I was tired. Football and then training had kicked my ass—but it was worth seeing her in those pajamas.
“Nope. I was up.”
She smiled and opened the door wider, letting me pass and get a whiff of her fresh scent.
I plopped down on the couch and she sat next to me. She walked me through hearing the noise and then finding the flower, explaining how Bart was at his frat party tonight.
“Maybe it was the kid next door,” she said, yawning. “I see her out playing outside all the time. She knows my name, too.”
Maybe. I made a mental note to keep a sharper eye out on her house.
We settled into the couch further, and I lifted my hand and trailed it through her hair. Her head drifted closer until it rested in the crook of my arm. I caressed her head, massaging her scalp as she told me about her day. Little stuff. She’d dreamed up a name for a future boutique—Bend the Trend—and she’d been reading for her Lit class. I didn’t ask about Bart. I refused to think about him being in a class with her where I wasn’t around. I refused to acknowledge why it made me jealous.
I told her about Felix and how he got on my nerves because he was constantly watching me when I trained—as if trying to suss out how to beat me or how to play me somehow.
Half an hour later, her breathing grew deeper and her head lolled around on my shoulder. She’d fallen asleep. I grinned. We hadn’t even turned the television on.
I scooped her up and carried her to her room where I checked out the queen-sized bed. Sweet baby Jesus, I’d take up the whole damn thing.
She didn’t ask you to stay the night, I reminded myself.
Right.
This wasn’t a booty call; this was me being a friend.
I pulled back the soft white duvet, laid her inside, and pulled the covers over her. She snuggled down into her pillow. I sat there, watching her. Long strands of white-blond hair were spread everywhere.
I should go.
She grabbed my hand as I got up to leave. “Stay.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know . . . because I want you to. And I trust you.”
Those words hammered at my heart. Trust. She trusted me. My heart raced because I knew it hadn’t come easy.
“I have to sleep naked,” I murmured, already pulling my shirt off by reaching behind my neck and slipping my head through. I pushed my shorts down, kicked them to the side, and stood there in my black athletic boxers. “But I’ll keep my underwear on . . . just so you don’t have a heart attack at the enormity of my package.”
She snorted, her gaze flitting over my crotch. “Whatever. It looks rather small to me.”
“You’re lying, and I will pay you back.” I jumped in the bed, my size and weight dislodging her and making her flop around. I stuck my cold feet to her backside and she yelped and scuttled to the other side.
“Hey! Not fair. Just when I had it all warm,” she protested, her body hanging on the edge of the bed trying to escape.
“Come back and I’ll keep you toasty.” I reached over, wrapped an arm around her, and tugged her until her back was aligned with my chest.
“Mmm,” she said, her bottom wiggling into my crotch, making me bite my bottom lip. Fuccccccck.
“You feel perfect. My little heater.” She sighed.
“Uh-huh.” I sucked in a sobering breath. My balls ached. I closed my eyes and swallowed down the growl in my throat. One good hard squeeze from her soft hand and I’d come all over the place.
“You sure this is okay?” she asked. “You seem tense.”
“Yeah, I’m golden, Cookie,” I croaked. She no doubt felt my erection, but being the sweet girl she was, she was going to ignore it and not comment.
She yawned. “I’m glad you came. Now I can sleep.”
Perfect. I put her to sleep.
“ . . . long night at work. I had to put books in the basement . . . place gives me the creeps. I hate closed off spaces . . . and spiders, as you well know. There’s one living in this room somewhere, by the way. I haven’t found him yet . . .” she yawned again.
“So you told me earlier. I’m here to keep you safe,” I murmured, brushing at the hair on her shoulders. I sighed, feeling oddly content. My fingers twisted some of her hair and pulled it off her neck to see more of her skin. The tattoo I saw was surprising, although I don’t know why. Maybe it was because it didn’t exactly fit with the quiet image she portrayed.
I studied it. Small blue feathery angel wings framed the back of her nape, from where her hairline started to where her neck met her shoulders. Written in delicately scripted letters were the words, She wore her scars like wings.
