The Jock and the Geek (Gone Geek Book 3)

by Sidney Bristol

  “You two haven’t even dated.” Lily had all the arguments ready. How long had she known? Had she been there when the pictures arrived? She was spending a lot of time at home or in Sam’s hair lately. What was going on with her?

  “Yes, we have,” Oliver said.

  “What?” Lily’s voice was reaching shrill pitch now.

  “When?” Helen asked.

  “In college.” Oliver stared at her, his face grim. He didn’t like this, but he didn’t have to. They had a disaster to salvage.

  Sam sucked in a deep breath.

  It was really out there now. All of it. Well, most of it. The photographs were highly suggestive, but nothing was visible. She wasn’t going to get an adult film nomination or anything, so there were some things to be grateful for.

  “So, that settles it.” She swallowed. “Oliver and I are engaged. We’ve dated quietly off and on since college. We have photos and evidence that he’s been on family trips, with us at holidays. That material can further back up the narrative.”

  “And recently,” Oliver picked up the thought, pacing the office, “since you’ve been around the office more, it was rekindled.”

  “Yes.” She nodded. “We have been discrete, private, but—”

  “We had a…moment?”

  “Right. And someone took advantage of that.” Sam needed to move. Everyone was staring at her and she wished they wouldn’t. She began to pace opposite of Oliver. “We’ll make a statement—not as the Secretary, we don’t want to make this political—as the family. This way it’s personal. Address people as a father, not as the Secretary. Outside, wear white. We’ll need a ring.”

  “An official wedding announcement would make it more real.” Oliver was in sync with her now, and she wasn’t sure if she was grateful. She’d forgotten how well they played off each other.

  Sam swallowed. She’d never made the official announcement the only other time she’d been engaged, because she’d known even when she said yes they wouldn’t make it. Her stride wobbled and she sat down in one of the leather, wingback chairs her father favored.

  “This also takes the blame off dad. He can keep his stance, let the pictures go and everything will be fine.” Sam stared at the carpet.

  Oh, God, what were they doing?

  Was this really happening?

  It was, admittedly, a brilliant spin of events.

  Except for one, huge, thing.

  She’d be engaged to Oliver. A man she’d spent the better part of a decade hating. A man she’d never stopped caring for. Her hands shook so hard she slid them between her thighs to hide how much she trembled.

  “You could use your grandmother’s ring,” her mother suggested.

  “Mother!” Lily shrieked.

  The family ring was supposed to be passed from oldest child to oldest child. By rights, it should be Lily’s. But this was fake. In a few weeks, months maybe, they could drift apart. Dissolve the engagement. She could take a job in New York to be closer to Rashae, or maybe in California, far away from Oliver.

  “It’s only for show, Lily. It’s not real,” Sam said.

  “This—I can’t. I just can’t listen to this anymore.” Lily stormed out of the office, slamming the door behind her.

  There was going to be a lot of shut doors soon enough. Sam wasn’t her parent’s baby girl anymore. She wasn’t the innocent, obedient child. She was a problem.

  And man, had she stepped in it this time.

  “Sam?” Oliver knelt in front of her. He wrapped his fingers around hers.

  Could he feel the way her hands shook?

  It was one thing to handle her boss’ scandals, another when it was her own. And such a public one at that. In twenty-four hours, if she was lucky they waited that long, the whole world would be in her personal business. Her private life would be public fodder, more than it already was.

  Oliver held the slim, gold band that’d been passed down through the Grant family for generations. It wasn’t fancy, but it symbolized just how far their ancestors had come. From slaves to freed people, all the way to the office of the Secretary of State. It was a physical reminder of what could be done with hard work and the sweat of their brow. And here she was, about to make a mockery of it.

  Her stomach churned.

  This wasn’t how she’d pictured this moment. Of course she’d imagined marrying Oliver back when they were in college. He’d sweep her off her feet and she’d stammer out something. He’d pull her hair, make fun of her in that way only he could that made her insides warm. Eventually she’d say yes, because why not? But this wasn’t a dream.

