Fake Fiancée

by Ilsa Madden-Mills

  She scrunched her nose up. “You’re no mystery. You’re practically an open book. All I have to do is visit your Facebook or Instagram page.”

  “Not true. People see what they want. There’s more to me than just a talented, intelligent, charming, easy to talk to guy—”

  “Okay, fine,” she said, cutting me off. An elegant finger swirled around her soda glass. “I haven’t had sex since Bart—so since last spring.” Smoky gray eyes peeked at me through dark lashes. “He was my first.”

  I hid my surprise by plucking a piece of bread off her plate and popping it in my mouth. Holy mother of all things. She was so damn innocent. My cock ached.

  Why did it make me want her even more?

  “You were a virgin?”

  “I didn’t stutter.”

  “Don’t be defensive.”

  “I’m not,” she snapped.

  I laughed. “God, I think I love you.”

  She coughed and the drink she’d had in her mouth flew everywhere.

  “Good grief. Don’t take everything I say so seriously. And dude, it hurts a little that you looked so terrified.” I gave her a wad of napkins from the dispenser. “Here, let’s clean this up.” Before I realized what I was doing, I inadvertently patted her chest, my hand lingering on the curve of her breast.

  She inhaled sharply at the contact, and I immediately pulled back. The best quarterback in the country, and I couldn’t even hand a girl a few napkins without fumbling all over myself.

  What was wrong with me?

  “I have a proposition for you,” I said, clearing my throat. “There’s obviously some heat between us.”

  Her eyebrow quirked. “Yeah?”

  “What if we had sex—without getting involved, of course?”

  Her mouth opened.

  I held a hand up. “I mean, it would be a shame to spend all this time together and not enjoy each other . . .” my voice stopped, listening to how the words came out.

  It had sounded better in my head on the drive over here.

  “I guarantee we’d detonate like a bomb if you’d give us a shot,” I added, my voice husky.

  “Bombs have been known to implode—and I’d be the one getting hurt. In fact, you’ve already warned me. Remember? You don’t do relationships anymore, and I don’t do random sex.”

  “Someday I want something serious again—just not while I’m in college, ya know?”

  “I get it.” Her voice was soft. “It’s all about the timing.”

  A few ticks of silence went by.

  I was deeply disappointed in her answer—yet part of me was glad she’d said no. Sunny didn’t deserve to just be a fuck buddy. She was a girl who only deserved the best. Once again, I resolved to keep it platonic.

  Yeah. How long will that last?

  “You have any questions for me?”

  She mulled it over, her finger tapping on her chin. “Actually, I do have several questions. Let’s start with . . . have you ever cheated on a girl?”

  “No.”

  “Have you ever asked for directions?”

  I scoffed. “Please.”

  She grunted.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” I said.

  “That you’re too proud to admit when you’re wrong.”

  “I’m never wrong, Cookie.”

  She set her sandwich down, a small smile on her face. “That’s the best nickname you could come up with? Why Cookie?”

  I leaned back in the metal chair that was entirely too small for my frame. “Because you’re sweet enough to eat.” The words fell softly between us.

  Time to move on, Max. She isn’t interested in sex with you.

  “Next question?” I asked.

  She nodded, thinking. “Hmmm, if I had to pick qualities in a fake boyfriend, I’d want him to be a great spider killer. Are you?”

  “They don’t scare me.”

  “Even the big hairy ones? There’s one currently residing in my bedroom somewhere.”

  I grinned. “Let me come over and I’ll hunt him down.”

  “Right,” she smirked. “Here’s a good one for you: Would you buy me feminine products?”

  “I might come home with baby diapers—but yeah, I’d try my damnedest.”

  She bit back a grin, but a giggle erupted.

  I smiled. “Are you trying to make me uncomfortable, Cookie?”

  “Maybe . . . anyway . . . how many times a day do you masturbate?”

  “As many as possible.” And I thought about you every single time this week.

  “Why do you want to put it in our butts?”