Tightness gripped my chest.
Protectiveness rushed through me. I tucked her in closer and pressed a kiss to her neck. As long as she was with me, they’d be no more scars.
Max
I EASED OFF THE BIKE seat, football on my mind. Tonight was a home game against number one ranked Louisiana Lafayette. We had to win.
“Nervous?” Tate asked as I came in the house through the back door. He noticed every twitch of my hand and shift in my mood, which is what made us such a good duo on the field.
I nodded. “Stupid, right? I’ve played a hundred times, but—it always gets to me.”
He handed me his Newcastle. “We’re going to win.”
“I like your confidence, man.” I took the bottle. “Here’s to taking down number one.”
They’d beat us last year—mostly because of me. I’d thrown two interceptions during the last quarter and our offense had never recovered.
We wandered around the house to the front porch, and I checked out Sunny’s place. Sure enough, the Land Cruiser wasn’t there, which meant she was still at work. The body shop had ordered a new front end for her and it was taking longer than normal to fix. I couldn’t say that it bothered me. I liked her depending on me.
Tonight, for the first time, Sunny would be at a game, and I had a kick-ass plan ready to get me over the top with the Heisman.
My stomach flopped around, anxiousness rumbling.
She was going to be angry. I could feel it . . . taste it. Hell, it permeated the air around me.
I shook it off.
Focus on you. What you want.
Sometimes you have to play dirty to get what you want.
An hour later I came out of my room dressed in brown slacks, a pale blue button-down, and a navy blazer. My long hair was everywhere. I wouldn’t put it up until the game. It was typical for the players to dress up before and after game, especially since Sports Center was hosting game day.
Tate checked me out with a critical eye, raking his gaze up and down.
“Irresistible enough for you, Mr. Fashion Critic?” I said and held my hands out.
“It’s missing something . . .” He snapped his finger. “I’ve got it. One word: bowtie.”
“Dude. It’s fine,” I called after him as he jogged to his room.
He came back in the kitchen with a myriad of bowties, most in crazy colors and patterns.
I sent him a look. “Seriously?”
He waved that thought away. “I think this one. Very Renaissance man.”
“Do you think she’ll say no tonight?” I asked, looking down at the one he held up for me. Navy with white checks, it was the least offensive one to my more manly tastes. I took it from him.
He grinned. “No clue, man, but you’re crazy if you don’t hit that—”
My hackles rose. “Ease off.”
“Whatever. I could have her if I wanted. Girls can’t resist me when I pour on the bloody accent.”
“Shut up.” I dug my finger into his shoulder and pushed him against the wall. A picture of the team that a groupie had hung when we moved in fell to the floor and shattered.
He pulled away, brows drawn together. “What the fuck-all? It was a joke.”
I ran both hands through my hair. “Sorry. Just don’t talk that way about her.”
“You’ve
been off for a while, mate. Since you met Sunny.” He grabbed a broom and dustpan to clean up the mess. “You’re into this girl.”
My lips tightened, and I pivoted and stalked away from him, landing in the hall in front of the mirror. I popped my collar and adjusted the tie. Tate was wrong, and tonight would prove it. The only thing I was into was football.
Sunny
THE DAY OF THE GAME arrived.
I picked up Mimi in the Land Cruiser and then stopped to grab Isabella before we headed to the stadium. Since Isabella’s ticket was for the student section, she went off to hang out there while Mimi and I took primo seats on the first row near the forty-yard line.
Mimi got settled, crossing her jean-clad legs, and fussed with her lipstick. She glowed with excitement. “Did you get your hair done this week?” I asked, noticing she’d covered the gray that she sometimes got in the part of her hair.
She preened. “It’s not every day you get such great seats. Of course I got my hair did.”
I rolled my eyes.
“Things must be going well between you and Max,” she commented.
“He’s . . . amazing.” He’d given me his car, he’s paid me up front for being his fake girlfriend, and he’d kept his hands to himself. And he’d spent the night with me. It had been incredible.
