“Must be all that dedicated, one-on-one work you’re doing.”
“Shut up, Meg,” I laugh. “Nothing is going on. He’s my client, and I would never do anything with a client. Plus, he’s not my type.”
Meg snorts, pushing herself off the desk and grabbing a protein bar from the shelf. She walks a couple steps and turns back toward me, unwrapping the bar and taking a bite. She points the protein bar at me and shakes her head.
“Max Westbrook is everyone’s type. Be careful.”
“Don’t worry.”
She stares at me for a few seconds, and I force myself to hold her gaze. Finally, she shrugs. “You decide what you’re wearing on Saturday?”
I sigh, leaning my head back and closing my eyes.
Shit. Saturday.
Meghan makes a noise, and I can almost hear the smirk on her face. “You forgot, didn’t you?”
“Maybe,” I reply, turning toward her. Yep—she’s smirking.
“It’s our boss’s bachelorette party, Naomi!”
“Yeah, well, I’m not really a ‘wedding’ person. Why are we invited, anyway? It’s not like we’re friends with her.”
Meg grins. “Maybe we are her friends, and we just don’t know it.”
“At least she said it would be on the company credit card.”
“So I take it that’s a ‘no’ to the question about what you’re going to wear?”
“I don’t know, I’ll wear jeans and a nice top, or something.”
“Wow, way to narrow it down.” She takes another bite of her protein bar. “Come over in the afternoon on Saturday. Ariana’s coming too.”
“Does Julia even know her?”
“Company credit card,” Meg laughs. “She’s crashing the bachelorette party.”
“Typical Ari,” I laugh.
“Come on, come over. We can get nice and buzzed beforehand and I’ll help you get ready. I have a couple dresses that you could try on.”
“I don’t think your clothes will fit me,” I say, glancing at her tall, willowy frame. My hands drift to my wide hips and I shake my head. “I’m about four inches shorter than you and a couple sizes bigger.”
“You are not,” she says, rolling her eyes. “You just always wear clothes that are a couple sizes too big for you. Show off those curves, Naomi! You’re a knockout. Plus, you need to get laid, if only to stop going gaga over your freaking clients.”
“Mm,” I reply, turning to my desk and finding Max’s file. I can sense Meg’s eyes on my back so I turn to look over my shoulder. “Fine.”
A grin spreads over her face. “Good. I’m going for lunch. You coming?”
“Gotta finish this paperwork. See you when you get back.”
Meg makes a noise and glides through the door. I watch her leave before sinking down into a chair. Closing my eyes for a moment, I drop my head into my hand.
I open my eyes and stare at the stack of papers in front of me. Before I know what I’m doing, I trace his name with my fingers: Max Westbrook.
Meg is way too perceptive. I was laughing more than usual, and it wasn’t because Max was making progress. It was the way he was looking at me. More than once, I got lost in those deep, blue eyes of his. I had my hands all over him—I mean, I had to. It’s my job! But this time, it wasn’t like his other appointments. When I was massaging his leg, it was sending thrills through my body that are still echoing through me now.
My hands drift down to my thighs and I remember the way his hard, muscled body looked and felt as he laid on my massage table.
I take a deep breath and put the stack of papers down. I jot down a few notes and file them away, shaking my head.
Meg is right. Max Westbrook is my client. Not only that, he’s a super rich, super out-of-my-league playboy. No matter how electrifying his touch is, or how deep and blue his eyes are, I can’t get involved.
I snort at the thought, shaking my head. Get involved? It’s not like I have the choice. He wasn’t exactly coming on to me or anything. He just looked at me, for crying out loud. And here I am, losing my mind over it.
I stare through the door and take a deep breath. Meg is right. I do need to get laid, if only to stop myself from going wobbly-kneed every time an attractive man walks through the door.
The last thing I need is to get distracted. There are dozens of attractive, athletic men who walk through these doors. Professional athletes come here with injuries all the time. Working here is a privilege, and I can’t forget that. Not even if Max sends a thrill through my body every time he’s near.
