“What were you doing with Bart?” I said, keeping my voice cool. I held it together well considering we’d made a deal for five thousand dollars and the check was in my back pocket.
Her hand went to her hip. “What happened to hello and may I come in?”
My lips flattened. “Guess I’m not up for pleasantries.”
She paused, a little wrinkle on her brow, and shook her head as if to clear it. “Wait. Are you jealous?”
“No.” My arms crossed. “He was a complete dick in class on Monday and now you’re in a car with him. I’m annoyed as fuck. Plus you’re dating me. If people see you with him, I look ridiculous. Been there already with Bianca. If you wanted to screw your ex on the side, you should have been upfront with me.”
Her eyes flashed. “You don’t understand. I can explain—”
“No lies.”
Her head tilted. “Bianca really did a number on you, didn’t she?”
“I don’t want your pity.”
“It’s called empathy.” She propped herself against the doorjamb just enough to show me a little bit more thigh. I tore my eyes away. “You never told me why you broke up. I mean I know you had a crazy relationship and—”
My jaw tightened. Just thinking about her reminded me that I didn’t need to get involved with anyone. “We broke up because she wanted me to propose after we’d been together for eight months. She told me she was pregnant—but when I asked her to go to a doctor and she refused—I knew something was up. She finally admitted she’d lied to me, and when I broke it off, she reacted by trying to make me jealous. She screwed some of the players who weren’t really my friends. She wanted to hurt me or maybe she thought I’d come running back—but I didn’t. Maybe she cared about me; maybe she didn’t. Either way, it left a bad taste in my mouth.”
Her expression softened. “She’s not the one for you.”
“Are you?”
She straightened. “What do you mean?”
“Are you the one for me?”
A few ticks of silence passed. Her chest rose as she sucked in a breath.
“I’m kidding. Jesus, did you believe me?”
She swallowed, looking away from my eyes. “No, of course not.”
What the fuck was wrong with me? I raked both hands through my hair. I was completely off. And being an asshole. “Back to Bart—explain it to me.”
She nodded stiffly. “Fine. Since you asked so nicely. I called an Uber to get me home from the library and the driver never showed. Then my phone died, so if the driver called, I missed it. Everyone at work had already left, so I was stuck and decided to walk home. Some of those streets close to campus are iffy—there was a mugging there last month. Bart happened to drive by, saw me, and stopped. At first, I told him to go on, but he—he begged me. I was desperate to get home and just crash. It was just a ride home.”
He’d begged her.
What a piece of shit manipulator. Had he been following her from work? I honestly didn’t put much past him if he wanted her back. There was only one thing to do, and I should have done it earlier.
I dug around in my pockets, pulled out my keychain, removed my Land Cruiser key, and pressed it in her hand. “Here, this is yours to keep. I have an extra at the house. You drive my car until we get this straightened out.”
She stared at the key with wonder. “But, but what will you drive?”
“My Harley—or I’ll catch a ride with Tate. Whatever. I can’t have you walking home in the dark, and I don’t want you riding in the same car as Bart—or with some Uber driver.”
“Oh.”
“Did he try to get you back?” I wanted to know every single word he’d said to her—which was crazy.
“Not really your business,” she said.
I propped my arm up on the door and leaned in until our faces were close. She smelled like heaven. “I have a check for you in my back pocket that makes it my business,” I said softly, my eyes landing on those heart-shaped lips.
She smirked. “Your macho slash sexy stance doesn’t faze me, Quarterback, but if you must know, he was just worried about me being out alone. Yes, he wanted to bring up the past, but I didn’t.”
“You said I was sexy.” My lids lowered.
She blinked, nibbled on her bottom lip—and changed the topic. “Do you want to come in? It’s not the Ritz, but it’s definitely different. I’ll introduce you to Charlie?”
I perked up. I needed anything to distract me from how much I wanted to screw my fake girlfriend. “You have a dog or a cat?”
“Pet unicorn in the bathroom.”