So why was I feeling anxious?
She sent me a mischievous grin. “Remember, if you want to keep a man, you gotta keep him focused on your assets.”
“Which is?”
“Your brain, dear, your brain. Get your mind out of the gutter.” She gazed around at the crowd with a satisfied grin. “Now point me to where I can get something to wet my whistle. Back in my day, they didn’t sell alcohol at a football game.”
While she waved down the drink vendor, I did a quick outfit check.
The dark blue dress (a Leland color) I’d borrowed was a bit over the top for a game, but I wanted to look good for Max. Isabella had plucked it from her closet, dangled it under my nose, and declared it was the one. Short and tight, it was made from one hundred percent silk and had peek-a-boo cut-outs near the bust and waist that hinted at my pale skin underneath. I finished the look with leopard-print stiletto slingbacks. Isabella’s as well since there never seemed to be time to go shopping.
One thing about having an eye for art is I knew how to apply makeup even though I rarely wore it. Today I’d used a heavy hand. My foundation had perfect contouring, with emphasis on my high cheekbones and straight nose. I’d been told my best feature was my gray eyes, so I’d played them up with hues of blue. Eyeliner created a tasteful wing effect, and I’d filled in dramatic eyebrows. A nude lip-gloss finished it. My long hair had been straightened until it hung in a shiny waterfall down my back, contrasting vividly with the dress. This was my first big public appearance, and I hoped I looked like the kind of girlfriend Max Kent would have. I’d been relieved to see several eyes watching us as we walked down the stadium steps to our section.
Of course they’re probably just wondering who got those fantastic seats.
Dressed in their gray and blue uniforms, our team jogged from the inner part of the stadium, and the home crowd went nuts. Mimi and I jostled to our feet to do the wave along with everyone else.
I watched Max’s number seventeen jersey as he stood on the sideline going over plays with the quarterback coach.
The game got off to a rocky start with Louisiana scoring before we had points on the board. I chewed on my thumbnail, caught up in the action, hoping Max came up with a big play soon. When the other team scored again, I watched him pace on the sidelines, his posture wired.
At halftime Mimi elbowed me in the ribs and nudged her head at the Jumbotron. I planted a smile on my face and waved. The camera swung away but not before I saw Bianca sitting a few rows back with her sorority sisters, glaring at me.
“Who’s the girl giving you the evil eye? She looks meaner than a striped snake,” Mimi murmured around the rim of her draft beer.
“Max’s ex. This was probably her seat last year.” I shot a look over my shoulder at her, a glittery pendant around her neck catching my eye. It was a star-studded number seventeen hanging from a gold chain. My teeth ground together.
Who did she think she was still wearing Max’s number? What about Felix?
The players headed back out from the locker rooms, and I grew nervous. My hands clenched around my Diet Coke as I tipped it up to take another sip. I chomped on the ice.
Mimi patted my knee that had been vibrating up and down. “Stop your worrying.”
I paused. I mean, yeah, I got into a game as much any true fan, but it was more than that. I was emotionally invested in Max.
Max jogged down to the field, heading for his coach. They talked heatedly for a few moments until Coach Williams threw his hands up as if he was done and Max stalked off.
My brow wrinkled. He’d been rather distant the past couple of days leading up to the home game, and I’d assumed it was stress—but this looked different.
Max ran over to a cameraman a few paces away. I took in his face, trying to get a read on him, but he looked almost serene, which was weird during a game.
He stalked over to the barrier that divided the stands from the field and jumped it. The fans went nuts as he brushed past them, some not even realizing it until he was down the aisle. The Jumbotron followed him.
“Good Lordy, what’s he doing?” Mimi asked, clutching at her chest.
“I don’t know,” I said rather weakly, taking the chance to study him the closer he came. He was beautiful, his shoulders impossibly broad. To add to the distraction, his helmet was off and all that dark brown hair was flowing around his chiseled features as if he had a fan in his face.
