Catherine laughs. “I thought the same thing about myself.”
The girls exchange a friendly smile as Sebastian stews beside Catherine.
His jaw clenches as he looks at me. I lift a brow in a silent challenge.
I usually try to give people the benefit of the doubt and not judge a book by its cover or however that saying goes. But Sebastian seems to have gone out of his fucking way to print asshole on his forehead. There’s another adage about trusting people when they tell you who they are.
I believe him.
Sebastian tries to hold my glare but gives up in a matter of seconds, just as I knew he would.
He clears his throat. “Catherine, would you gather our coats, please? I’ll meet you by the door in a moment.”
“Sure,” she nearly whispers. “It was nice to meet you both.” After a timid nod, she dashes away.
I instantly feel sorry for the girl. But there’s no time to think about that. I have a job to do.
“Sebastian, this is …” A streak of panic flutters through my girlfriend’s eyes as she realizes she doesn’t know my name.
“I’m Hollis Hudson,” I interject, more for Larissa’s benefit than anything.
“I’m an old, close friend of Larissa’s,” Sebastian says, eyeing me carefully. “It’s always nice to see her around.”
“Well, I’m a new, closer friend of Larissa’s, so I bet we’ll all be seeing each other around.” I run my tongue around my cheek and let my stare finish the thought.
He hems and haws around, looking back and forth between us as his displeasure grows by the minute. “How is your father, Riss?”
Larissa bristles at the nickname. “My dad is great.”
Sebastian nods. He expected more from her—more freely given information that felt intimate to him. A wrinkled brow tells me he didn’t get what he wanted. A set jaw tells me he’s going to press until he does.
“Tell him hello for me,” he says.
Larissa tenses in my arms. I rub my hands up and down her shoulders, giving them a gentle squeeze at the end. I want to tell this fucker precisely what I think, but I’m in a bit of a pickle here. I’m not really her boyfriend, or I’d jump right in and put Sebastian in his place.
And she already told me no punching.
I bite my tongue and wait for her to give me an indication about what she wants me to do. I’m not going to be in her life in the morning. I don’t want to ruin shit she doesn’t want imploding.
She takes a deep breath, her body heaving from the energy I think she’s about to spew. I know one thing—if she loses her cool in front of this guy, it’ll only encourage him and his antics.
I’ve seen this a hundred times before. There are people—men and women—who get off on riling people up. Sebastian is clearly one of those guys, and I’ll be damned if I let that happen.
Not to my fake girlfriend.
“We have somewhere we need to be,” I tell Larissa.
Larissa looks up at me in surprise. “We do?”
The expression on her pretty face changes from surprise to concern—surprise I said we had plans and concern she broke character.
I wink to assuage her worry.
“We do,” I tell her, dropping my voice. “And you’re gonna love them. Trust me.”
She flushes the sexiest shade of pink. An impish smile displays little dimples in her cheeks. Whether she’s playing along in her role as my girlfriend or if she really is reacting to the idea of us being together, I don’t know. What I do know is that it’s a hell of a turn-on.
“And what do those plans consist of, Hollis?” she asks, making my name sound a whole hell of a lot sexier than it ever has before.
The intimacy in her eyes and that fucking blush make my cock hard as hell. I move around as smoothly as I can to try to distract it.
“Do you want me to tell you right here in front of God and everyone?” I ask.
Her eyes sparkle.
Sebastian clears his throat, but neither of us looks his way.
“I took your advice from this morning and put together a little something. It’ll be fun. I promise,” I say, letting the last word fall on a hushed whisper.
Our bodies are only inches apart. From this angle, I can see straight down the top of her dress to the ample cleavage hoisted up like it was done just for me.
She throws her head back just far enough that her hair swishes against my arm. The ends tickle as they dust my hand, almost goading me to make more contact. And with Sebastian still standing there, she must want that.
So I give her what she wants.
I wrap my arms around her and let my hands come together at the small of her back. She’s pushed against me, the curve of her breasts pressed snugly against the firm wall of my chest.
As I listen to her melodic giggle, I forget all about Sebastian and the show we’re supposed to be putting on. Instead, I’m searching her eyes for a sign of what she really wants to do from this point forward.
Because I know what I want to do. And I have a room across the street in which to do it.
“Did you know,” she says, sticking her fingers in my belt loop, “that just before I met you, I’d sworn off men? Like literally the moment before I met you.”
“Well, I do always love a challenge.”
She laughs. “You sort of fell into my life right when I needed you.”
“Are you saying I’m an angel? Because I’ve been called that before.”
Songs are written about smiles like the one on her face. It’s a picture of a split second in time without worry—clear of any reservations or stress. And after all the hell I’ve been through in the past few months with letting my team down during every game, it’s nice to be helpful for once.
And it’s really nice having her in my arms.
“I need to get back to Catherine,” Sebastian says from beside us. “It was nice seeing you.”
“Goodbye, Sebastian,” Larissa says without looking at him.
Instead, she looks at me.
We stand next to the bar with our arms around one another as though we’ve known each other for longer than five minutes. With each passing second, the look on our faces grows lighter and lighter until we eventually burst out into laughter.
