The Jock and the Geek (Gone Geek Book 3)

by Sidney Bristol

  Which was why he was here instead of his apartment.

  Oliver wanted—no, needed—this to become truth. They’d gotten lost somewhere between the reality of what they felt for each other and the story they were creating. He’d fucked things up with Sam once, and they were close to disaster a second time around. His only hope was to prove to Sam they should stick together. Make this work. That it wasn’t all a sham. She felt something when he touched her, when they kissed.

  He gathered his things, locked the car and walked toward her house.

  There was a random group of kids and adults standing in a cluster on the alley between the parking garage and Sam’s brownstone.

  Oliver grinned.

  Monster-Go wasn’t just for teens. It’d infected nearly every age group.

  The photographing capabilities were giving some of the security groups problems. It’d get sorted out in time. Right now, his only worry lay behind the blue door.

  He let himself into the tiny back yard and tapped on the back door. He could see the lights on inside and the hum of the TV.

  Maybe he should have brought more flowers. Or cheesecake. After today she deserved something nice.

  No one answered.

  Damn it. He should have warned her he’d be late. She wasn’t expecting him. What if she’d left the TV on and was at her parent’s house? The way things had gone this morning he could see her lying in wait for her dad to get home and try to make things right.

  The door cracked open and Sam stared at him with a funny expression.

  “Hey…I should have called, shouldn’t I?” He couldn’t see her very well, but…had she been crying?

  “No, it’s fine.” Her voice had none of the sparkle or life it usually did. Even when she was sarcastic and trying to draw blood there was something else there that was all Sam.

  She stepped back, allowing him entrance.

  The only lights on were the lamps in the TV room and one in the kitchen.

  “What’s wrong?” He slid his hands up and down her arms. “Bad day?”

  She had been crying. Her eyes were puffy and a little red.

  “Yes. No. Not really.” She turned away from him and padded into the kitchen.

  He followed her and stopped at the kitchen counter. Dozens of photographs from the dinner last Friday were spread out on the island. It’d been an official event. And Sam had attended. Everything had changed that night.

  “What’s…going on?” He recognized a lot of the faces. They were dignitaries, Congress men and women, a few of Sam and her parents. “Are these…security footage?”

  “Yes.” She leaned against the island. “I was thinking, why now? Why would someone even think about following us—”

  “Unless they knew there was a reason to.”

  Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck.

  Oliver scrubbed a hand over his face.

  “Sam…I am so sorry.” This was his fault. If he’d just kept his mouth shut…

  “It’s done now.” She braced her hands against the counter. “There are three places we discussed the…our history. The balcony—but any pictures from there are too grainy to make out who was there. Can you remember?”

  “Uh…” He’d been so focused on Sam he’d barely realized there were other people around. “No, I’m sorry.”

  “I can’t remember either. The other place was here, with my parents, when I asked them about your father.” She squeezed her eyes shut. “I shouldn’t have. I knew it wasn’t the time or the place but…I opened my mouth and asked. I didn’t think about who was around or what was happening. There are a dozen people nearby who might have been within earshot.”

  Oliver turned the pictures in the middle this way and that. She even had a list with names, country or state of representation and an assortment of other notes. None of them were particularly concerning.

  “The third place?” he asked.

  “Here. Mom and I walked to the other end of the hall, away from everyone to talk. Security didn’t find anyone else near us, but that doesn’t mean anything, you know?”

  They were chasing ghosts. Shadows of ghosts, really. Whoever was trying to blackmail the Secretary couldn’t afford to be found out. That would start something Oliver didn’t want to consider.

  “Come here.” He wrapped his hand around her wrist and tugged.

  At first Sam didn’t budge. He wouldn’t force her to lean on him, no matter how much he wanted to be the man she turned to.

  He waited.

  She shifted a bit toward him.

  He tugged again.

  She stepped closer, and he wrapped his arms around her, resting his cheek against the top of her head and stroked her back.

  “We’re going to get through his,” he said.

  They might never know who was behind it all, but he had faith that Sam was resilient and stronger than many realized. She played a good game.

  “Lily transferred my entire Monster Squad.”

  “What?” Oliver stared down at her.

  “She must have started as soon as we went outside. I’d just finished culling the squad down to the ones I wanted to keep, too.”

  “You aren’t joking?” Besides the invasion of privacy, why would Lily try to steal the one thing that made Sam happy right now?

  “No.”

  “Lily—why?”

  “Isn’t it obvious?” Sam chuckled, but it was bitter.

  “No…”

  “She’s in love with you, Oliver.”

  He stared at her, his brain fumbling. Lily had always flirted, but she wasn’t the Grant sister he wanted. She wasn’t Sam, and now she’d hurt the woman he loved. It was unacceptable.

  Samantha leaned against the counter and watched Oliver pace.

  She hadn’t expected him to be this pissed off. It made her feel a little bit better for her angry tears earlier. Her parent’s hurt she understood. Lily’s pettiness was a shock. Sam had been completely unprepared for it.

  “I want to call Lily right now.”

