Fake Fiancée

by Ilsa Madden-Mills

  DUH. The whole world saw that. I just picked my jaw up off the ground.

  I’m going to kill him, I added.

  Why?

  One word . . . Heisman. I typed out furiously, my fingers flying.

  I admit it. I swooned a little. I’ll be his fiancée if you won’t.

  Max threw to Tate in a twenty-five-yard touchdown, but I barely noticed. I seethed.

  Come sit with Mimi and take her home after the game. I have to go, I sent her.

  Won’t it look weird if you leave the game?

  His problem, I texted. I can’t stay here. I was going to cry. Tears pricked at my eyes at his deception, itching to fall, and I knew that once that dam burst, I’d have a hard time explaining why I was so upset.

  You’re like super popular now. Maybe you can hook me up with one of those hottie football players. Just kidding. Not kidding. Sorry. Not Sorry.

  Mimi gasped when our defense caught an interception from the Louisiana quarterback. Our offense came out to the field, snapped the ball, and Max threw it straight to Tate who ran it in for another touchdown. My chest constricted. I didn’t care who won. I hated football right now.

  A few minutes later, Isabella was sitting in my seat. I told Mimi someone hadn’t shown up for their shift at the library, and my boss Pam had texted and asked if I’d come in. It sounded ridiculous, especially since I’d just gotten engaged on national television, but there was no getting around the fact that I had to disengage before I fell apart. Mimi kept asking if I was okay and if she’d done the right thing by not telling me, but I hugged her and assured her my exit had nothing to do with Max and everything to do with picking up extra money, especially if I wanted to plan for a wedding.

  I cringed as I told her. Lies made more lies.

  Plus, there’d be questions:

  When’s the big day?

  Who are your bridesmaids?

  What kind of dress will you get?

  An invisible dress because there’d be no wedding!

  I walked past the crowd, who eyed me with intense curiosity, and kept my head down. Just as I slipped into the breezeway, I glanced back one more time to see Max on the field again calling a play. Even though hundreds of people stood between us, I felt his intensity.

  “That was a pretty little show,” came a silky voice in front of me.

  I spun around. Bianca.

  She did a slow clap and then fluffed her brown hair over her shoulder with blood-red fingernails. Up close, her gray halter top was the perfect complement to her dark complexion, and her matching skirt dripped with blue lace, the same blue as the players’ uniforms. My eyes went back to that necklace, and my fingers itched to yank it off her neck.

  She sucked her bottom lip through her teeth. “You must have been practicing that look of shock all week. I suspected something from the very beginning, you know . . . especially when I heard him say in class that you guys met at the toga party last year. Max wasn’t even at that party. I know because I was.”

  I stiffened and pivoted around to leave, but her nails dug into my arm.

  “Oh no, you’re not running off,’ she said, her eyes narrowed. “I bet he’s paying you. You seem like the type who’d need money. Not that I’d blame you. He’s a maniac in the sack, and who can blame you for wanting someone to notice you.”

  “You’re babbling,” I said quietly. “Can’t you just congratulate me, Bianca?”

  She scoffed. “I’m not stupid. I know Max. All he cares about is football, honey. And if he’s asking you to marry him at a game—it isn’t because he wants to live happily ever after. It’s because he wants the attention. He has to have it all, so much that there isn’t room for anything else.”

  My hand tightened on my purse. “You don’t know the Max I know.” Why was I defending him?

  “I know what he likes, and it isn’t sweet little girls like you. He likes his sex hard and his girls harder. You”—her brittle eyes raked over me and found me lacking—“are way too nice for him, and if you’re smart, you’ll leave before it hurts too much.”

  “Isn’t Felix enough for you?”

  “Max is the best, and he only wants the best. Which is me. Here’s some info: he’ll never be over me. I’ll be the one he comes running back to once he gets through with whatever he’s got going on with you. You’re nothing.”

  Nothing? I’d pulled myself from hell to be where I was today. I’d lived through a mother leaving me for a man she was having an affair with. I’d lived through my father lashing my back with a belt. She didn’t know anything about me.

