Not by the Playbook: A Fake Relationship Football Romance (Wrong Place, Right Time Book 1)

by Ivy Hunt

  Monday

  BECS

  I wake to Logan’s naked body sliding out from under me. I fell asleep on him again.

  “Good morning,” he whispers.

  “Good morning,” I mumble. Meeting his gaze, even after everything we did last night and again at dawn is impossible. But my bashfulness doesn’t stop me from leeching onto his arm when he moves to get up.

  Logan laughs, low and sexy, making the space between my thighs tingle. “Baby, I gotta go to practice.”

  Baby. I like that.

  I yawn. “Okay, just give me a second.”

  Logan pauses in his escape, and I open my eyes to meet his blue ones. He braces his arms on either side of my head.

  “No need to get up. Stay. There’s no rush.”

  I reach up and push a dark curl off his face. We breathe each other in for another minute. Then he dips down and gives me a soft kiss on my forehead before heaving himself off the bed to shower.

  Once he’s in the bathroom, I snuggle into his side of the bed to absorb his residual warmth. Sex with Logan Barnes is a holy experience. I proved it with the number of “Oh Gods” that left my mouth in the last twenty-four hours. Little jolts hit me, and my face heats. Even the rerun in my head is potent.

  The sheets cool. Fleeting strands of reason lick at me, but I duck under the covers and let them shield me. I allow my thoughts to wander. How might it be to have this for real? Logan Barnes. Boyfriend. My skin sizzles.

  The water stops, and a few moments later the bathroom door clicks open. Like a mole, only my eyes peek out from under the sheet. Logan is in workout clothes, a duffel slung over his shoulder. He strides over to me and leans down, hands on either side of my shoulders. He presses a kiss against my temple and nudges the cloth down with his nose to expose the rest of my face. Lips trace my hairline and nuzzle into my neck. His breath sends pinpricks through me.

  “Let me know when you get the call, okay?”

  That shoots me right out of la-la land. Today is D-day. I can’t believe it slipped my mind, even for a second.

  Obviously this isn’t real. What other delusions of grandeur are you entertaining?

  He draws back. I swallow but plaster on a cheery smile. “Of course! You’ll have me out of your hair in no time.”

  A furrow appears between his brows. I hold my breath, keeping my expression even. Whatever he sees seems to satisfy him, and he kisses me again, this time on my lips.

  I can’t help it. I loop my arms around his neck to keep him close and kiss him back. When I finally release him, his eyes are hot, his nostrils flared. Logan darts a quick look at the clock and sighs. He bends and presses one last, lingering kiss against my forehead, “Good luck.”

  It feels like goodbye.

  Now that he’s left and taken all his pheromones with him (not really, I can still smell him on me), sanity starts to make a slow return.

  Football star Logan Barnes. Fake Boyfriend. One-night stand.

  Technically, now a two-night stand. I suppose that’s the one good thing about having sex with someone for the second time; it cancels out the stigma of a drunken hookup. Poof. The insanity of the first encounter is forgiven. Maybe. Or maybe you kick yourself because two wrongs don’t make a respectable right.

  Didn’t feel so wrong when his tongue was between your legs, did it?

  The chemistry between us is undeniable. That part wasn’t a fluke. It wasn’t due to the booze either, I was stone cold sober last night. Sober enough to know that we shouldn’t have done it. But I can’t make myself regret it. I wanted it, and so did Logan.

  I stare at the ceiling until the now-familiar staccato of Jenna’s shoes sound in the kitchen. I should get up and spend time chatting with her—always be selling, right until the very last moment.

  Instead, I stay in bed and keep company with my thoughts until long after the door shuts behind Jenna.

  I whoosh out a long breath. So I slept with him. But it’s time to pull myself together and put on my big-girl panties. Will I even see him again? He said to call him. And I’ll see him at his football game, presuming he still even wants me there. Maybe I’ll just meet his family. He’ll be down on the field. At least I’ll get to see him in those tight football pants.

  And then what? Thank him for his services? Thanks for the fakery and the fuck. I’ll be off now.

