnes. I can’t think of her as Jenna.
At ten to seven, the doorbell rings. My heart rate ratchets up as I dash for the door, but my hand stalls on the knob. I shut my lids and suck in a deep breath. This is it.
I open it to six feet four inches of hot male muscle in a crisp white shirt with the top button undone.
“Hi.” His voice is low, husky and pure, unadulterated sex. My sobriety has done nothing to alter the impact of Logan Barnes. I am so screwed.
Maybe my eyes bulge or maybe he is a psychic pussy reader, because a slow grin spreads over his face. My brain short-circuits and ovaries go bam!
Blue eyes trawl up my body, and I’m gratified when they darken. Maybe I can pass as a pro-NFL player’s girlfriend.
“Oh, hi. I didn’t expect you to come up. I mean, I would have met you at your car.” I manage to sound all breezy.
“You’re getting the full boyfriend experience.” He smirks. “And in any case, my mother would skin me alive if I didn’t do the gentlemanly thing of escorting you down.” His fingers come to the base of my spine, right above my butt. The contact sends a jolt of electricity through me, making my nerve endings come to attention.
Logan ushers me out to a low-slung red Maserati parked by my building and helps me in before going around to the driver’s side. He starts the car, hands confident on the wheel. “We need to swing by and pick up the Wicked Witch of the West from her office.”
Maybe Logan senses my panic because his voice is gentle, “This is your last chance to back out. You sure you want to do this?”
No. But I swallow. “Yeah.”
He’s not entirely convinced. “You sure? My sister is a pain in the butt. Don’t know why anyone would choose to be her minion.” He shudders and screws his face up in an exaggerated grimace.
I giggle, and the tension in my neck uncoils the slightest bit.
Fifteen minutes later, we roll up to McCann’s corporate headquarters, the glass and chrome building that may house my future. I need, need, need this job. Right on cue, the woman who holds my destiny in her clutches strides to us. Someone from building security opens the rear door for Jenna, and she glides in with grace. I am both envious and impressed, It looks like no time has passed since this morning, not even a hair is out of place.