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

by Ivy Hunt

  So much for pride. I’m no better than one of his jersey chasers. Addicted to him and the orgasm stick attached to his body.

  Why didn’t he just say something? I’d have moved out already. I don’t need to be anyone’s pity fuck.

  “So what’s happening with you and Logan then?” Carrie asks. The woman has a CCTV into my brain.

  “Nothing.”

  “Translate. What does nothing mean?”

  “It means that he hasn’t said anything.” Not to me, anyway.

  There’s one last person in front of us. Hurry, hurry, hurry. Please let this interrogation be over and done with.

  “You’re still staying at his place?” she asks.

  “Mm-hmm.” I fiddle with our tickets. I shouldn’t have asked for an extra one for her. Then this conversation would be happening over the phone, and I could hang up on her, pretend I lost cell signal. What can I say? We all know I’m the queen of crappy choices.

  Our turn comes. Carrie points at a red foam finger and pays for it, then we start making our way to the stands.

  “So you’re sharing a room and nothing’s happened?” Carrie is disbelieving.

  “Ummm…”

  She halts, and a woman almost slams into her. Carrie ignores her nasty look. “Oh my God! It happened again, didn’t it? You and Logan Barnes! I knew the first time wasn’t an accident!” She does a little victory dance, pumping her new toy in the air.

  “Shh!” My eyes dart around at the crowd. The last thing I need is for anyone to overhear I’m sleeping with their favorite football star.

  Carrie drops her voice a smidge, “So what now? You going to keep seeing him?”

  “Unlikely.”

  She studies me, and a small grin breaks on her face. “Holy shit. You like him. Like, you really, really like him!”

  “I don’t.” I make a show of looking at the screens above us listing the players’ stats and figures. A clip of Logan comes on as if I’ve conjured him, all lean and sculpted muscle, chiseled features, and brilliant blue eyes. Drool might be forming inside my mouth. His number is everywhere—hats, shirts, butts. Meanwhile, I’m still on Jenna-watch and wearing a silk blouse and slacks.

  “Bullshit.” An oversized digit pokes me in the chest. I wish I had one with the middle finger raised. Hell, I’d take a ball gag, to use either on myself or on her.

  “Stop it.” I settle for elbowing her in the ribs. “It doesn’t matter if I like Logan or not. It’s only going to last a couple more days.”

  “And in the meantime, we’re all playing happy families,” Carrie snarks.

  “I just need one last chance to make a good impression on his sister. It’s the Hail Mary play,” I say in exasperation.

  Carrie smirks at the new addition to my vocabulary. “Don’t forget his mother and father. Seems like you’re auditioning for more than just employee-of-the-month.”

  I roll my eyes. “I’m not. This ends when I find out about the job.”

  I’m not even sure if I want the position anymore. If I need Logan to get it, then I don’t deserve it. My stomach churns. Maybe Mom was right and I’m better off going home and figuring something out there.

  But I’ve come this far already. I’ll hold up my side of the bargain until Jenna leaves, and then politely thank him and be on my way. Wham, bam, thanks for introducing me to the fam. Not.

  But the thought of ending things with Logan sends a shard of glass through my insides and makes me nauseous. Or maybe it’s just the scent of nachos in the air.

  “And then you’ll be ready to surrender him back to his adoring masses?”

  No. Not really. But that’s not the deal we made. “I’ll have to, won’t I?”

  The idea of sharing him with a whole slew of women, all busty and lusty, has me feeling sick. He doesn’t do girlfriends, and I’m not stupid enough to think I can change him.

  But I did think that, didn’t I? And all it took was a week. Seven days. How did I go from zero to stupid so quickly?

  I stalk ahead, actually grateful to spy Rhonda, George, and Jenna. They are seated close to the action in a VIP section. As we navigate down the stairs, I try not to jostle—or be jostled—by fans wielding cardboard trays.

  Logan’s mom waves when she sees me, “Over here!”

  "Thanks. It took us longer to get here than I thought." I slide into the spot beside Jenna. Her parents are on her other side. I greet them and introduce Carrie.

  Rhonda leans over Jenna. “Rebecca, how many of Logan’s games have you seen now?”