  The first tear hit her cheek.

  She had to be brave.

  “Will you marry me?”

  9.

  Oliver ushered the last of Mr. Grant’s War Team out of Sam’s front door and twisted the deadbolt into place.

  The last twenty-four hours were a blur. He hadn’t really slept, not since Sam had made the game plan. He liked that they weren’t simply reacting, that her strategy allowed their team to take control of the ball. But he didn’t like what it was doing to Sam. Or him.

  Dishes clanged from the kitchen.

  Should he go help? Or give her a moment alone?

  He’d never quite figured out the balance. When he should be there for Sam, when he should give her space. Sometimes flat out asking was the wrong thing to do, but he also wasn’t a mind reader.

  Was there something he could do to help?

  She wouldn’t rest until things were back in place, so the dishes were happening.

  He’d already taken out the trash and cleaned up the spill from earlier.

  What about dinner?

  There wasn’t anything left from the lunch she’d made the team. It was almost time to eat again. Sam would want to curl up on the sofa and watch one of those weird shows she liked. He’d prefer to go for a run or something, but her needs came first. They had to. She was the one under the most stress. They were both at fault, him more so than her, but she was the star player when it came to spinning stuff for the media.

  Oliver made the executive decision and ordered a pizza from a nearby chain for delivery. If his role was to support her, then he’d do his part.

  Sam loved pizza. Maybe not enough to totally change her mood, but it was a start. Something he could do to take the pressure off her.

  He padded toward her, the hardwood cool against his bare feet.

  “You want me to start drying dishes?” He got about half the question out before Sam yelped and dropped the pan back into the sink, soapy water sloshing on her, the counter and onto the floor.

  Oliver muttered curses, grabbed a dish towel and started wiping up the mess before she could.

  “I thought everyone was gone.” Sam pressed her hand to her chest, head tipped back.

  “I’m not leaving you to clean everything up.” He gave the floor a final wipe, then started on the counter.

  “Thank you.”

  “I ordered a pizza, by the way.”

  “Bless you.”

  “Are these the last of the dishes?” He dipped his hands in the sink and began scrubbing.

  “Everything that wouldn’t fit in the dishwasher.”

  He gave the last few pots a wash, rinsed them and placed them on the rack to dry, all under Sam’s watchful eye.

  “Thank you,” she said when he was done wiping down the sink.

  “Come here.”

  She was his fiancée now. His fake fiancée, but that was beside the point. He didn’t like the path they’d taken to get here, but he didn’t mind the destination. It was still his responsibility to care for her, fake or not. Sam could fend for herself, but he still wanted to be the shoulder she leaned on, the arms that supported her when she was too tired.

  He tugged her closer.

  She’d commanded the room all day. Her brilliant mind at work. She had answers for everything, but now she needed someone in her corner to catch her. She was the star in this game, scor
ing the points, while he watched out for her.

  Oliver rubbed Sam’s back, starting along the spine and working his way out, finding the knots with his fingers. She relaxed by degrees, her body going softer.

  “When’s the pizza getting here?” Her voice was muffled by his shoulder.

  “Not for a while. It had a forty-five minute delivery estimate.”

  “Boo.”

  “I know.” He shouldn’t smile, but a boneless Sam pressed up against him was pretty great. “How do you think today went?”

  “Good. We have a plan. The announcement went out in the paper. We will have the press notified about Tuesday for the official announcement, to overshadow whatever they decide to do about us not doing what they want. It’s all going to go okay.”

  She needed that. To believe things were under control. He’d play along for now, but the truth was anything could still happen.

  “Come on. Let’s sit down. Put your feet up.” He turned her and gently pushed her toward the comfortable living room with its worn sofa and cozy atmosphere.