That’s just part of the job.
… Right?
3
Max
A can of beer hits me in the chest before I even know it’s coming. I catch it as it tumbles down my stomach, looking up to see who threw it.
“What’s up with you, Max?” Joel cocks his head to the side. “Bad day at work?”
Monday Night Football is blaring on Joel’s TV, and he sits down in his plushy recliner as he waits for me to answer. I shift on the couch, the leather creaking underneath me. I shrug as I stare at the can of beer in my hands.
“Gonna be a long week, I guess.”
Joel grunts in acknowledgement. He brushes a strand of sandy blonde hair off his forehead and tips his beer back. When he wipes his mouth on his sleeve, he stares at me with those sharp, pale brown eyes of his and I try not to shift in my seat.
I haven’t been thinking about work at all—I’ve been thinking about her. About Naomi. About the way her hands had been all over my legs, and the way her skin had glowed, even under the stark fluorescent lights of her office. I’d been thinking about the tremor that had passed through my chest when she smiled at me. It was right when I squatted down without pain for the first time in years.
I jump when Joel speaks again, and I know the reaction hasn’t gone unnoticed. As boisterous as Joel can be, he can read me like a book.
“How was your physio appointment? You look like you’re doing really well since you changed physical therapists. You’re not complaining about your fucking knee every five minutes anymore.”
I’m going to choose to ignore that.
“It was good,” I answer, keeping my eyes glued on the TV. I can feel Joel’s stare, and I know my best friend can tell there was more to the appointment than it just being ‘good’.
But right now, as I sit down for our regular Monday hang-out, I don’t want to talk about it. I don’t want to explain that I had the hots for my physical therapist. I don’t want to laugh along to his jokes and brush off my attraction to her.
I make the mistake of glancing at my best friend. I see the gleam in his eyes as he arches his eyebrow. He cracks open a new beer and takes a sip, never taking his eyes off me. I chuckle, shaking my head.
I know an inquisition is coming.
I’ll have to field his questions and pretend like I didn’t get turned on today. I’ll have to pretend like Naomi is no one, like I haven’t been thinking about her all day.
Joel opens his mouth, and I know the barrage of questions is coming.
I’m saved by a knock on the door. Our friends, Graham and Connor, come tumbling through the door.
“Yo!” Graham calls out, marching toward us.
“What’s up?” Joel responds.
I grunt, cracking open the beer that Joel threw at me. It sprays out, fizzing and bubbling all over me as soon as I crack it open. I’m greeted by a chorus of laughs. I glance at Joel.
“You dickhead,” I grin.
He throws his hands up. “What! I didn’t do anything.”
Connor chortles and slaps me on the shoulder, dropping down to sit next to me on the couch. “Never trust a beer that Joel gets for you. Didn’t you learn anything in college?”
“Apparently not,” I laugh.
Graham drops a bag of chips on the coffee table, and my shoulders relax. Amid the comfortable conversation, the ribbing and joking, the easy friendship between the four of us, I forget ab
out my day. I forget about how completely off-balance I felt earlier, and how my mind keeps circling back to my appointment.
The conversation turns to football.
“I keep telling myself that the Giants should lose to get a high draft pick, but then they go and play like this today and I can’t help but feel great,” Joel says, shaking his head.
“Losing never feels good,” I respond, sipping my beer. My shirt is still soaked with the spray, but I don’t really care. “I remember the day we lost the championship in college. Losing was almost worse than busting up my knee.”
Silence hangs between us as we all take a sip.
Finally, Graham grunts. “That was fucking tough, man.” He runs a hand through his black hair and purses his lips as he stares at me.
“Yeah.”
Joel glances over at me. He lifts a finger to point at me. “You know, that’s the first time in four years I’ve heard you talk about your injury without being asked.”