  “It won’t solve anything.” Sam had already thought about it. She’d even dialed her sister a few times but hung up every time.

  “It’s not right!”

  “And she will argue circles around you. She’s hurt.”

  “Hurt? Her? Really? You’re standing up for her?” Oliver had removed his jacket and rolled his sleeves up. His tie hung askew and he’d pushed his fingers through his hair enough it was sticking up every which way.

  Sam sighed. “She’s my sister. And something’s going on with her. I don’t know what, but this isn’t like Lily.”

  “She should be more supportive.”

  “I get where she’s coming from. You and I haven’t exactly been friends. Think about it. Lily probably thought she had dibs.”

  “Dibs? Really? And do I get a say in this?”

  “Oliver—that’s not what I’m saying.”

  “You’re saying your sister has rights to me.”

  “No, I’m trying to tell you that I understand why her feelings are hurt, not that she’s right. She didn’t know about us. No one did.”

  “And what about my feelings?”

  “Why are you trying to fight with me?” She’d been relieved to see Oliver on her doorstep, but now she wasn’t so sure anymore.

  “Why are you changing the subject?”

  “Because you’re pissed off about something and taking it out on me. I don’t like it.” Sam was about finished being trampled by people riding their high horses all over her.

  “This is all a show to you, isn’t it?” Oliver stopped pacing, hands on his hips.

  “This? You mean my life? Because yes, my life is now a three ring circus with popcorn.” She threw her hands up. A small voice in the back of her head was spouting reason about how this was a stressful situation, and they were bound to crack, but all she heard was Oliver’s tone. Yet another person wanting something from her. She was scraping the bottom of the barrel when it came to her emotions and what s
he had left to give.

  Hadn’t she given enough already? What more did he want?

  “No. Us.” Oliver crossed his arms over his chest.

  “What us, Oliver? We didn’t even go on a date, we were just hanging out, and now we’re engaged. That’s not an us, that’s a publicity stunt.”

  “That’s all I am to you? Good ratings?”

  “No—Oliver.” She squeezed her eyes shut.

  Nothing was simple when it came to her feelings for him. Especially not this situation, and they were spinning out of control. No, having sex wasn’t a good idea, neither was sleeping with him. Not when they weren’t able to be objective about things. Every single action had consequences and they needed to consider them before they acted.

  “Then what are we?” His volume was amped up to ten, his voice booming off the marble and tile.

  It was too loud. Too much.

  “Nothing. We—are nothing. We aren’t even friends, Oliver. We don’t even know each other.” She yanked the family ring off her finger and slapped it down on the counter. “This is a lie.”

  “Fine.” Oliver whirled around and snatched his jacket off the chair.

  “Fine.” Sam crossed her arms over her chest, mimicking his petulant tone.

  He could be a hothead sometimes. Always had. He wouldn’t see reason until he cooled down. She knew that…and instead of backing down, she was yelling back. This wasn’t right. They weren’t fixing anything, only creating more problems.

  “I need air. I’m out of here,” Oliver announced.

  He stalked toward the door and she watched him go.

  The door slammed shut, and she just kept staring, as if he’d come back through it. Realize his mistake. But that was far too rational.

  She didn’t want to take the words back; she wanted him to prove her wrong.

  Yes, this engagement was a sham; it was as fake and phony as a wooden nickel. But they weren’t fake. What she felt for him wasn’t a lie, but she had to protect herself. That last, vulnerable bit of her heart couldn’t be carelessly handed out. So much of her life, of who she was, was now on display for the word to critique and judge.

  Sam slid to the floor, her back braced against the cabinets, and hugged her arms around herself.

  Her phone vibrated. Again. And again.

  Was it Oliver?

  She groped above her on the counter for it. Her insides withered a bit more when she saw the notification bar.

  It wasn’t Oliver.

  It was Lily.

  And her mother.

  And now Rashae.

  More pictures had been leaked, and their plea for a blackout was being ignored in favor of the drama.

  This was a wreck. A nightmare. And she’d created it.

  “I need more leverage on the Secretary. This isn’t working.” Hugues sat across from Sophia at her private residence, sitting in her favorite chair as if he owned the place.

  “These things take time. Delicate maneuvering—”

  “I need results. Now. You aren’t doing enough.”

  Sophia dug her nails into the underside of the desk in an effort to keep her smile firmly in place.

  Not doing enough?

  Really?

  Who was the one doing all of the work?

  It wasn’t Hugues Durand, that was for sure. He hadn’t once expressed any measure of gratitude for the risk she was taking. If the leaked photographs came back to her, she didn’t have the same kind of diplomatic immunity Hugues did. The consequences would be huge, but that was part of her job. The difference was that at least Huges’ predecessor had thanked her for putting herself on the line. Perhaps her judgment was off. Maybe she shouldn’t be assisting him as much as she was.

  The woman earmarked for Hugues’ replacement had just reached out. The correspondence was friendly, polite, more of an introduction than testing the waters. It took skill for a shark to appear as if it were a goldfish. Maybe Sophia needed to focus more on clearing the way than making things happen for Hugues.

  It was time Sophia responded to her emails, and maybe wrote a few of her own.