  “You don’t know who you’re screwing with,” I said softly. “I’m not always a nice person. You just have to push me far enough.”

  Her carefully manicured eyebrow arched. “Then prove me wrong.”

  Max

  I’D FUCKED UP. BIG TIME. My gut screamed the words at me.

  “ . . . beating the number one team in the country. How does it feel?” The reporter jabbed a microphone in my face, and I refocused. He went on to talk about the rest of the season and the teams we faced.

  Sweat still dripped down my face from the last play, and I wiped it with the back of my hand. We’d won the game thirty-five to seventeen. Louisiana had never come back after the half, and we’d crushed them in the last quarter. It was our biggest win so far—but all I could think about was Sunny.

  I chatted about the game, my eyes trying to stay on the reporters huddled around me, but my eyes kept darting to the stadium. Where was she?

  Another journalist eased in front of me, halting my way to the locker rooms. “What can you tell us about your new fiancée? Do you have a date set for the big day? How long have you known each other? Do you think we can get a quick interview with her?”

  “She’s a sweetheart. For the rest, it’s between us. Thank you.” I gave her a nod and a cool smile.

  Why did I feel sick after winning one of the biggest games of the year?

  My stomach churned as I marched down the line of reporters, flashbulbs and pats of congratulations coming from everywhere.

  I searched the stands again. I’d forced myself to keep my attention off her for the rest of the game, but as soon as the game had ended, I’d glanced up and found Mimi sitting next to a sullen girl with black hair. The dark-haired girl had flipped me off and mouthed something that looked like fuck you.

  Felix’s bulky frame stepped in my way as I walked in the doors of the locker room.

  “What?” I snapped.

  Everyone around us froze, eyes darting as we faced off.

  He had these weird eyes—almost navy colored—with a line of white around the pupil. “Just wanted to congratulate you, man. Fans are gonna love that. Smart.”

  My hands clenched, itching. I didn’t trust him. I moved past him to my locker.

  “I can’t wait to meet her at your party tonight.”

  I turned around slowly. “Party?”

  He worked on getting his pads off. “Dude. Your girl is already planning your life for you and you don’t even know it. Your engagement party. Sunny invited the team and whoever else. It’s all over Instagram.”

  Several of the other players agreed, and I nodded, pretending to go along. Sure. Yeah. Party at my house.

  Not a good idea.

  Not when I knew damn well she was angry.

  I showered, changed back into my dress clothes, and went with Coach and some of the other first string to hold a small press conference, something we did after each home game.

  Coach grabbed my elbow right before we walked out to take our seats. “Be in my office Monday morning, Kent. We have some harsh topics to discuss.”

  “Yes, sir.” I nodded. I’d never in my entire life disobeyed an order from the coach, and he expressly said no when I’d told him I wanted to propose to Sunny at the game.

  We took our seats at the table, the school mascot and banner behind us as a backdrop. Lights flashed, reporters popped off questions, and Coach went through
them, calling on myself, Tate, and a couple of other first string players to chime in.

  An hour later, it was over and Tate and I headed home in his Tundra. Because of all the cars, we were forced to park on a street several houses away from ours. I clenched my teeth and prayed no one called the cops on us.

  Sunny had parked my Land Cruiser in the middle of our yard at a crazy angle, the tires mired up in grass and dirt.

  We entered the house, and people congratulated us for the win and me for the engagement. Across the staircase, someone had made a hastily scrawled banner with Congrats on Your Engagement, Max and Sunny.

  I looked around everywhere inside, but no Sunny.

  I headed out the back door and made my way through back slaps and fist bumps. Keeping my face cool, my eyes scoured the groups of people congregated around the pool.

  I saw Bart—what the hell was he doing here? He sent me a dirty look as he talked to a couple of the players. I sized him up, trying to see what she’d seen in him. He was handsome in a poster boy kind of way. Clean-cut. Well dressed. Focused on his goals.

  But . . .