  "Ummm, not many.” Meaning none. “I didn’t know a lot about football before.” Matching frowns appear on the brows of her husband and daughter.

  Carrie jumps in, “But she’s picking it up. That’s Rebecca for you. Give her any task, and she’s an expert in no time.”

  I glare. Stop laying it on so thick.

  Carrie smirks at my expression and speaks to Jenna over my head, “You really should hire her, you know.”

  “Hey, didn’t you want a drink?” Under the guise of settling in, I put my shoe over Carrie’s foot and press down. Hard. Hell, I should have worn heels. Mercifully, she grunts and stands.

  “Let’s all go,” George heaves himself up. “I want to check out the beers they have on tap.”

  I volunteer to stay with our things while they get refreshments. My butt wiggles in the hard plastic seat, but there’s no getting comfortable. I distract myself by scanning my surroundings. It’s my first time in this stadium outside of a couple of concerts. Down on the field, the floodlights bounce off the players’ helmets as they warm up. Logan is speaking with a teammate. He must sense my stare because he swivels around and his eyes meet mine. A slow grin spreads across his face. He winks.

  My skin tightens, heat climbing to my cheeks. I tear my gaze away to scan the crowd instead. People have noticed his attention. Phones emerge, and the buzzing around me increases in volume. Rabid fans have discovered me on his social media. A million curious looks pin me to my seat. I hate the attention. I hate the fact that they’re measuring me against everyone in his past.

  There’s no room to hide under the plastic chairs, not unless I want to chop myself up into little pieces. It’s not an unappealing thought.

  A few seats over, a troupe of women, all heels and diamonds, look more hostile than curious. So many big boobs. So many small brains. We’re in the family section, and they must be the wives and girlfriends.

  Guilt immediately suffuses me. Judgy much, Becs?

  Two women are openly sneering. One is tall, blonde, and curvy. I recognize her, Kirstin Richardson, from her photos with Logan when I was Internet stalking—ahem—researching him, before meeting his parents that first time.

  She stands and alarm bells go off in my head.

  Beads of sweat form between my breasts, and I wipe my hands on my pants, all the while offering prayers for reinforcements. But whoever’s supposed to be listening is still on strike because the woman sashays over. Her cloying perfume melds with the scent of sweaty bodies, popcorn, and stale beer as she looms over me. Filler-enhanced lips curl up into a sneer.

  “You’re here with the Barnes family?”

  “Yes,” I respond. Why did Logan even want me here today? It’s clear he isn’t short of company.

  “Logan’s downgraded,” she mocks, mirroring my thoughts.

  I bite the inside of my cheek and ignore her. Come on, take the hint and disappear. But of course, she doesn’t.

  My gaze stays anchored to my sandals, at the chipped pink polish, and I contemplate murder by a million toenail clippings.

  “You aren’t his type,” she continues. “He and I, we have…a past.”

  Of course, I’m not his type. I’m not stupid enough to think I am. But still, who comes over to a guy’s girlfriend and says “oooh, we have a past”? Lady, we all have pasts, and I’m sure yours includes a swamp’s worth of STIs. I almost gag at the thought of Logan sleeping with her.

  It’s too hot,
too loud. And I’m done. Fuck this. All these other women can wait for their turn. My whatever-this-is with Logan isn’t over yet.

  “Well, I’m with him now. Present tense.” My left eyebrow rises in an imitation of Jenna's perfect arch. In normal situations, I would never do this. But nothing about this week has been normal.

  Huffing, the woman straightens. Perky nipples proclaiming “harlot here” poke through her tight jersey with Logan’s number. They are at my eye level, twin bullets, ready to fire.

  Should I say I sleep in the shirt he actually uses?

  Her eyes flash and her mouth opens. I don't let her get a word in.

  “Future tense, too.” Sure, it won’t be a long future, but who’s counting?

  She scowls. I rehearse some mental kung fu while I wait for her next volley. But instead, she shuts up and whirls around, tossing her hair over her shoulder, and stalks back to the skank parade.

  So there. I give myself an internal fist-bump, I must be scarier than I thought.