I straighten my leg out in front of me, massaging my quad muscle and staring at my knee. I shrug.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah,” Connor says. “Usually whenever anyone mentions it you go all quiet.”
“Huh,” I respond, not knowing what else to say. They’re right, obviously. I never talk about my knee, and I never talk about that day on the football field when my life changed forever.
“It’s gotta be a girl,” Graham says, grinning. “Who is she?”
“What?” I say, frowning. “No!”
Joel laughs, grabbing a chip from the bag on the table. “I fucking knew it!” He crunches down on the chip and then brushes his fingers across his shirt to wipe the orange dust from them. He shakes his head, laughing. “Fucking finally.”
“What do you mean, finally?!” I protest.
“You haven’t really liked any women since… you know,” Connor answers, wiggling his eyebrows. His brown eyes are shining as he opens them wide. “Since she who shall not be named was around.”
“Who, Farrah? I’ve been with girls since her!” I avoid their stares, choosing instead to sip my beer. It’s true! I’ve been with lots of women since my ex left me after I got injured. “I was fucking engaged!”
“Yeah, but you haven’t actually liked any of them. Even Heather,” Graham laughs. “Best decision you ever made, not to marry her. I’m not even sure you really liked her.”
I grunt, remembering the torturous months leading up to my failed engagement.
Connor nudges me. “Come on, who is she?”
I glance at the three of them, trying to keep my face steady.
“I don’t know what any of you are talking about. There’s no one.”
A grin spreads over Joel’s face. He leans forward, a strand of blonde hair falling across his forehead. He shakes his head slowly from side to side.
“It’s your physio, isn’t it.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I knew it!” He laughs triumphantly, turning to Connor and Graham. “He was acting all weird earlier, but it wasn’t until you said it was a girl that it all made sense. Is that why you’ve been making such good progress with your knee lately?”
“Shut up, Joel,” I grumble as I feel three sets of eyes boring into me.
“She hot?” Connor asks.
“She’s gotta be, you know how Max is,” Graham responds with a laugh. “He only goes for perfect tens. You got a picture of her?”
“My ankle is kind of sore, maybe I should make an appointment,” Joel laughs.
“God, shut the fuck up you guys. I’m not seeing her! I don’t even know her!”
“So you’ve just got a little crush on your physio but you’re too shy to ask her out? That’s cute,” Graham grins.
“Game’s back on,” I grunt in relief, and the four of us turn back to the TV.
I drain the rest of my beer and crush the can in my hand. My mind reels. I feel like I’ve just run a marathon. My heart is racing and I’m vaguely mad at my friends, but I also know they’re right. I do have a crush on her. I mean, she’s an attractive woman—how could I not notice that?
Maybe it’s the fact that she’s making my knee feel better that draws me to her. She’s making me feel like the old ‘me’. She’s giving me my life back. A life without pain and creaky knees. A life where maybe, I’ll be able to play football again.
4
Naomi
By the time Saturday comes around, our boss, Julia, has talked the whole office’s ear off about her bachelorette party. At least Meg has stopped teasing me about Max Westbrook.
Mostly.
“Imagine if Max saw you like this,” Meg whistles when I walk out of the bathroom. She wiggles her eyebrows. I laugh, rolling my eyes. My hands fly to my hair to smooth it down, and I glance at myself in the hallway mirror. I shake my head.
“Stop it.”
“He’d be begging you to give him all kinds of physio.”
“Oh my God, Meg, shut up!” I laugh as a blush stains my cheeks. “You’re the worst.”
“And by the worst, you mean the best, right?”
“I’m just glad Meg’s attention is off me,” our friend, Ariana, calls out from the kitchen. “I couldn’t take all the teasing about Mason.”
She appears with two glasses of white wine, handing one to me and the other to Meg.
“I’m not done with you and Mason,” Meg laughs. “Just momentarily occupied.”
