Something Real (Atlanta Outlaws)

by Aja Cole

  Right, perfect defense. Let's just go with that.

  Hey Mr. Johnson, I'm sorry I had your client's dick down my throat last night, but in my defense - I didn't even know his name until he was leaving!

  That'll make me look so good.

  With my palms sweating and hoping the hickey on my neck is still covered, I go to the conference room and knock lightly, hearing Mr. Johnson's voice tell me to enter. Taking a deep breath and closing the door behind me, I turn around to see a very pissed off looking Dylan surrounded by a dozen or so of my bosses.

  They ask me to sit and I do, perched on the edge of the seat and ready to bolt at any time. I can't read any of their faces, really. The only person who's showing clear emotion is Dylan, and it's very far from the nonchalance he displayed this morning.

  "Thanks for joining us, Shayla. Is it okay if I call you Shayla?" Mr. Johnson asks kindly, and I nod, hoping my eyes aren't as wide as they feel. I probably look like a bobblehead, but I can't help it! My nerves are on fire right now.

  "Great," He leans forward, steepling his fingers. "We've decided that reception might not be the best place for you."

  Don't cry

  Don't cry

  Don't cry

  Aunt Ernie will be so disappointed in me. That worries me so much more than losing this job, and that almost brings the tears to my eyes, but I hold them at bay.

  "We want you to take on a special role for the next six months. It's come to our attention that you're acquainted already with Dylan, yes?"

  Again, I nod without a single word.

  "Wonderful. We'd like you to be a...special assistant for him, so to speak. You'll need to stay with him full-time to protect his image, and there's a small detail that's important but we can talk about that after you sign the NDA."

  "An NDA?" I echo. "To be an assistant?"

  "Go ahead and spill it, Trent. Tell her what you really want." Dylan grits out, spearing me with those green eyes that are completely aflame.

  I swing my eyes back to Mr. Johnson, and he gives me a placating smile.

  "Dylan needs a fiancee, Shayla. Specifically, he needs you."

  And that's when I start laughing.

  And laughing.

  And laughing.

  I can't seem to stop, and there are tears of mirth streaming down my face before I realize that the room is deathly silent and I gasp, gulping hard.

  "You're serious?"

  "Very." Mr. Johnson frowns, and this time, I don't even stop my mouth from popping open in surprise. Dylan doesn't say anything else, he just glares at me like this was my decision.

  "Dylan?" I say tentatively, though I'm not sure what to actually say. I guess I'm asking if this is what he wants. The idea is ludicrous and part of a cheesy rom-com plot. There's no way that it'll actually fly.

  "Shayla." He mocks in a way that makes my back straighten. It reminds me too much of everyone else who's always mocked me.

  You're a bore, Shayla.

  You're so predictable.

  You're not very interesting.

  Meeting Mr. Johnson's eyes, I cross my legs demurely and clasp my hands in my lap, all of those opinions rolling around in my mind.

  "When do I start?"

  3

  Dylan

  Laying on the swing lounge on my veranda, I push it with one leg and keep my eyes closed, wondering how the hell I ended up in this predicament.

  I do what I need to do on the ice. I'm one of the best fucking forwards out here right now, and that's not even ego talking.

  Alright, a little bit of ego.

  But mostly, it's just that I know I work my goddamned ass off and everyone knows it. The vets respect me, the rookies respect me and so does damned near everyone in between.

  Yet, all people can fucking talk about is what I do off the ice.

  Haven't I earned the right to do whatever the hell I want, as long as I'm not hurting anyone? Don't I do exactly what's in my contract and then some? I make them a shit-ton of money and the only thing I'm hearing is them whining "You need to clean up your image."

  Maybe everyone should stop caring so damn much about my image and there wouldn't be an issue.

  I just want to live my life.