“What the heck do we have here?” A woman slides up beside us as she tosses a strand of hair over her shoulder. Her face is painted into pure amusement.
Larissa’s arms drop from my waist, and she takes a step back. She turns toward her friend. “I thought you were busy with Suit?”
The other girl shakes her head side to side. “I was, but then I look over, and here you are, taking my advice.” Her bottom lip sticks out. “I’m so proud.”
Both women look at me, but neither says a word. Feeling put on the spot, I shrug.
“I’m Hollis,” I tell her. “Larissa’s fake boyfriend.”
“Well, I’m Bellamy, her best friend, and I feel like I just missed something huge.”
Larissa looks at me, and her eyes shine. I’m drawn to her energy. It’s clean. Happy. It’s strangely comforting and exciting at the same time.
“Sebastian was walking up,” Larissa says, turning to Bellamy. “And I just … Hollis was standing here, and I thought …” She makes a face. “I don’t even know what I thought, to be honest.”
“You thought I was hot,” I say with a grin.
Bellamy bursts out laughing as Larissa hides her face.
A stunning, red-lipped siren by all accounts, Larissa’s friend looks similar to many of the women I’ve hooked up with in the past. Yet tonight, the curvy little pistol has captured my attention.
“It’s okay,” I tease Larissa. “I’m used to it. It’s hard to be me.”
“I bet it is,” Bellamy says with a grin.
I shrug like I might be kidding, but I’m not.
From the outside, it looks like my life must be sunshine and roses. Guys on campus want to be me. Girls want to be with me—mostly. This season kind of put a damper
on all that. Social media pundits profess my prowess, and half of my professors call me out in class just to say my damn name.
No one thinks about the impossibility of figuring out who, if anyone, is real in my life. Who likes me for me and who likes me because of what they see on television? It’s a difficult question to answer and one that’ll get you all screwed up if you get it wrong.
Which I’ve done.
And hope to never do again.
Bellamy smacks her lips together and looks at her friend. “I’m going to go swap numbers with Suit. You going home with Hollis or me?”
“You,” Larissa answers immediately.
It’s such a quick response that I almost object. Almost. While it burns my ego a smidgen, I have to respect her decision. It’s the logical one. Not the fun one but the one that makes sense.
“Cool. Find me when you’re done.” Bellamy turns and looks at me. “Nice job, Hollis. Thanks for bailing out my girl.”
I glance at my watch. “She’s still my girl, thank you very much.”
I wink at Larissa. She pulls her eyes away from me and tries to hide her smile.
Bellamy shakes her head. “Stay out of trouble,” she tells Larissa before tossing me a little wave and heading back to their table.
Larissa watches her friend disappear into the restaurant. I shove a hand in my pocket and try to decide where to go from here.
Before I have it figured out, she flips her gaze to mine.
The air between us thickens. Larissa pulls the collar of her dress away from her body. My attention snaps to the movement, and she raises a brow when she catches me eyeing her. I grin.
“Thank you,” she says, letting the fabric rest against her skin.
“For what?”
“For helping me with Sebastian. I’m standing here trying to decide if I should’ve done that. It feels kind of awkward now.”
“Why? Wasn’t I a good fake boyfriend?”
She laughs. “You were the best fake boyfriend I’ve ever had.”
“I’m glad to hear it.” I blow out a breath, hoping that the extra oxygen cools my blood a bit. “Who was Sebastian, anyway? An old boyfriend?”
She nods. “He doesn’t even like me, really. He’s just a dick.”
“I have to agree with that opinion. At least the part about him being a dick.”
Our gazes linger together, searching each other for the next step.
Do we just part ways?
Do I buy her a drink?
Do I even get her last name?
“Thanks again, Hollis. I appreciate it.” She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “I guess I’ll see you around.”
“So, what? That’s it?”
The questions come too quickly to be able to play it off smoothly. Even if she’s not going home with me, that doesn’t mean we have to end things now.
She looks at me out of the corner of her eye. “Yeah. That’s it.”
“You don’t want a drink or something?”
“It’s been five minutes. Your job here is done.”
I balk. “But isn’t that what women don’t want from men? Every time it’s only five minutes, all you hear are complaints.”
She swats at me again, her laughter washing over me. The slight contact is enough to make my blood run hot again.
“You are a handful,” she tells me.
“You could find out …”
She bites her lip and laughs. She’s even prettier now than she was just a few minutes ago.
I clear my throat. “All joking aside, I’ll be in town for a week or so. If you want my number, I could give it to you in case you run into any more scenarios where you need a fake boyfriend. Or … whatever …”
She wrinkles her nose. “It couldn’t hurt, right?”
“I don’t see how.”
She tilts her head to the side as she mulls something over. Finally, she shrugs. “Pass me your phone.”
I unlock it and hand it to her.
She looks at me suspiciously but takes it anyway.
Her fingers fly over the screen in a flurry. Soon, she’s handing it back to me with a relieved smile.
“I put my name in and texted myself, so I have your number too,” she says. “Just in case.”
“Of course.”