  Hugues Durand wasn’t so important that he could talk to her like this. She could—and would—end him.

  “I’ll get right on it, Ambassador.”

  13.

  Samantha lay on the sofa—in the same place she’d been all night—and flipped to another movie.

  The movie channels were safe. Nothing else was.

  Lily and her mother had dropped by before their workdays, but Sam hadn’t answered the door. The only thing keeping them out was the deadbolt. Maybe it was time she changed the locks. That would cause a family riot. Heck, just about everyone had lost their God damn minds when she painted the place.

  It was hers. She’d bought it. So why did everyone else get a say with what she did to the place?

  Why did public opinion get to dictate her life?

  Why was this happening to her?

  Where was Oliver?

  She squeezed her eyes shut.

  Thirty-five seconds.

  That’s how long she could manage without going back to thoughts of him. Them. This.

  Why hadn’t he called? Texted? Come back by? Was this all a ploy? Was she a pawn in a greater game? What was going on?

  There were too many questions and not enough answers.

  Chances were this was college all over again.

  Oliver had run when things might go public back them. Why did she think he’d stay now when things were public?

  At least she could spin this. Blame their break-up on the pressure they were experiencing. Their relationship wasn’t strong enough to withstand the scrutiny. It would make for a good news story, but at least it would be over.

  She grimaced and sat up.

  This—she—was pathetic.

  The media was going to sit around with their popcorn and watch her implode. Things were so far out of her control, all she wanted to do was curl up and die. But she couldn’t. She was a Grant. What would Rashae do? Unlike Lily or her, Rashae often did exactly what people weren’t expecting.

  Maybe it was time Sam followed in Rashae’s steps, rather than Lily’s.

  Rashae followed her heart.

  Lily did what was right.

  Sam had tried to do both. And she couldn’t.

  The right thing to do was to hold her head up, paste on a smile and press on. Pretend like nothing touched her.

  Following her heart meant…confronting Oliver. Calling Lily on her shit. Being real. Painfully real. Of course, Rashae’s version of following her heart would probably be to set the whole mess on fire and watch it burn, but that wasn’t Sam. What did following her heart look like?

  Coffee.

  Her heart wanted coffee.

  Maybe if she got a little liquid life in her, things would make more sense. Her heart would still hurt, but at least she’d be ready to think past the pain.

  If Oliver wanted her, if they had a ghost of a chance, she hoped to hear from him. Sometimes he needed to be angry. To blow off steam. She just wished it hadn’t been directed at her.

  Sam got up and changed into jeans and her favorite Doctor Who T-shirt. The outfit would horrify Lily, just like the painting in her entry did, but it was Sam’s life. And Lily couldn’t make the rules anymore.

  Speaking of…

  Sam pulled her phone off the charger, dismissed all messages and opened Monster-Go.

  The loss of her monster squad hurt. A lot. She was starting over from scratch, and at a disadvantage. Everything she caught now stood the chance of evolving at a higher level because she was a higher level, but it was so much harder to catch the little buggers at this stage in the game. At least she knew where to look for things, unless the game updated and the spawning locations changed. They’d already done that a few times since the games début.

  The waystation by the coffee shop down the street was lit up with a lure, which meant a better chance of catching something. Hopefully she’d nab
a few good things to begin rebuilding her squad.

  Sam left her house with a plan. It wasn’t a very detailed or long plan, but she had one.

  Step one, go to the coffee shop.

  Step two, get coffee.

  Step three, capture monsters.

  She’d figure out step four when she got to it.

  The street was mostly quiet this time of morning. People were either at work or doing errands, so it was a little surprising the coffee shop waystation was lured up. Still, Sam wasn’t about to complain. Lures significantly increased the chances of capturing things, and she was in need of everything. From the lowliest monster, all the way up to the ultra-rares.

  Sam stopped in the shop long enough to get a latte and catch five monsters. The lure ran out almost at the same time the barista was finished with her order, but she seemed to be in for a change of luck.

  The waystation down the street was lured up as well.

  It was only a short walk down the street, and she could do with the fresh air.

  Step four, walk and clear her head.

  The coffee had her brain shifting into gear, gaining some traction. She paused to send an email to Rashae. Her sister had some unbelievable connections and maybe it was time Sam used them. Yes, she was ignoring all of her sisters questions and demands, but she’d get to those in time.

  This whole PR disaster could be put to some use.

  It could provide Sam with enough reason to leave DC. Stretch her wings. Go somewhere else. Any sane person would understand the strain of this mess breaking a relationship. After a proper mourning period, Sam could break out and go her own way. The public narrative could be phrased in such a way that it wouldn’t reflect poorly on her father and maybe Sam could finally close the book on this thing with Oliver.

  Ouch.

  She rubbed her chest.

  Thinking about him again sucked.

  “Samantha Grant?”

  Sam started and turned.

  A white van had pulled up along the curb and a man in slacks, a leather jacket and sunglasses stepped out.

  Ug. Reporters.

  “Sorry, I’m not doing any interviews.” Sam glanced down the street.

  Crap.