  Yet here I am, after fighting all afternoon with my agent and lawyers about renewing my contract. The team recently let a stringer go for the same shit they're been railing at me for, so they've got me on probation and stuck me with a fake fiancee. Who the hell comes up with these brilliant ideas? I don't know what they think sicc-ing a babysitter on me is going to do, but I can guarantee that it'll only mean that I start giving more of a damn if cameras are around.

  So now I'm waiting for my new warden to show up.

  I can't believe she agreed to this. When she started laughing like someone had piped nitrous oxide into her, I just knew she was going to decline the offer and I'd have a reprieve while they found someone else.

  Instead, one second she was looking at me like a doe in headlights, and the next; she was all fire and bravado, sealing my fate.

  It would've been sexy as hell if it didn't piss me off so much.

  I can hear a car coming up the drive, and it signals that it's time to start my new game of how long will it take for Shayla to go running?

  She waves off the driver wanting to take her suitcase and hobbles up the gravel on high heeled wedges that I'm surprised to see.

  "I can take that." I reach for the bag that she's trying to heft up the steep first stair, and she shakes her head.

  "It's fine."

  "I wasn't asking." I swipe it from her before she can say another word, and take it inside the foyer, setting it against the wall. "You can leave your bag here and I'll show you where everything is."

  I can afford to be polite. Shayla is a guest in my home, after all.

  For now.

  I start to show her around, showing off a little bit because it took me months to decorate and furnish this mansion in a way I felt reflected who I am and the way I'm comfortable. I don't need such a big place for just myself, but my family comes and visits sometimes, and I like having them all here.

  Even when they drive me crazy.

  "Is your kitchen well-stocked or do you only eat takeout?" She asks, peering around, without her glasses this time.

  "I try to avoid takeout. Why? You cook?"

  She shrugs. "I dabble a bit."

  "Cool. Well, use it whenever you want. Just clean up after yourself or start the dishwasher." I gesture for her to go ahead of me up the stairs, and regret it immediately when she does.

  She's hot as fuck.

  Her ass looks so tempting in the jeans she's wearing. They're practically molded to her ass like she was poured into them, and with every stair she's taking in those heels, her ass is calling to me. When she makes it to the next landing, I feel a lot more irritable than when I started this tour.

  Making quick work of showing her where the rooms and bathrooms are, I vaguely give directions to my home gym and tell her the security code. She's cool and collected the whole time, barely speaking to me except for small, pointed questions about the house.

  “You have a very nice home.” She admits, and I nod my thanks.

  "Alright, here are the ground rules." I cross my arms. "No guests, be at all my events with a smile and no drama, don't leave your bras and shit lying around and lie to the press. Cool?"

  Tilting her head to the side like she's considering what I said, she nods slowly, eyes shrewd. "Cool. I have a few rules too."

  Before I can tell her that I don't really care what her rules are in my house, she keeps going.

  "No touching or kissing me unless it's necessary, and no bringing anyone else home for the duration of our relationship." She uses air quotes.

  I grit my teeth, preparing to object, but she shakes her head. "There's a lot riding on this for you, so you should think carefully about how this is gonna go."

  "And what's in this for you? We sleep together once and you
agree to give up your normal life for six months?"

  "That's none of your business." She grins like she doesn't have a care in the world and it annoys me even more because she has a gorgeous smile. "And don't flatter yourself because there definitely won't be a repeat of that night."

  "Fine."

  "Fine." She echoes, stretching a hand out between us. "I guess we have a deal."

  "I guess we do." Shaking her hand, I let go quickly because there's almost a spark under my skin when we're touching.

  Leaving her to get settled, I close the door behind me and lean my forehead against it.

  It's going to be a long six months.

  4

  Dylan

  It's only been one full weekend that Shayla's been at my place, and I'm already losing my shit.

  The last time I lived with women, it was my sisters and mom and I told myself I wouldn't put myself through that again anytime soon. Love them, but…I need my space.

  But living with Shayla? She's a new kind of problem.

  She's not messy, she's not loud, and she's not demanding all sorts of shit and attention from me either.