  My hands flew up in the air. “Who said I did?”

  She turned fire-engine red. “Fine. It was just a question—I’ve always wondered.”

  Now it was my turn to laugh. “You should see the color of your face right now. For the record, there are plenty of other places I’d like to put it.”

  She waved that comment off. “Do you believe in soul mates or love at first sight?”

  I tensed. “Yes.”

  Her eyes zeroed in on mine. “Seriously? Come on—this is your fake girlfriend. You can tell me the truth.”

  “If the universe wants us with one person, I dig it. I believe in fate,” I said.

  “Don’t you just think it’s more about who is standing in front of you when the time is right? What if you met your one true love at a party when you were sixteen, but because you went your separate ways for one reason or another, you never see her again? Or maybe the next time you see her, she’s already committed to someone else.”

  “I believe that whatever’s meant to be will be.” I toyed with my water glass, feeling self-conscious. “Maybe it’s because I lost my mom early, but I believe a lot of stuff that can’t be explained.

  “When she died, I—I was lost. I can barely recall anything I did or said that night. But I feel her with me sometimes. She loved my hair because it was the same color as hers . . .” I laughed. “I’d always been a short hair kind of guy, but now that she’s gone, I wear it long. I dream about her too. I imagine she’s some kind of cool angel in heaven explaining football to all the other angels. They’re all sitting around eating chicken wings and pizza and watching me play on a big screen.” It wasn’t like me to open up about my mom. “I didn’t mean to get so serious. Ask me something funny.”

  “I like you when you talk about her. Your face gets all soft.” She sighed. “Anyway, have you met her yet?”

  “Who?”

  “The girl fate has given you?”

  “I plead the fifth.”

  “Oh.”

  I swept my gaze over her, taking in the V-neck of her gray shirt. It seemed simple enough with its funny logo, but the shoulders had been cut out and some kind of lacey material had been sewn onto the sleeves and hem.

  “Did you make your shirt?”

  She looked surprised. “How did you know?”

  “Honestly, it was just a guess. It doesn’t look like anything I’ve seen. I like it.”

  Another nonchalant shrug with a whole lot of meh.

  She didn’t even care that I was impressed with her.

  I wanted to push her. “It’s obvious you’re a talented girl—but can you kiss me without getting all hot and bothered? Right now.” I had no idea what I was doing or saying. I was acting on pure instinct.

  She glanced at the tables next to us and then came back to me. No one paid us any attention. “You want to do another ‘elevator scene’? I thought we agreed on no more kissing.”

  I shook my head. “Agreements are made to be broken.”

  What the hell was I doing?

  “Here?”

  “I dare you.”

  A hint of steel grew on her face. She’d taken the bait. She stood up, brushed her palms down her tight jeans, and covered the distance between our chairs with two steps.

  I stood up to meet her. Her palms touched my chest, those eyes of hers burning a hole through me—or maybe it was the ot
her way around.

  Her lips met mine with a soft press and then immediately retreated, but no way was I letting her get out of this. My hand curled around her waist and squeezed. A soft nip, the slide of my hand in her hair . . . and her lips clung to mine.

  Yes.

  “I guess we should, um, sit down now. People are probably staring,” I murmured as we eased back to take a breath. Honestly, I didn’t give a fuck who was watching. I just didn’t know what to say.

  She swallowed, her hands sliding down from where she’d curled them around my neck. She played with a strand of my hair, a soft look on her face. “Yeah.”

  But neither of us moved to separate.

  In the background someone got up to the microphone to read a poem, bringing us back.

  We sat down as the waitress approached our table. Her name was Cyndi, and she’d been flirting with me unabashedly since the moment she’d shown us our seats and taken our order. I also noticed she’d undone a few of the buttons on her white shirt since the last time she’d made a pass by us. “How was the food?” She directed her attention to me.

  “Great,” I replied, indicating our empty plates. I glanced back at Sunny. “You want anything else?”

  She shook her head.

  “We’ll just take the check,” I murmured to Cyndi.