  A derisive harumph sounds from behind me. Or not.

  Jenna stands there, all Miranda Priestly-esque. It’s remarkable, the amount of disdain she’s able to infuse into a single look. Her foot soldiers—Rhonda, George, and Carrie—wear identical frowns.

  “Don’t pay her any attention.” Even Jenna’s sniff is regal. “I absolutely believe you’re the upgrade.”

  I only just manage to stop myself from gawking at her statement when she presses a plastic flute into my hand. “Now, let’s start Logan’s season off with some champagne.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  LOGAN

  The fans go nuts when we score the winning touchdown. In the stands, Becs and my family cheer. She’s in the wives and girlfriends’ section. While I’ve fucked women who have occupied the space before, she’s the first person besides my family I’ve ever invited.

  Connor follows my eyes. “Rebecca looks good with the WAGs,” he echoes my thoughts.

  I mentally kick myself for being so obvious and growl, “I told you, It’s not real. None of it is.” Not yet, anyway. I push past him.

  “Oh, yeah?” he calls out. “You two seem pretty damn convincing to me.”

  I twist my head and return his smirk with a glare. “You know we’re just acting. Pretending. It ends as soon as she finds out about the job.”

  I get twitchy just thinking about our time running out. I’ve gotten used to getting up with Rebecca wrapped around me, cover-hog though she is. It's worth it, especially when I’m compensated with my cock in her mouth. Waking her up with my tongue on her clit is just as good. Hell, the more we fuck, the more I want to fuck.

  I should grow some balls and tell Rebecca I don’t want this to end. What would she say? I frown. She’s been quiet since dinner last night.

  I stalk to the lockers, ignoring the congratulations around me. Connor and Jake trail behind me.

  “Maybe you should take up acting when you’re done with football.” Fucking Jake won’t let it go.

  “Maybe.” I shrug. I’m done talking with the guys about it. Next thing you know they’ll have me writing Dear Artie letters.

  “Whatever you say, bro.” Jake waggles his brows.

  “So you guys,” Connor makes air quotes, “pretend fucking, too?”

  I grit my teeth. I’d punch the asshole if I didn’t need him to win the season. He laughs. “So it’s like that, huh?”

  “Shut up, Connor.” I shoot him a look. “And I'm not the only one with a new roommate. How is Allie, anyway?”

  A flush rises on his cheeks, and it’s his turn to grunt. “Fine. She’s only staying until she’s better.” Connor was caught up in a robbery two days ago that could have turned out badly.

  We’re interrupted by the media calling for their post-game interviews. I pay extra attention to the commentators. After that, we shower and get ready.

  Rebecca is waiting outside the locker room as planned. “Congratulations,” she wishes. A smile sits on her lips, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. Did she not enjoy the game?

  “Thanks.” I lean down, take her into my arms, and give her a deep kiss. She stiffens for a moment before relaxing and entwining her own arms around me. I take that as permission to kiss her again.

  “Ready for Pinks?” Jake asks. Win or lose, it’s the bar we always end up at after our games. Usually, I’m leading the group, all set to pick out the girl for the evening.

  “We're going to pass.” I wrap an arm around Becs’s shoulder and draw her close when she seems like she might pull away. I brush my mouth against her temple, ignoring Jake and Connor’s smug grins. My middle finger rises at them behind Rebecca’s back.

  “Fine, let these two lovebirds go and do whatever lovebirds do. C’mon, Con,” Jake says.

  “You know what, I don’t mind an early night myself.” Connor avoids our eyes.

  “Oh?” Now it’s my turn to smirk.

  Jake looks from Connor to me and sighs. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t, kids.”

  I smirk. That list isn’t very long.

  “Shall we?” I offer Rebecca my arm. She hesitates for a second before she takes it.

  We say goodbye to my teammates and walk hand in hand to the exit, but the moment we are out of sight, Rebecca says, “I didn’t know we had plans.”

  “We don’t.” My only goal is getting her home and eating her out.

  She frowns. “Then why didn’t you go spend time with the team? Celebrate with your fans.” I don’t like how closed-off her expression is.

  “No.” I'm not spending a night without her if I can help it.