  I haul myself out of bed and pack up my few belongings, including his T-shirt—my winnings. Technically, I lost because it hit me, but I’m claiming it as damages anyway. Once I grab the few books I left in the living room, I’m all set to go. I look around the apartment one last time and swallow. A weekend here, and already I’ll miss it.

  So my one-and-done. Now a two-and-through.

  Chapter Fourteen

  BECS

  Instead of heading home to Brooklyn, I spend hours wandering around Logan’s neighborhood. It’s almost five, and there’s been no word from McCann. I’ve monitored my email and my junk mail and my voicemail all day. The battery on my phone is in danger of running out, and I don’t have my charger.

  My stomach growls, “Feed me, you bitch.” I haven’t eaten all day. Nerves won’t let me keep anything down. When I find myself in front of Lacroix, where Logan and I had brunch on Saturday, I duck inside.

  After a small snack, my head lolls against the cool window adjacent to the booth. I must have dozed off because I jerk when my phone rings and scramble to answer.

  “Anything?” Logan’s voice comes through.

  My heart trips, but I force a calm, “No. I haven’t heard.”

  I wonder what he’s thinking. Was it a waste of his weekend? Does he regret going along with my scheme?

  “Where are you?” he asks.

  “The coffee shop by your place, but I’m about to go home to Brooklyn.”

  “Wait. Stay there. I’m about to leave the stadium. Will be there in twenty minutes.”

  Elation ribbons through me. I should demur and go home. I open my mouth, ready to protest.

  “Okay,” is what comes out instead.

  Twenty-five minutes later, a familiar Maserati pulls up by the café. Logan hops out, and has the passenger door open before I’m outside. He brushes his lips against mine, once, and then again. The tension inside me loosens, and I return his kiss.

  It’s my own soft moan that has me pulling back. I don’t get far. His hands remain on my hips.

  Logan straightens up, taking in my rumpled appearance. “Have you been outside all day?” His brow creases at the sight of my bag. “Were you leaving?”

  I don’t answer because I have no idea what I’m still doing here. Instead, I thrust the paper cup I’m clutching at him. For some reason, I didn’t want to meet him empty-handed. It’s shocking that I didn’t drop it during our impromptu make-out session. “Iced coffee with almond milk and lactose-free whipped cream.”

  His brows quirk up at my offering, but he accepts it and takes a sip, his eyes fixed on me.

  A devious little grin breaks on his face. “Needs a little sweetener.” He ducks and steals a kiss. The line is so cheesy I’m almost embarrassed by the sappy smile that blooms on my lips.

  Temporary, remember? Even less than temporary. We’re in overtime here. I don’t even know where here is, except that Logan is in front of me.

  He fishes around in his pocket and then presses something cold into my grip, “Here, take this, so you don’t have to wander around all day again.”

  I blink at the object in my hand. A key. To his penthouse? It must be. Unless he’s got some hidden red room he hasn’t told me about. I slide him a covert glance before returning to the matter, literally at hand.

  “Are you sure?”

  A key in exchange for a cold coffee. Huh. Even Jenna didn’t get one. The doorman always buzzes her up. Logan says she’s a vampire he doesn’t want to invite in.

  “I’m sure. There’s a spare at home. Now let’s get you back there before Cruella shows up.”

  Once in his ap
artment, Logan drops his gear by the door while I plant myself on a counter stool. I gnaw on my lower lip, and my fingers lock together to keep from fidgeting. A furrow grows between Logan’s brows as he studies me. I’m not doing the best job of camouflaging my stress.

  “I can ask—” he starts, crossing the room to me.

  “No!” The last thing I need is him stepping in and speaking to Jenna. I put my hand on his bicep. “I’m sure I’ll find out soon enough.”

  Logan tilts his head and cups my cheek, his blue gaze trained on me. “Don’t worry, okay? No news is good news and all that.”

  I lean into his warm hand. “Yeah.” The first wave of relief comes over me since he left this morning.