  Her red lips slid into a knowing smile. “Are you sure there’s nothing else I can get you?” She giggled.

  Okay. This was weird. I focused back on Sunny. “Dessert?”

  “No,” she said, her face tight as she took in the waitress.

  Cyndi sashayed off.

  “You’ve slept with her, haven’t you?” she muttered as soon as Cyndi was out of earshot.

  My brows knitted. Where was the sweet girl I’d kissed? “It’s not like I’ve screwed every girl on campus.”

  “But she was one of them. There’s probably more than just her in here that you’ve slept with . . .”

  My lips flattened. “I did fuck her. Once. But I was single and so was she. Not every guy is like Bart. When I care about someone, it’s all about them—because there’s only a handful of people I’ve ever cared about to begin with. I don’t throw away and squander relationships. My mom taught me to treat women with respect because she never got that from my dad. I don’t lie. If it’s just to get off, they understand what I want. Got it?”

  She rubbed her forehead. “I’m sorry. I—I overreacted. It doesn’t matter if you slept with her.” She paused. “You never said what happened to your mom.”

  My heart dropped at the memory. “She died of a brain aneurysm the summer before I started college. We were on vacation—in North Carolina actually.”

  Her face paled. “You must have been devastated.”

  Yeah. It had been a wonder I’d been able to throw a complete pass my freshman year, but somehow I’d channeled all that emotion and feeling into football.

  She reached across the table and grasped my hand. My thumb brushed hers, lingering.

  Cyndi chose that moment to return with our check, giving me a clear view of her cleavage as she leaned down to give it to me. I ignored her, but Sunny still pulled back. I noticed Cyndi had slipped a piece of paper under the check with her phone number on it, but I pretended like I didn’t see it when I placed cash on top and handed it back. Her eyes darted to Sunny, a spiteful look there.

  We gathered our things and headed out the door into the fall evening. We started walking to the parking lot a couple of blocks over, and without even knowing how it happened, we were holding hands again.

  “What are you doing tomorrow night?”

  Her face split into a grin. “Pulling down swan wallpaper in my bedroom. The former owners of the house had a thing for birds.”

  “Nice,” I said. “I’m coming over to help you.”

  “Don’t you have practice?”

  “I’ll come after and bring dinner. You like sushi?”

  “I love it,” she murmured, “but that sounds like too much trouble for you. You don’t get finished until late, and you’ll be exhausted. I can cook something if you want. Everyone says my lasagna—”

  “No. Don’t go to any trouble for me. You have enough going on with work. I’m bringing dinner. It’s a date.”

  She blinked up at me. “Okay.”

  Wait.

  Was I dating my fake girlfriend?

  Nah. I pushed that thought away. We were just friends.

  Sunny

  “HE HAS MORE MUSCLES IN his back than I have in my whole body,” I told Isabella as we had lunch Wednesday at the hotdog place in the Student Center.

  “Let me get this straight: you had Max Kent half-naked in your bedroom and didn’t try to nail him?”

  “He was helping me pull down wallpaper. It wasn’t exactly romantic.”

  She waved her hands around. “He’s the hottest quarterback in the history of Georgia. It’s imperative you go to pound town. You can tell your grandchildren someday . . . you can write your memoirs. More importantly, you can tell me about it.” She dunked a French fry in her ketchup and popped it in her mouth. Tall with long raven hair, a snub nose, and sparkling blue eyes, she was a striking combination of pretty and sass. “I don’t get it. You’re fake-dating the hottest guy on campus, and you’re not having sex. You are crazy.”

  “We’re friends. It’s nice.”

  “What’s nice is the way he fills out his uniform.”

  “Can’t disagree with you, but there’s more to him than just being a jock.”

  “What?” she sputtered. “Are you actually admitting that you might like him?”

  Before I could answer, a tall guy with a slightly graduated Mohawk sauntered to our booth and looked pointedly at Isabella. “Hey,” he said with one of those male chin nods.