  All I could see in my head was him being Sunny’s first, and then breaking her heart.

  He strode toward me, carrying a beer. A petite brunette trailed behind him and he said something to her, causing her to stop following him.

  It hadn’t taken him long to find someone else, but no way did she measure up to Sunny.

  He came to a stop in front of me. His eyes swept over me and his lips compressed. “I don’t see what Sunny sees in you. You’re an arrogant sonofabitch who thinks he’s better than anyone else.”

  I stiffened, my fists tightening, adrenaline still high from the game. “What do you want?”

  He sucked down a drink and glared at me. “Sunny.” And then he walked away.

  I swallowed, itching to chase after him and hash it out—but why? She wasn’t mine. And I couldn’t get into any fights. It would ruin everything. I shook myself off, willing myself to cool down and let go of the adrenaline coursing through my veins.

  My eyes landed on long blond hair. Finally.

  She sat with Ryn and the dark-haired girl from the stadium at a patio table near the fence. Thank fuck. I was beginning to think the entire party was payback and she wasn’t even going to show.

  I made my way over to them, weaving in and out of the crowd.

  I halted as she tossed back amber liquid from a shot glass. Tequila?

  Great.

  I barreled and elbowed my way through the thick crowd, done being nice to everyone.

  “Hey. I found you. You having a good time?” My hand caressed her bare shoulder, but when she stiffened, I let it fall.

  She held another shot up in my general direction and tossed it back. Her eyes said, Bite me.

  “Do you mind if I sit by my fiancée?” I said to Ryn, my face tight.

  Ryn held his hands up like sorry to be in your way and stood. “Got no clue what’s going on. I just sat down to help pour the drinks.” He slapped me on the back and leaned down to whisper. “She’s had quite a few, friend. Just so you know.”

  I took his seat, my slack-clad leg brushing her bare one, and she flinched.

  I sighed. “Who’s your friend?” I indicated the girl next to her.

  Sunny shrugged. “She doesn’t like you very much right now.”

  “Go fuck yourself,” the girl said sweetly, then came over to my seat and gave me a quick hug, the type you’d give your best friend’s fiancé. “That’s for them,” she said, her gaze encompassing the entire back yard and several who’d been sending us curious glances. Bianca’s group was one of those. And Bart who lingered by the fence. Watching.

  The dark-haired girl waved at them all and then flipped them off.

  Sunny stood up, swaying on her feet until I righted her with my arm.

  “We should talk,” I said in a low voice so only she could hear.

  Her arms crossed. “Fine. Talk.”

  I felt eyes on us from everywhere. “Not here. Follow me.”

  She let me lead her to a secluded corner of the yard where fewer people wandered. I turned to her, taking in the hardness around her eyes.

  Fuck. I’d put that look there.

  She took a deep breath as if gathering her thoughts, and then pointed at the diamond on her finger. “This is a giant lie. Mimi believes it. The whole freaking world believes it—except for Bianca! I never agreed to this. Never.” Her lips trembled. “I was just starting to think you were different.” She broke eye contact with me, her eyes blinking rapidly. “You aren’t the person I thought you were.”

  Heaviness settled on my chest. “I can explain about tonight—”

  She cut me off. “You did it for the Heisman.”

  I nodded.

  “Football will always be first with you.”

  “Yes,” I said softly. “It trumps everything.”

  With clenched fists, she bit her bottom lip, struggling to compose herself. Her eyes speared me, a look of determination in them. “I’m not going to cry. You aren’t worth it. It’s just—for a while there—I thought you were different, Max. I was wrong.”

  Fuck.

  “Sunny. I’m . . . I’m sorry you’re upset.” I took a tentative step closer to her, my hand splayed out. “Tonight could have been the deciding factor for me—”

  She shook her head, waving me off as she backed away from me. “Stop talking about yourself and everything you’ll gain. You deceived me. How far will you go, Max?”

  Silence ticked, the tension ramping higher as we stared at each other.

  “You’re just like Bart,” she bit the words out.

  The words tore through me. I raked a hand through my hair. “I am not him.”