  “You don’t have to stay, you know?” Sam sank onto the sofa, kicking out of her shoes.

  Oliver didn’t bother to reply. If she thought he was leaving her alone after a day like this one, she didn’t know him that well.

  He sat next to her, stretching his arm along the back of the sofa.

  She shifted and he held his breath.

  Sam leaned into him, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. She curled her legs under her and draped her arm around his waist. His heart thumped against his ribs and he swallowed.

  Progress. They were making progress.

  He slid his arm around her waist and kissed the top of her head.

  “How are you feeling about all of this?” he asked. She hadn’t yet turned the TV on, so he was going to take the opportunity to talk.

  “My feelings don’t matter.” She snorted. “It’s what we do that does.”

  “Maybe not to anyone else, but your feelings matter to me.”

  “That’s nice, but what I feel or what you feel doesn’t mean anything in all of this. It’s politics.”

  “To everyone else.”

  Sam sat up and twisted to face him, eyes narrowed.

  “What do you want me to say?” She shrugged. “I feel raw and used and scared and…that’s not going to help anything. Why focus on it?”

  “Because we have to deal with it.”

  “I’ve dealt with it all day long. I want to bury my head in the sand and not deal for a little while.”

  “No, you’ve chosen how we’ll act on everything today, not how you’re feeling. You can’t bottle this up, Sam.” He slid his hand up and down her back.

  “What do you want me to do? Just tell me. I’m tired.”

  “I don’t want you to do anything, I just want to know if you’re okay.”

  “No, I’m not, and I won’t be until this is all over, so I just have to hang in here. I can deal with me later. Right now, I have to make this better for dad.”

  That was Sam. Putting everyone and everything before her own needs. It was admirable. But for Oliver, she came first. If no one else was going to pause to consider her wellbeing, then it would have to be his first priority.

  “Okay. Then, what do you want to watch?” He snagged the remotes, then pulled her in close again.

  They didn’t budge from the sofa for hours. Oliver fed her pizza, held her while she watched a couple episodes of her doctor-something show. She trusted him with this. These quiet, unguarded moments. Sam wasn’t a woman of extreme emotions. She wasn’t going to cry or get angry. She would deal in her own, quiet way. The difference was, she was allowing him in her world, one small step at a time.

  He looked down at her some time later. Her eyes were closed and her breathing was even.

  All he wanted to do was turn the lights off, prop his legs up, and stay like this the rest of the night. But what would Sam say?

  Someday he hoped that she would turn to him, looking for more than just arms to catch her. That they could make something real out of his farce. That would take time, and Sam warming up to the idea.

  Sex had gotten them into this mess, he could only assume that sex would make it worse in her eyes.

  “Sam? Hey, Sam, it’s late.” He wanted nothing more than to wake her up with kisses, gentle caresses, but she would likely say that he needed to leave for appearances sake.

  “Hmm?” She frowned and turned her face into his chest.

  “I’ll carry you to bed, if you’d like.” Sleepy Sam was pretty darn cute.

  “Uh-uh.”

  “Then you better wake up.”

  Oliver gave her maybe thirty seconds. She never once opened her eyes.

  Whatever, he wanted to.

  Oliver scooped Sam into his arms and stood slowly. She finally cracked one eye open, the little eyebrow wrinkle accompanying her frown not the least bit intimidating.

  He carried her up the main stairs and into her bedroom. She’d taken over the old master at the back of the house on the second floor. Like the floor below, she’d redecorated in cool tones and lots of blue.

  “Here you go.”

  Oliver sat her down on what appeared to be the more utilized side of the bed. Her arm hooked around his neck, keeping him bent over. In the darkness he couldn’t make out more than layers of shadow. Her mouth found his.

  Damn.

  Was he dreaming?

  He leaned into the kiss, finding her cheek with his fingers, suckling her lower lip between his.

  “That’s some goodnight kiss,” he whispered against her lips.