“Well ‘momentarily occupy’ yourself with something else,” I retort. The two of them laugh. Ariana ducks back into the kitchen and grabs herself a glass, and then we clink them all together.
“In all honesty, Naomi,” Meg says, “you look like a knockout. You should wear green more often, it makes your eyes and your hair look insane.”
“Thanks for lending me this.” I run my fingers down the silky fabric covering my hips. “It’s gorgeous.”
“Keep it,” Meg says with a wave of her hand. “It doesn’t fit me properly anyways. I’ve never even worn it. I don’t have your body.”
“Meg,” I start, shaking my head. “You’re like, the definition of a perfect ten. You look like a supermodel.”
“If we’re just standing around handing out compliments, when do I get a turn?” Ariana laughs. She drops onto the couch and drains half her glass of wine in one sip.
“You have enough men following you around like lost puppies showering you with compliments,” Meg shoots back, cocking her hip to the side and arching her eyebrow. “How many boyfriends do you have right now? I lost track.”
Ariana grins. “None, thank you very much. I’ve taken a vow of celibacy.”
A short moment of silence precedes riotous laughter exploding out of all three of us. Meg goes to the speaker and plugs in her phone, putting on some music. I sit down next to Ariana, letting her top off my glass while Meg starts dancing on the coffee table.
We polish off two bottles of wine before heading out the door to meet Julia.
By the time we make it to the bar, Julia and the rest of her friends are there. By the look of it, they’re on their second or third round already. We show up just in time to be handed a shot of something blue, and get a stumbling hug from our boss. She’s wearing a thrift-store veil and a sash that says ‘Bride-to-Be.’
I exchange a glance with Ariana, who just shrugs and takes the shot. She leans over toward me as I stare suspiciously at the blue liquid.
“Come on, Naomi,” she half-shouts into my ear over the music. “You need to loosen up a little. When was the last time you got laid?”
I hate how easily I blush, especially in moments like these. Ariana laughs.
“I rest my case.”
I roll my eyes and knock the shot back. Ariana cheers, and Julia reappears with an armful of sashes.
“Put these on,” she shouts as the music thumps. I take one, glancing at Meg and Ariana.
“‘Bride Tribe’,” Meg reads. She grins at me and then shrugs. “I
guess that’s us.”
We shrug into the silly sashes and Julia hugs us again. As much as I resisted coming, I can’t deny how happy she looks. She waves her head back and forth and plays with her veil as she takes another shot. Her other friends lean in for a picture and everyone laughs and hugs.
I look down at my ‘Bride Tribe’ sash and feel a pang in my chest.
I never really believed in weddings. My mother never married, and I don’t even know who my father is. She raised me to be independent, and I always thought that marriage was an institution designed to keep women in their place.
But now, I watch Julia, and I wonder if that’s true. She runs a successful physical therapy practice, and she’s a great boss. And yet, here she is, getting drunk and celebrating how happy she is to be getting married. Is it possible to have it both ways?
Meg hands me a drink as we watch them screaming and dancing.
“Sickening, isn’t it,” she says to me.
I grin, shrugging. “I don’t know, it’s kind of nice. She looks really happy.”
“She looks really drunk,” Meg corrects. “And just because you have a crush on some rich ex-football star, don’t go all gooey on me.”
I dig my elbow into her ribs as she laughs, throwing her arm around me. “Come on, let’s dance,” she says. “It would be rude not to.”
We elbow our way onto the dance floor, forming a circle around Julia. We sway and laugh and dance as the joy becomes contagious. I can’t help but be happy for Julia.
Meg turns toward me and dances with me, clinking her glass against mine. I grin and take a sip, when she looks over her shoulder. Her jaw drops and my heart starts beating. Meg glances back at me, nodding her chin behind me as she arches her eyebrow.
She doesn’t need to say anything, because I already know who it is. Whether it was the expression on her face, or if I could just sense him behind me, I know it’s him.
Mr. Right: The Complete Fake Engagement Series Page 2