“He’s coming over here,” Mimi commented.
He was. But why?
I stopped breathing . . . right when he came to a halt in front of me and knelt down on one knee.
Eyes the color of a wild ocean gazed at me.
He took my left hand in his right one.
“Max,” I breathed, my heart fluttering.
He gazed up at me. “Sunny Blaine, will you marry me?”
The stadium went wild. In a daze, I looked up at the Jumbotron and felt like I was watching this happen to someone else. Camera phones flashed all around us.
My first clear thought was I’ll kill him.
Aloud, nothing came out but a faint wheeze. Clearly someone had stuffed a giant wad of cotton in my mouth. Clearly I needed something a lot stiffer to drink than this Diet Coke. Clearly my fake boyfriend was a freaking raving lunatic.
He sent Mimi a grin—as if to say I really got her, didn’t I, and she handed him a black box. My eyes flared as I looked from her to him. Had he . . . had she? Good God, they were in cahoots. Which explained why she’d been jittery when I picked her up earlier. She kept patting the big purse she always carried, and even on the way over to the stadium I caught her poking through it a few times. I’d just figured she was nervous about meeting Max. Apparently they’d already met.
Mimi squeezed my hand. “He called me last night and asked to come over. He asked for my approval . . . can you believe it? What a gentleman. Of course, I said yes. He’s a keeper, Sunny.” Her eyes glowed. Freaking GLOWED.
The box opened, and my stomach churned at the sight of the large round solitaire diamond ring that was nestled on the black silk. I blinked repeatedly to clear my vision.
With deft fingers, Max eased it out of the lining and slipped it on my left hand.
I stared down at it. Then back at him.
Kiss her, Kiss her, the crowd chanted.
We were the focal point of the entire world.
Max stood and tugged me up with him until we were standing. He slid his hand around my neck and pulled his face to mine. The sky was blotted out as he kissed me.
But I hadn’t said yes! I wouldn’t say yes. Not to a fake engagement.
The applause of the stadium was deafening. And his kiss—it
was deadly. Despite my rage, my body craved him. His lips were hot, so hot, and my tongue met his with a vengeance. We kissed hard, and I nipped at him, my teeth scraping across his lips. But the only one who’d end up bleeding in this scenario was me.
He eased back to take me in, and with a final look at my face he gave a thumbs-up sign to the entire stadium. They went nuts, chanting his name.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered in my ear, letting his hand trail down my arm as he stepped back from me. He walked away backward, eyes on me the entire time. The announcers for the game told everyone who might have missed it that Max Kent had just asked his girlfriend to marry him, and she’d said yes. More cheers came as they replayed him on his knee in front of me with a giant YES written across the top.
I plopped back down in my seat. Frozen.
“ . . . did you see her face? Shocked . . .”
“ . . . most romantic thing in football . . .”
“ . . . luckiest girl in the world . . .”
My face went hot. Even my ears burned. I wanted to crawl under a seat. I felt like such a liar.
“You’re gonna be okay, hon. Just take a breath,” Mimi whispered as the Jumbotron finally moved away from me. “Don’t be embarrassed. It’s sweet the way he proposed . . . he wanted everyone to know he’d found the girl of his dreams.”
“Is that what he said?” My voice was barely a whisper.
Mimi beamed. “He said the moment he saw you, it was meant to be.” She sighed and looked over to him, his back to us as he watched the kick-off on the field. “I’ve worried so much about you since that Bart fellow, but Max is going to make you happy, Sunny. He’s the calm in your chaos.”
The calm in my chaos . . .
God.
What a lie.
If I’d thought I was angry before, I was wrong. He’d end up hurting Mimi when the charade ended. She’d be disappointed in me, in him, and her love of football would probably be tarnished.
Didn’t he ever think about anyone but himself?
I exhaled. “Mimi, there’s something I should tell you . . .”
My phone pinged with a text. Isabella.
OMG. WTH just happened?
Max Kent asked me to marry him, I replied.
Fake Fiancée Page 10