  Was it sad that all it took to keep him hooked was some cuddling and a kiss? Yeah, he had it bad for Sam, but that was nothing new.

  “Stay?” Her fingers stroked down his chest, finding the buttons at his sternum.

  The one word sent an electric charge through his body, visions of sweaty limbs and moans filling his mind.

  No, that wasn’t like Sam. She probably wanted something much more innocent. To be held. To feel safe. He was the one thinking with his dick here.

  Her lips nibbled at his, teasing, inviting.

  “Okay.” He swallowed and straightened.

  Sam sat up and grasped him by the belt.

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea.” He caught her by the wrists.

  “Why not?” Sam stared up at him, the hall light falling across her face.

  “Because…I’m trying to be the good guy here.” And that meant Sam needed to keep her hands to herself.

  “You are a good guy, and you’re good in bed. I don’t want to think about it, I just…I just want you. Now.”

  He opened his mouth to say something…smart. Something that would appeal to her brain, but he was still stuck on the words I don’t want to think. If she didn’t want to think…all that was left was feeling.

  And she wanted him.

  All his carefully laid plans to go slow were dashed anyway. Might as well go with what felt right.

  Oliver ducked his head and pressed his lips to hers. Her tongue licked his mouth, teasing him with more.

  She wanted him. Their chemistry was unique. She had to see that.

  The hand at his waist curled around his belt and she pulled him closer, until he stood between her legs. Instead of another skirt or dress, today she’d worn a matching shirt and pant set. The back of the blouse had one of those, big, chunky zippers.

  He’d thought about tugging it down with his teeth a time or two.

  Oliver reached around her and used his fingers. Sam sat up a little straighter. He tugged the zipper free and the top of the demure blouse sagged forward.

  If they were doing this, they were doing it right. In the park, it’d been a moment of opportunity. Of want. Too many years spent thinking about her and not having her until suddenly he could. This time, he’d go slow.

  He knelt between her knees and slid the purple-pink shirt off her arms, the dark-chocola
te bra against her brown skin. She watched him, lips parted, not the least bit shy. He liked the woman she’d grown into, as much as he liked the younger version he’d fallen in love with.

  Oliver bent his head, kissing her neck, across her shoulder. Her hands curled around his arms, pulling him closer. He released the catch of her bra and slipped his other hand up under the garment, cupping her breast in his palm. Her stiff nipple prodded his palm. He bent his fingers around the underside of her and used his thumb to capture the stiff nub between finger and palm.

  Sam sucked in a breath and tipped her chin up, giving him access or permission, he wasn’t sure. He did like the raspy sound of her gasps. She shrugged out of the bra and pressed his other hand to her chest.

  Yeah, Oliver liked older, bolder Sam a hell of a lot.

  He gently worked her nipples between his fingers and reacquainted himself with the sensitive spot on her shoulders. Her knees held him tightly to her, her calves curled around his hips.

  There was no way to lift the burden of the world from her shoulders, but for these moments he could make her forget. He could show her how to feel, give her some release.

  She grasped his wrist and pulled his hand from her breast, down her stomach to her pants. He grinned against her neck.

  Why was he making any sort of a plan?

  Every time he committed to an idea, Sam plowed straight through it.

  He sat back and worked the catch on her trousers free, then the zipper. She stood and he drew both panties and pants down her legs. He kissed her hip and her hand pushed through his hair.

  There wasn’t another woman like her. He’d accepted that a long time ago. Sam was special. And he was a lucky bastard for getting anything resembling a second chance.

  He stood, but she beat him to the kiss, sealing her lips over his. Her hand stroked his erection, curling around him through the fabric.

  Fuck.

  Condom.

  “Sam? Sam, wait.” He grasped her by the wrist.

  “What?” That single, frustrated word flogged him.

  He was an idiot.

  “I didn’t…shit.” He hung his head forward. “I didn’t bring protection. I didn’t think—”