  A smirk appears at the corner of his mouth. “C’mon.” He grabs my hand and leads me to the bedroom. “I know just how to take your mind off things.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Wednesday

  LOGAN

  Practice ends early, but instead of hanging with the guys like I normally do, I head home. Anticipation at seeing Rebecca makes me hurry, even though a faint voice in my head tells me I’m too eager. A grimace crosses my face, I force myself to slow down. But when I hit the fourth red light in so many minutes, my fingers are drumming on the steering wheel.

  Finally, I arrive home, but the penthouse is empty. It’s weird how easily I’ve gone from a bachelor lifestyle to sharing the space with two women. My privacy is shot, but I’m surprisingly okay with that.

  Not that it hasn’t been jarring to be surrounded with female paraphernalia. Shoes are strewn everywhere, makeup and bottles crowd the bathroom vanity. I look around for their owner again, as if I expect Rebecca to poof out of one the jars. We don’t have much time left. Every second counts.

  Becs and I are still sleeping together. And the sex continues to be mind-blowing. I was sure the first time was a fluke, but it only gets hotter. And it doesn’t lessen the pleasure of spending time with Rebecca, even when we aren’t in bed.

  She hasn’t seemed opposed to our changed situation either, but I hate that anxious expression that lurks under her smile.

  There’s been no word about her job, and it’s Wednesday. The delay doesn’t bother me. After all, the longer it takes, the less time I’m alone with Jenna. Really? That’s why you’re not bothered?

  It’s the novelty. The forced proximity. The Jenna-buffer.

  Or maybe not. Everything in me recoils at giving Rebecca up. But she’s not a library book I can just “forget” to return.

  So what now? Do I just enjoy the time we have left? Because whether she gets the job or not, this will end.

  I shake my head clear of my thoughts, and settle on the couch, propping my feet on the coffee table. Netflix, Hulu, Amazon, even good old-fashioned cable—the world has run out of everything interesting to watch. Maybe I should call the guys? But the thought of returning to the clubs and the rotating door of women leaves me hollow.

  I look at Rebecca’s books, haphazardly piled by my feet. It’s time to stop lying to myself. I don’t want this to end. I want this, whatever it is, to continue, even though it scares the shit out of me. I want more nights in with Becs. Without our in-house chaperone.

  I yank frustrated fingers through my hair. I can’t broach the subject of exploring where this might go until after everything is settled. Becs doesn’t need the additional stress. I’m tempted to yell at Jenna, tell her to stop sitting on her ass. It’s not easy on Becs, having this whole job thing hanging over her.

  Right at 6:30 p.m., the buzzer heralding Jenna’s return sounds. A bomb squad couldn’t diffuse the timetable she’s on.

  “Hey,” I greet her when she enters the apartment, immediately taking my feet off the table.

  Jenna deposits her giant bag on the entry table. “Hi. How are you?”

  “Good. Had dinner?” I’m proud of myself for making nice.

  “Not yet,” she responds. “What about you? Do you have dinner plans with Rebecca?”

  We don’t, but I want Rebecca to myself tonight. Test the waters, see if she seems interested in continuing whatever this is without my sister around. I nod, “Thinking of taking Becs out somewhere.”

  But I know she’d prefer to have another shot with Jenna. Politely, and hoping she’ll refuse, I ask, “You wanna join us?”

  Jenna blinks at my invitation, as if she doesn’t believe I’m asking her along. “That would be nice…but I actually have dinner scheduled with an old colleague.” Her features soften, and a long-forgotten dimple flashes on her cheek. “But thank you for asking.” We exchange genuine grins. Civilized exchanges between us are few and far between.

  Awkwardness at this strange truce makes us look away a few moments, and Jenna busies herself sorting through my stack of mail on the kitchen counter. “Your phone bill is due.”

  I wave it off. “Autopay.” I haul myself up and walk over to see what else she’s got. She’s methodically sorting the envelopes into stacks, bills, junk, and other.

  Should I?

  I clear my throat, a hand rubbing the back of my neck. “So…”

  “Yes?” Jenna asks, not taking her eyes off her task.

  “About Becs…”

  She abandons the pile and takes a step back.

  With a deep breath, I forge on, “Any idea when she’ll find out about the gig at McCann?” I keep my voice light. I pick up the stack of junk mail and start flipping through it. The shuffling paper is the only sound in the terse silence.