  No, with Shayla, it's even worse.

  She just pretends like I'm not here.

  I mean, this is ME we're talking about!

  Women don't just ignore me. Ever.

  I usually have the opposite problem and go out of my way to not be noticed if I just want some peace and downtime with no interruptions.

  That's exactly what Shayla is giving me, but it's making me feel some type of way.

  For example; My kitchen is huge. It has two ranges, two ovens, damn near two sets of everything for when big meals need to be made. This morning, I was making breakfast and naturally, when Shayla walked in, I asked her if she wanted me to make her any. She declined and just started to make her own breakfast on the other range. When she was finished, she took her food to her room and I didn't see her again until after my game.

  It makes me feel like a huge asshole. I haven't been mean or rude to her, as far as I know, and yet she doesn't even want to eat my food or eat with me? What kind of shit is that?

  I need to do something to feel like my regular self again, and I know exactly what'll do the trick. Jogging upstairs, I grab my phone and make a quick call. Shedding my clothes on the way to my bathroom afterward, I can't help the grin that crosses my face.

  Let's see if my little houseguest will be content to just ignore my existence now.

  "Cheater!"

  "Jackass!"

  "Rookie!"

  "Is that an insult?" Lachlan laughs, slamming the air puck back cross the table. Narrowly, I block it from the goal and shoot it back their way, laughing when Ben misses it and it flies into the slot. High fiving Sean next to me, I laugh again at the disgruntled curses from across the table and spot Shayla from the corner of my eye. She's lingering in the doorway, but her face is unreadable. She's carrying a book and a towel, so I guess she was going to hang out by the pool. Like she can feel me looking at her, she looks up and meets my eyes, annoyance flaring in them for a quick second before she shutters it.

  "Oh hey, meet my assistant Shayla. Shayla, these are some of my teammates."

  "Hey Shayla," they chorus like a children's choir and I roll my eyes.

  "What does he need assisting with? Basic adult responsibilities?" Conley asks, looking between us.

  "You could say that." She smiles lightly, and I don't like the way the guys are looking at her with even more interest now.

  "You can hang out by the pool, make some new friends. Let me know if you want anything specific grilled." I turn back to the air hockey table, hoping my dismissal is enough for the guys to go back to not admiring her. There are plenty of girls here in small bikinis, many invited by the guys, so they shouldn't be so occupied with my...Shayla. She's living in my house for the next six months, so she's off limits to all of these buffoons and I'll be sure to make damn sure they know it.

  Shayla doesn't respond to me, so I assume she's gone outside, and it's confirmed when the guys start peppering me with a bunch of questions.

  "Assistant?"

  "Where'd you find her?"

  "Is she single?"

  "Have you smashed her yet?"

  "There's only one answer to your questions, ladies." I mock, tossing the pusher on the table. "Mind your own damn business and keep your hands to yourselves."

  "What about my tongue?" One of the rookies laughs like he's just said the funniest thing in the world. Only, I'm not one bit amused. I walk to him slowly and it seems that he's the only one who doesn't realize that nothing is funny.

  "What did you say?" I ask softly, standing in front of him. Something clicks for him and he realizes that maybe he's made a big fucking mistake.

  "I, uh," He swallows hard. "I was just joking, D."

  "You joke that way again, rook, and you'll be swallowing that tongue before you've even got time to actually touch a woman." I growl. "You got that?"

  He nods, blonde hair flopping across his forehead. "Yes, Sir."

  "Good." I clap him on the shoulder and turn around, ignoring his wince."Now, the rookie is going to get up some beers and then, we're going to eat and be merry. Sound good?"

  The other guys murmur their affirmatives, and we wait until the rookie scurries from the room to burst into laughter.

  "Fucking A, Hunter. That kid almost passed out." Sean wipes tears from his face.

  "I'm serious about Shayla," I press, feeling antsy. "Off limits to each and every one of you or you'll deal with me."