“Of course.” She laughs softly. “I’ll, um, I’ll see you around. Maybe.”
“Sounds good.”
And with that, I watch her walk across the room and disappear through a set of French doors.
Before I can think twice, I pivot on my heel and exit onto the street. My phone still in my hand, I open my texting app.
Me: Blonde. Crew wins.
Four
Larissa
“You don’t have to scream at me,” I say, wincing.
“I’m not screaming,” my mother insists.
Her voice screeches through my car’s speakers. I wince as my ears threaten to bleed.
“It might help if you held the phone to your ear and didn’t put it on speakerphone while you do … whatever it is you’re doing,” I tell her.
She groans. The sound mixes with crumpled cellophane.
“You have me on speakerphone,” she says. “What’s the difference?”
“I’m driving. I’m being responsible. You’re supposed to use the speakerphone in this situation.”
The loudest static sounds through the car again as my mother makes a show of picking up the phone. I can’t make out a series of muted protests and mumbles—which is probably a good thing for both of us.
“There,” she says, her voice clearer and, thankfully, quieter. “Better?”
“Yes. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
I imagine the smile I hear in her voice and the way it touches both of her ears when she’s happy. It’s a look I don’t often see on her. Sure, she grins, and with her chipper voice, she can sell the idea she’s having a great time in life.
Mom is a gifted actress.
She’s exchanged the exuberance of life for an overbooked calendar. The sparkle in her eyes that I saw when I was a little girl has been replaced with … something else.
Jack, my stepfather, provides well for her. He’s a co-owner of the Savannah Seahawks, a minor league baseball team, and treats my mother to a lifestyle that most women only dream about. It’s not like she’s stressing about making ends meet. But she can’t slow down long enough to enjoy the life she has, and that bothers me. I truly believe she adds more to her plate when I suggest she ease up.
“What are you doing, anyway?” I ask.
“Hang on a second.”
I blow out a breath.
My head still hurts a little from the wine I drank last night in a futile attempt to sleep. My mind, and body, raced until the sun came up, thanks to my fake boyfriend.
The mixture of greens and golds in Hollis’s eyes is unforgettable. I can’t stop thinking about his smile either and how it sent a zap of electricity up my spine. The way his voice wrapped itself around my name and the way his hands did the same to my waist—it was too much to forget that quickly.
I know it’s all because it was something new and exciting. That and Hollis is downright gorgeous. But even with that in mind, it was impossible to set him aside mentally and get things back in regular working order.
“I just had cosmetics delivered, and they pack the tiny boxes in boatloads of paper. You could fill a full-sized boat with this stuff. It’s such a waste.”
“So, stop shopping at those stores. Or may I suggest that you drive to the mall, walk inside, and buy your stuff yourself instead of shopping online?”
She gasps.
“I know. My bad. Forget I ever went there,” I tease.
“You better hope I do if you want to stay in my will,” she says, distracted. Finally, the crumpling stops. “There. Done. Now, what are you doing today?”
“Driving to Aunt Siggy’s.”
“What are you going to do over there?” she as
ks.
“She wanted me to come by and help her choose a few things for the New Year’s Party. They’re behind schedule, and you know how much she hates that.”
I make a right-hand turn onto a tree-lined street. It’s one of my favorite streets in Savannah. Large southern oaks stand guard at equidistant intervals, their branches heavy with spectacular doses of moss. The late morning sunlight streams through like the effect of a filter, creating the most beautiful and soothing environment.
My dad’s brother, my uncle Rodney, and his wife, Aunt Siggy, have lived here my entire life. I used to beg my mom to let me come to play on the weekends and every day in the summer. Not only was their youngest son, Boone, my buddy, but their next-door neighbor was Bellamy.
It was the perfect situation. Lucky for me, Mom and Siggy maintained their friendship after Mom and Dad divorced when I was eight.
“I bet she’s not behind for long,” Mom laughs, knowing exactly how her former sister-in-law operates.
“I bet not either.”
“When does her new line launch?”
“I’m not sure. Maybe around Valentine’s Day, I think?”
I glance down at the delicate gold rope ring wrapped around my pointer finger. It has chips of sapphires and rubies, my two favorite gemstones. Aunt Siggy had it made especially for me on my twenty-first birthday.
It doesn’t suck to have an aunt that’s a jewelry designer. It definitely doesn’t suck to have one that has five sons and one niece. Me.
“It’s going to be great though,” I say. “I’ve seen a few pieces and they’re incredible. She went super feminine with this collection. Rose gold. Lots of sparkle.”
“She’ll kill it. She always does.”
“Yeah.”
“So, I’ll see you tomorrow night then?” All of a sudden, her voice gets louder again, and I know I’m back on speakerphone. “The fundraiser starts at eight, but Jack wants to be there at seven. You could show up around seven-thirty, if you want.”
My stomach twists into a tight knot.
Most people look forward to the week between Christmas and the New Year. It’s filled with family, food, and free time to vacation or just hang out at home and read.
But me? Nope. It’s one of the busiest weeks of my life.
The Relationship Pact: Kings of Football Page 3