And there it was. Any earlier tension that had been lingering evaporated. I let out a relieved laugh. “Nice. Does he crap glitter and rainbows?”
She laughed and the door opened further. “He’s just a sticker on the wall, but he’s something to see. Well, you coming or going?”
I should go home and rest. “I’ll come in.”
“You’ll have to be gone soon, though. I have to go over those stupid A&P notes before I go to sleep.” She rolled her eyes.
“I’ll help you. I would have even if we hadn’t made a deal.”
She gave me a spontaneous hug, the lemon scent of her hair lingering, her body warm as she pressed against me.
“What’s this for?” I asked, my hands not knowing where to go. On her tight ass? No, that was wrong. I curled my arms around her waist and inhaled. She just—fuck—felt so good. And it wasn’t about sex—no, it was more, as if we shared a human connection that meant something I couldn’t wrap my head around.
She squeezed my shoulder. “This is for giving me your car key, silly. And I’m glad you won your game this weekend.”
I eased away from her hug with reluctance, feeling off balance, wanting to touch her again.
We stepped down into a seventies style darkened room with wood paneling on the bottom and an upper wall that had been stripped of wallpaper. It was small but clean. Bright, colorful pillows and velvet throws were spread across an old pink Victorian-looking couch with a curved wooden back. Live plants sat under the front window and framed pictures lined the old mantle above the fireplace. I walked over to them for a closer look. Most were of her and an older woman with blond hair. One caught my eye—
What was that? My heart flip-flopped in my chest.
I felt her gaze on me from behind. Yeah, she knew exactly what I was seeing.
I turned around and held out the frame. “Not a football fan, huh? You’d rather play chess, you said. Looks to me like you’re having a pretty good time at the bowl game last year—in Phoenix. Long way to go for a non-fan.” I pointed down at the pic. “This is you, right, with your face painted like a tiger and wearing our team colors? And is this a huge number one foam finger you’re holding up? Why, yes. I think it is.” I held it up high to the light, inspecting it as if it were a diamond. I burst out laughing. “This is classic. Tate is going to freak when I tell him.”
She grimaced, her face flushing. “That trip was for Mimi.”
I nodded. She’d mentioned her a few times in passing.
“Anyway,” she continued. “I scored the tickets from someone who couldn’t go at the last minute. It wasn’t a big deal.”
“Really?” I said, my voice dripping in disbelief. I walked closer to her, my lids low. “You can’t shit a shitter, Sunny.”
She fiddled with her shirt, not meeting my eyes.
I smirked. “Your face gives too much away. You love football. I bet you know my stats. I bet you’ve been following me my entire career—”
“Fine. Just shut up already,” she snapped, bopping me on the arm with a sharp knuckle. “I like watching you play, okay, fine. I know you should have run a screen in the second half of yesterday’s game when that lineman came after you. I know that in the first quarter you tended to throw too soon, but by the third quarter you had the kinks worked out . . . but it’s not like I’m some crazy groupie. I don’t stalk you or wear your jersey or pick yo
ur locks or even care if I see you on campus. I like the game. I always have. I like the crunch of bodies and the rush I get when the quarterback throws the ball or runs it in for a touchdown. What’s the big deal? Can’t I be a regular fan?”
Deep satisfaction settled in my bones. “You can be whatever you want.” Yeah, I wanted to push her against the wall and kiss her.
“Do you like all sports or just football?” I arched a brow.
She sent me an annoyed look and mumbled something.
“I’m sorry. Did you say something?”
She huffed at me, her chest rising. “You’re not going to ever let this go are you?”
“Nope.”
A defeated sigh came from her. “Football . . . football is my favorite.”
“Am I your favorite player at Leland?” God, I was enjoying this.
Her fingers toyed with the neckline around her tank.
“Well?”
“Hmmm, Tate’s fun to watch and rarely drops a pass . . .”
“Watch it.”
She shrugged. “He’s definitely going to be a top five draft pick—but yes, you’re my favorite player. Don’t get a big head over it either.”