  "Could it be that she's more than your assistant?" Thomas slings his towel across his shoulder, heading for the doors that open out to the pool. Pretending I don't hear him, I head out the doors and to the grill, turning the meat and doing my best not to see what she's doing.

  Shayla might not be mine, but she's damn sure not going to be any of theirs.

  It's getting dark now, and the pool area is just barely lit by the strings of fairy lights that my sisters insisted I put out here. I bitched and moaned about it, but they're actually really nice. They do a lot for cozy ambiance, but I'll never admit that to my know-it-all sisters.

  It makes it easier to watch Shayla without being obvious about it, too. She's been doing her own thing most of the time, and I feel a little uneasy about telling her she couldn't have any guests over now. The other women have been taking videos, pictures, laughing and talking with each other - and she's chilling in one of the lounge chairs on the other side of the area. She's talked to a few of the guys, who all kept their hands to themselves thankfully. She ate a bit, had a few hard ciders. She hasn't gone back inside yet, so I'm assuming she's not having a terrible time, at least.

  For my part, I haven't bothered her. I don't need the guys ribbing me even more or getting all up in my business before things are public.

  I did make a mental note to have a few things delivered for her because I'm sure she didn't pack a swimsuit in that one suitcase she brought. Tonight, she's in a tank top and shorts, and still drawing my eye more than the girls in barely anything.

  Some of the girls are in the water, batting an inflated ball around and I see the moment where things start to go downhill. I can't hear what they're saying to each other, but the ball suddenly goes careening towards Shayla and there's no time to warn her. It knocks over her bottle and she startles, her book flying out of her hands and sliding into the water. I'm already there when one of the girls wades over and picks the waterlogged pages up, faux regret in her voice and what looks suspiciously like triumph on her face.

  "Oops," she pouts. "Maybe you should be more careful about where you hang out."

  Shayla's face tightens and it takes everything in me not to push the brunette right back into the water.

  "I think I need to be more careful about who comes into our home." I stand beside Shayla, picking up the bottle that knocked over before I look back at the brunette. "You can leave now."

  "Me?" She questions, s
urprise in her voice. "I didn't do anything."

  "You might think those catty games fly here, but they don't. Grow the hell up and stop being rude to someone you can't even hold a candle to. Get out." I cross my arms. "Please. And take your friends, too." I add.

  No one can ever say that I'm not a polite guy.

  With a huff, she calls for the girls that came with her and stomps out of the area. Turning my attention back to Shayla, I sit at the bottom of the lounge and pick up her ruined book.

  "Thanks." She tells me, and I shrug it off.

  "Sorry about your book. Clearly, it was intentional."

  "I'm not a stranger to narcissists.” She moves closer next to me, touching the wet edges of her book. "You set her straight pretty quickly."

  "Yeah, well, I'm the only one allowed to make you miserable." I joke and she laughs, looking up at me.

  Later, I'll tell myself that it was the combination of the lighting, the soft look in her eyes and me feeling bad about what happened that made me do what I did.

  Leaning closer to her and feeling the air crackle between us, our lips are less than an inch apart and I can feel her breath skirting softly over my skin.

  Then she puts a gentle hand on my chest and even in the low light, I can see her shake her head.

  "Not a good idea," She tells me quietly, and I move back.

  "Yeah, my bad." I agree, setting her book down.

  "I think I'm going to call it a night." She grabs up her bottle and towel, hesitating. "Goodnight, Dylan."

  "Goodnight, Shayla."

  When she leaves, I lay in the chair she was in and toss an arm across my face, sighing. What is it about that one tiny woman that I can’t shake?

  So much for feeling like myself again.

  5

  Shayla

  The water is cool when I dip my toe in, and I ease down onto the concrete, settling my lower legs into the pool. The night air is warm, and I can hear crickets chirping softly. I close my eyes, letting my head drop back and leaning back on my hands. I hear the doors click open behind me and I still.