  “Logan, I don't need to play the good girlfriend in public.” Becs won’t meet my gaze, even tries to pull back. I frown, but don’t let go. I don’t know why she’s acting so distant. I’m tempted to ask. Jenna’s not the only mule-head in the family. Maybe I should tell her how I feel now? I slant a glance at her, but my heart falters at her closed look.

  My track record for relationships is nonexistent. Tomorrow’s soon enough to fuck this up.

  I summon a cocky smile. “Well, then you can play the good girlfriend in private and give your boyfriend a massage. Ease his troubles.” I give her a conspiratorial wink.

  That makes her laugh, and the tension eases.

  I sling my arm around her and guide her to the parking lot.

  “You don’t need to act all boyfriend-y now, you know,” Rebecca says. “Jenna, Carrie, and your parents left earlier.”

  I stop and wait for her to face me. “Who's acting? I do want a back massage for my troubles. And if you can, finish that with a happy ending,” I wag my brows at her, “complete with sound effects. I'd appreciate that, too. At least Jenna will think I’m good for something.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Friday

  LOGAN

  “I got it,” Becs whispers, her unfocused gaze trained on the phone she’s clutching with both hands. She blinks and lifts awestruck eyes to me.

  “The job?” I ask. A slow smile breaks on my face.

  “Logan, I got it!” I only have a moment to brace myself before she rushes me and jumps into my arms. Her hands lock around my neck as she twines monkey legs around my hips. “I can’t believe it.” Rebecca’s grin is blinding. I know mine mirrors it. I kiss her deeply then spin her around, both of us laughing like loons.

  I finally bring us to a stop. The familiar scent of tangerine and peaches fills my lungs when Rebecca tucks her face into my shoulder, and something stutters between my ribs. We both breathe heavy sighs of relief before she draws back and peers up at me. My eyes meet hers and we freeze in a tableau worthy of one of those cheesy romance novels my mother pretends she doesn’t read.

  Electric shocks whistle in the air between us. I eliminate those few inches and brush her lips with mine once. Then again. Her hips wiggle against my cock, making me groan. I shift and my elbow slams into a glass on the counter. It crashes to the floor.

  The commotion has Jenna striding int
o the kitchen seconds later. She smiles when she sees us. “You got the news, then?”

  “I did!” Rebecca scrambles down my body. She clasps her hands together in front of her chest and beams. “Thank you, thank you! God! I would hug you if it wouldn’t be unprofessional.”

  “I don’t mind, just this once.”

  My grin stretches wide when I see them embrace. My sister and my soon-to-be-real-girlfriend.

  Jenna smiles when they separate. “Congratulations. You deserve it."

  Rebecca falters as she steps back. Her eyes flash to mine then return to Jenna’s. “I uh…need to go tell Carrie.” She ducks into my room.

  Jenna turns to me. “So, can you finally tell Rebecca she can stop wearing pencil skirts at home?”

  We share identical laughs. I knew Becs wasn’t fooling anyone with that.

  “Thank you, Jenna. This means the world to Becs.” I’m still smiling.

  “She’ll be a great addition.” Jenna gives me a sly grin. “I put in the paperwork before I even knew she was your girlfriend.” She tsks. “Legal takes forever.”

  “You did?” I gape.

  “I did.” Her voice is smug.

  Huh. Who knew? “Always knew you were smart.” I smirk.

  “And sometimes you make good decisions, too. I’m glad to see you with Rebecca.”

  “We should go celebrate. You’ll come out with us, right, Jen?"

  Jenna tips her head to the side. “Are you sure you two don’t want to celebrate on your own? I’m fine staying home.”

  "I insist!"

  “Okay then. Let me go change,” she says.

  “Take your time. I’m in no rush.”

  I watch her walk away. Once her door shuts behind her, I go to my room. Maybe Becs and I can get a little pre-celebration going while Jenna gets dressed.

  Rebecca is sitting on the edge of the bed, hands fisted in her lap when I enter the room. The door snicks when I pull it shut behind me.

  She looks up. “Sooo…”

  “Sooo…” I drawl, sauntering over while I bring my fingers to the top button of my shirt.