  She started. “Why, hey . . . there . . . you. I didn’t expect to see you so soon.” She sent me a pleading glance. “Um, this is the guy I was telling you about. From the frat party.”

  Oh. Her one-night stand from a few weeks ago. I smiled up at him, noticing his blush. He liked her.

  I stuck my hand out, knowing full well Isabella was in a quiet tizzy over there while cramming in her hot dog. She didn’t do repeat performances or speak to her one-night stands again.

  “I’m Sunny.” I shook his hand and checked him out. With the buzzed hair and gauges in his ears, he wasn’t her usual. I recalled her explanation earlier of exactly where he was pierced and did my best to keep my eyes off his crotch.

  He sent me a warm smile, his teeth white and straight. Tall with plenty of muscle, he looked athletic—of course I would notice. He was hot, especially with his square-cut face and whiskey-colored eyes.

  “I’m Ash.”

  “You having lunch?” I was filling in the gaps because Isabella was not helping. She was too busy staring a hole through her half-eaten hotdog.

  “I was just on my way out actually and wanted to say hi.” He shifted his backpack on his shoulder, his eyes roving back to Isabella.

  Hmm. Did I know him? Leland was small, and he was definitely memorable enough that I wouldn’t forget him.

  “Are you new here?”

  He nodded. “Just transferred in from North Carolina. I don’t know a lot of people yet, but I met Nicole here at the frat party a few weeks back.”

  Nicole? I glared at Isabella, but she just chewed faster, cramming fries in and then sucking down her Coke. That little liar.

  I glanced back at Ash. “Well, it’s nice to meet you. And I’m from North Carolina too—so yeah.”

  He continued to stand there.

  And my goodness, my heart couldn’t take it. He didn’t know anyone and here he was being ignored by his one hookup.

  I went with my gut, based on the openness of his face and the easy way he smiled. “Um, this is kinda random, but I’m in charge of a study group that meets at the library sometimes. Tonight’s the first meeting of the semester. Would you like to come?”

  “Sure, that would be grea
t.” He smiled broadly, a pleased expression on his face.

  Isabella muttered under her breath.

  “Did you say something, Isa—Nicole?” I asked.

  “Nothing but yay.” She shook her hands like she was holding pom-poms.

  I smirked. Inviting him was a bit reckless considering she obviously didn’t want anything to do with him. Maybe it was because I knew how hard it was to make friends when you hadn’t started here as a freshman. I knew exactly how it felt to feel alone. Mimi and Isabella were all I had.

  We exchanged numbers, and he left saying he had to get to class.

  As soon as he was out of earshot, Isabella flew at me. “I am going to kill you.” She yanked out her purse and began to reapply her lipstick.

  I smiled. “You’ll actually have to have a conversation with someone who’s had their appendage in you.”

  She pointed at me. “You, my dear, have no right talking to me about pushing guys away. We both have relationship issues so don’t be trying to fix me.”

  Ugh. She was right. Whatever.

  A few minutes later, Bianca walked into the restaurant with Felix by her side.

  Stuck like glue, Felix’s hand was tucked in her back pocket to keep her close. She laughed up at him when he said something, and I had to admit, they looked good together, her dark to his light. A bulky guy with clipped dark hair and scruff on his jawline, he was attractive—but sweaty. “Why does he look so shiny? He practically glows with sheen.”

  Isabella followed my eyes and shrugged. “Word is he works out all the time. Trying to be better than Max, I suppose.” She sent me a considering glance. “FYI: beware of Bianca. Felix is just her latest. Word is she still wants the number one quarterback. I don’t want you to get hurt, Sugartits.”

  Yeah. Neither did I.

  My eyes went to Bianca’s leopard-print miniskirt and frilly black shirt. She looked more like a model than a student. I gazed down at my denim shorts. I really needed to ramp up my sexiness—especially before the home game this weekend. I hadn’t been able to attend the first one this past weekend because of work, and it was making Max antsy that I wasn’t in the stands watching him play—like a good girlfriend should.