  I finally find the guts to lift my gaze to see if she’s heard me.

  Narrowed eyes and pinched features make my insides shrivel like a shrimp. Welcome back, Morticia Addams. Guilt assails me for destroying our momentary truce.

  Jenna takes her time before responding, “The process will take as long as it takes.”

  That makes me shelve my regret and plod on, Becs’s tense face, topmost in my mind.

  “What the hell does that mean?” I set the envelopes down and lean back against the counter. One leg crosses over the other, hands brace on the granite behind me.

  “It means it’s a company decision.”

  I grit my teeth to stop myself from growling. “Do you have a sense of how much longer? One week? Two?”

  Jenna sends an exasperated sigh my way. “Logan. This isn’t something that’s decided on a moment’s notice. It takes deliberate planning and careful consideration.”

  “I thought Becs was one of the final picks.”

  “She is.”

  “Well, hurry up and complete your considering already. Stop dragging your feet. It’s not fair to Rebecca.” A muscle in my right cheek flexes.

  “Logan—”

  A thump behind me shuts her up. Jenna looks over my shoulder and stiffens.

  I slowly pivot, dread filling my gut. Rebecca stands in the entryway, silhouetted against the floor to ceiling windows, her laptop bag at her feet. Both her hands are fisted at her sides even though her face is composed.

  Fuck. My heart begins to pound. How much did she hear? She didn’t want me pressuring Jenna. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

  I force the scowl from my face.

  “Hey, baby.” I give Jenna my back, shielding Rebecca from her view, and walk over to enfold Becs in my arms. I drop a kiss on her lips and breathe her in, her scent filling my lungs, expanding my ribs. She’s stiff in my grasp. I know she’s only letting me touch her because my sister is here. “I got us reservations at Le Bernardin.”

  A paltry peace offering. I only pluck the name out of the air because the restaurant is notoriously difficult to get into unless you’ve booked months in advance. I don’t have reservations, but it won’t be a problem. “I thought you’d be home earlier. Wanna get dressed so we can go?”

  “Uh…okay.” She glances over my shoulder.

  I try to keep from tensing, I don’t know what I’ll do if she decides to invite Jenna along.

  Thankfully, she doesn’t. “Give me a few minutes.” Her voice is subdued. It rips t
hrough my chest.

  Jenna and I both watch as Becs crosses to my room. Then my sister turns to stare at me. I glare back. Our Mexican standoff only ends when Rebecca returns.

  “Later,” I say.

  “Later,” Jenna repeats.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Thursday

  BECS

  Tonight is Logan’s game, the first one I’ll see.

  And the last.

  I’m a suffocating sardine in the packed stadium. Or maybe it’s the thought of meeting Logan’s parents again that has my chest squeezing tight. Carrie and I wait in line at the merch stand. The queue snakes to the bathroom and back, but I’m perfectly content with our spot at the very end.

  “No word yet?” Carrie asks.

  “No.” I’m freaking out. My relationship with Logan is now four days past its sell-by date.

  When I didn’t find out about the job on Monday, I was sure that was it, that Logan would cut me loose. Instead, he gave me a key and herded me back to his apartment, and there I’ve stayed since. We didn’t discuss the job or our situation, and I was happy to continue living in denial. Eventually we would hear, but until then, we would continue our charade like hamsters on a wheel. Hot, horny hamsters who hump.

  Until yesterday, that is.

  Well, hurry up and complete your considering already. Stop dragging your feet. It’s not fair to Rebecca.

  Those words keep recycling in my brain, and not in a good way. It’s more like it isn’t fair to Logan.

  Somehow, I managed to keep a smile on my face and get through dinner last night. As far as I could tell, the famed seafood at Le Bernardin was the equivalent of a jellyfish stinging my insides. Logan was off too because he didn’t press. Most of our meal was spent in silence.

  That didn’t stop us from fucking well into the night the moment we got home. Three times. All our sexual encounters have been sprinkled with laughter, but last night was different. Intense. Desperate, almost.