I sat down and leaned my head back on the couch and a chuckle came out. My fake girlfriend loved football—and she wasn’t a psycho!
“What?” she snapped, still fuming, probably from my smug expression.
I patted the seat next to me and grinned. “Come on, get your notes, darlin’. I’m gonna help you study.”
Sunny
THE NEXT DAY THAT I didn’t have class with Max, I came outside and took in the Land Cruiser he’d parked on my side of the street the night before.
The carpooling plan was for us to ride together on the days we had A&P, and on the days we didn’t I got the car and Max rode his Harley. When he needed to get to and from the field house, he’d catch a ride with Tate. The arrangement seemed easy—but underneath the surface lingered the feeling that nothing is ever what it seems.
I crawled in the luxury vehicle and basked in the smell of spicy alpha male and leather. I popped the glove compartment open and nosed around, but all I found were documents, rural road maps of North Carolina, and a bottle of Bleu De Chanel. Yes. I cracked it open and inhaled, seductive images of Max front and center in my head: him at his door wearing a cocky smile . . . his piercing eyes and sexy hair that made me want to put on some Marvin Gaye and get it on—okay, stop already. I ran my hands over the supple seats. Is it bad that I wanted to roll around and sniff everywhere he’d been?
Get to class.
I cranked the car, shouting in glee when I felt the power under my feet.
Ten minutes later, I carefully parked his vehicle in student parking and arrived at the Coleman Arts Building for Lit class.
I took the stairwell to the second floor, and when I came out the door, I ran straight into Bart. We collided, and he dropped the backpack he’d been holding to put a hand out to steady me. “Whoa, Sunny. You good?”
“Yeah. Thanks for the save.” I stepped away from his hands as inconspicuously as possible. A laugh came out but it sounded off.
Tuesdays and Thursdays were my Russian Lit class with Bart. For the past two weeks I’d done my best to avoid him, and now here I was practically mowing him down. Nice.
The ride home the other night had been uncomfortable, with me just listening while he vomited out everything he’d obviously wanted to say to me since we’d broken up this summer, mostly I’m sorry I fucked up, you’re the only girl I wanted, and it will never happen again. I told him it didn’t change things. Perhaps it had been good for us to let it all out. Now we had closure and maybe we’d be able to move on and be civil to one another.
I fidgeted in the hallway.
He did a half-smile and ran a hand through his auburn hair. “So . . . you and Max, huh?” His eyes clung to mine. Gold with flecks of brown, they were hard to look away from.
“Yeah.”
He mulled that over then sent me a curt nod. “I hope he’s good to you.”
“He is. Thank you again for the ride Sunday.” I chewed on my bottom lip. “You and I . . . it’s weird being in a class together, huh?”
He nodded and sighed, his eyes roving over me and then coming back to my face. “You look gorgeous today.”
I swallowed. I didn’t. I looked crazy—mostly because I’d barely slept. Max had ended up coming over again to go over my A&P notes.
“Nice shirt, too,” he added with a little chuckle, breaking the tension between us. “You sure that’s not a sign I have another shot with you?”
I glanced down. Crap. I’d slipped on a tight, V-neck baseball shirt he’d given me. I’d loved the softness of the material and one day when I’d been experimenting, I’d cut out the neck and added a thick blue lace collar with hand-sewn pearl buttons. It was sexy with a dash of tomboy—one of my favorites.
“Funny. I just grabbed the first thing in my closet.”
He smiled, albeit a little sadly. “Well, there’s no crime against wearing a winning shirt. Come on. Let’s find our seats.”
We turned to walk in the Lit class, but I stopped when I felt eyes on me and turned back. There was Bianca. Watching us. She swept her gaze over Bart, curled her lip, and shot me a go to hell glare. I could feel the disdain dripping from her as she raked her eyes over me, sniffed, and turned her back.
She was trouble. Big time.
Ugh.