  Someone cranked up a Rhianna song and she turned further away from me, giving me a view of her stiff back as she searched the yard. She was obviously looking for an excuse to get away from me. I watched as her eyes landed on Bart, lingered for a moment, and then moved on.

  God. I swallowed and shoved my hands in my pants. What a total fuck-up this night was. I’d taken her trust and thrown it back in her face, and worst of all, I’d known this would be her reaction.

  Had it all been for the glory of the Heisman—or was part of me pushing her away, afraid of getting too close? Fuck. I couldn’t think straight.

  “Tate,” she called in a strained voice, waving at him from across the yard. “You’re up for the next dance, buddy.”

  “You’re walking away?” I asked and reached out for her, but she stepped back, nearly stumbling. I caught her arm before she fell, straightening her, but she pushed me off, anxious to get away from me. I sighed. “We need to figure this out, Sunny.”

  “I—I just can’t.”

  She sent me a final look and marched off.

  I fumed, watching them go to the pool area someone had obviously designated as a dance floor. A makeshift bar was across from it and someone had even brought a keg. My own house and I had no clue what was going on . . .

  The dark-haired girl approached me. “Yeah,” she mused. “You screwed up with Sunny, Quarterback.”

  “Who are you?” I snapped.

  Critical eyes raked over me. “This is what you need to know, okay? When her dad hit her one too many times, she left. When Bart cheated, she ended them. And now you—trying to pull a sly one when Mimi is there. Mimi is all she has left in the freaking world, and you tampered with that. You’re going down.”

  I closed my eyes. She was telling me what I already knew—but now, now it was sinking in.

  “And by the way, Isabella’s the name. I’m the one looking out for her—which is damn funny since I’d told her to snap you up because she’s been lonely. But now I can see your true colors. You don’t deserve her.”

  I scrubbed my face. “You’re right,” I said. “I didn’t think it through—”

  She reared back, disgust on every line of her face. “Oh, don’t be sorry now. Prepare yours
elf to be broken up with—oh, probably right after this song.”

  Sunny

  TATE AND I DANCED. HE had some crazy kind of hip-hop flair that should have looked ridiculous on his big frame, but it was funny. I found myself laughing more than dancing. It was probably the tequila, but I didn’t care at that point. Ash and Isabella joined Tate and I in our circle as we moved to the music. He’d shown up for a couple of library study sessions, and Isabella had immediately apologized about lying to him the night they hooked up. They’d set up a tentative little friendship.

  Tate fell on the ground and did a hilarious rendition of the worm.

  Yeah, my fake boyfriend had trampled the shit out of my trust, but it was fine ’cause I couldn’t feel my face.

  A slower country song came on, and Tate and I went with the flow. I stepped into his arms, and he wrapped his forearm around my waist but kept his grip light.

  “Love, maybe it’s a good idea if we don’t dance together.” His gruff voice resonated in my ear.

  “Why?” I looked up at him. He had a strong jawline, gentle brown eyes, and a killer smile. I got why girls went nuts over him.

  “Max’s looking a bit wonky.” He nudged his head toward a sullen Max, who stood near the pool. A couple of players talked around him, but he watched us.

  Tingles of awareness zipped up my spine at his gaze.

  He’s fine was about to come out of my mouth when I saw Bianca and some of her girlfriends sashay up to him, blocking my view.

  My grip on Tate tightened. “He seems to have found some company.”

  “Maybe, but it’s you he wants.”

  “How do you know?” I said rather sullenly.

  He shrugged. “He told me he talked to you about his mum, and he never does that. You might find this hard to believe, but he’s a very private person.”

  “He went behind my back.”

  Tate thought about it. “All I can say is he isn’t thinking straight. He’s insane during the season. Football is his world.”

  “What about Bianca? Does he still care about her?” Might as well pump the best friend for info while I had the chance.

  He shook his head, his blond hair waving around like a lion’s mane. “Bianca was more of a pride thing because she screwed other players, but with you . . . it’s you.”