After classes, I drove to the local Wal-Mart and picked up a few things that Mimi needed for her pantry. She didn’t have a license, so if she had any errands I typically ran them for her. I drove to her apartment, unpacked her groceries, and made sure she was set for the week. I left her out by the pool flirting with Mr. Sully and some of her friends. She’d told all the residents I was dating Max Kent, and since most of them knew who he was, they’d grilled me about what it was like to date a famous football star. I’d lied to all of them, and it was getting easier.
I arrived home around five in the afternoon, and my eyes went straight to Max’s place. It looked empty. They’d never put blinds up on the big front bay window, and I could see straight to the television—which was off. I sighed. He had long days at practice, and it wasn’t hard to see that football was everything to him.
I found myself wanting to tell him about seeing Bart. About how my heart didn’t hurt nearly as much as I thought it would the night he’d driven me home.
Maybe it was better if I didn’t confide in him, though.
I settled down at my small desk in the den, opened my computer and scrolled, finding the article I’d bookmarked a long time ago. It was an online piece from the Asheville Gazette about a girl who’d wrecked her car on the bridge overlooking Casey Lake right outside of Asheville, North Carolina. Posted three years ago, it described how a passing motorist had phoned in the accident. It didn’t give the motorist’s name or any identifying information. The paramedics and police had responded, but it wasn’t until the next day they’d got the equipment out to drag the lake. Once they found evidence of the car, divers had gone in to search for survivors. The article concluded with the statement that the search was on-going and the person driving was considered missing. There was no report of a young man on the shore, no report of someone pulling a girl from the water.
I closed out the tab and clicked my laptop shut.
I’d been absolutely terrified that night, but I ran through the woods until I came to a nearly deserted truck stop on the highway, where I begged some young college kids to give me a ride to Knoxville. They had. Once there, I’d bought a bus ticket to Atlanta with the cash I still had in the back pocket of my denim shorts.
The rest is history. Here I was, living and breathing and not doing bad. If I’d stayed on that mountain—I stopped.
Don’t, Sunny.
Then Max’s face popped in my head.
But he wasn’t good to think about either.
I exhaled and went to the kitchen to m
ake sugar cookies. That’s just what I needed—something sweet to forget all the bad.
Max
TONIGHT WAS OUR LET’S GET to know each other better date. I’d been to her house a couple of evenings to study and we’d touched on personal things, but now I wanted to dig into her, get under her skin. There were resistant layers I’d yet to peel away. She’d told me about being from North Carolina and growing up as a preacher’s kid in a strict household. I knew her father was sick with cancer and their relationship was strained. Her mom had died years ago in a car accident with a man she’d been having an affair with.
I’d been thinking a lot about Sunny lately. Her lips, those long legs, and the way she looked at me when she didn’t think I noticed.
I had a proposition for her—one that had been clawing at me since the moment she’d stood on my front porch. I wanted her in my bed.
“What’s your favorite color?” I asked, gazing at her from across the table inside the Orion Coffee Shoppe—the place we’d supposedly met. A hipster place near campus, it held poetry readings and band night for amateurs. I liked it immediately, mostly because it was low-key and no one paid me any attention.
She sent me a side-eye over a bite of her club sandwich. “Blue. Who cares?”
“I do. I want to know everything about you.”
“Why?” she said with a noncommittal shrug, completely unconcerned that the great Max Kent was interested in her. I liked that about her. She made me work for it.
“Well, in case you were wondering, my favorite color is blue too.”
“Nice,” she said. “If a reporter asks me, I’ll be sure to let him know. What else you got for me?”
“When’s the last time you had sex?” I took a sip of my latte, playing it cool, acting like I wasn’t dying to know the answer. I did my best to keep my eyes off her assets. I’d been trying for the past hour, ever since she’d waltzed through the door wearing ankle boots, a pair of skinny jeans, and an I Let the Dogs Out shoulder-baring top. Simple. No makeup but lipstick. Hot as fuck.
“It’s none of your business,” she said around chews.
“Tell you what. Answer my question, and I’ll tell you whatever you want to know about the mysterious Max Kent.”
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