Fake Fiancée

by Ilsa Madden-Mills

  My heart jumped. Trembling, I stumbled to the couch and plopped down next to him before my legs could give out. My world shifted, realigning itself and I cupped my cheeks, feeling, checking to see if this moment was real.

  For a moment I couldn’t breathe.

  This is what it feels like to lose your breath over a guy, I randomly thought.

  I just looked at him.

  He squeezed my hand. “I think my subconscious has been trying to tell me for a long time, and tonight I had a dream about a girl whose car went into a lake.” His face filled with wonder. “You’re that girl . . . the one who ran away into the woods. You were so beautiful . . .” he stopped, pinching the bridge between his nose, contrition on his face. “You ran away—and I let you. God, I should have gone after you and given you a ride . . . something.”

  I bit my lip. “I wouldn’t have let you. It all happened so fast for me to think really, but I couldn’t involve you in my mess.”

  “It was the night you left your dad, wasn’t it?” He focused piercing eyes on me. “You must have been terrified. I mean, now—it all makes sense.”

  I nodded. “Yes.”

  He touched my hair, almost gingerly, and let his hand drift down my cheek to my arm. He laced our fingers together. “My mom died the night of your wreck. One second we were getting the keys to our cabin, and the next she was lying on the ground. She’d been complaining of a headache for days . . .” He cleared his throat, emotion working his face. He tugged at his bottom lip.

  I slid over closer to him and rested my head on his shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

  He leaned against me and we supported each other. “It happened the summer before I came to Leland. We were on a last little hurrah vacation together—and then you—it was like I was there, but I wasn’t, ya know? In the days after she died, sometimes I couldn’t recall what I’d had to eat that morning. All I did was play football, and it saved me. But how could I . . . forget you?”

  The saying maybe he’s just not that into you came to mind, but I didn’t say it. I believed the universe had pulled strings for us—but did he?

  “Stop.”

  “Stop what?”

  “I see your wheels turning. Look at me.” He turned my chin toward him. “I’m sorry I didn’t remember you from three years ago. My brain just filed it away—or locked it up—I don’t know. Maybe I wasn’t ready to see it? Does that make sense?”

  I nodded.

  “And tonight? I’m sorry I didn’t text you. It was an oversight.”

  I blinked, because it felt like he was changing the subject too fast, as if he was unsure about dissecting the night we met.

  But I went with it. “I believe you about Bianca.” He wasn’t Bart, and he never would be.

  Relief crossed his face. “Thank God.” His thumb caressed my lips. “Sunny . . . I want you so much that it scares the fuck out of me.”

  “I’m scared too.” Of getting my heart shattered. Of you not having the same feelings for me that I have for you.

  He kissed me, his lips soft but then insistent, his tongue demanding.

  My anxieties were shoved away, and my overwhelming need for him skyrocketed. We’d been apart so long. I whipped my shirt off and his fingers traced the outline of my breast then dipped in to skate across my nipple, strumming it, making me moan.

  We went at each other like crazed animals.

  He jerked his shirt off while I unclasped my bra, and within seconds we were skin to skin, brushing against each other. His forearms lifted me up and sat me in his lap while I kissed down his throat to his chest, my teeth nipping at him and then soothing it with kisses.

  He tugged down my pants and shoved my underwear to my knees, his fingers finding me like a homing beacon. He strummed me, and I moved with him, arching into his every stroke.

  “You’re drenched,” he growled. “Fucking mine.”

  Almost frantic, he unsnapped his jeans and pushed them down just enough to pull out his cock. Straddling him, I stroked him up and down as he played with my breasts, sucking on one then the other, his scruff like fire, hurting so good.

  “I don’t have a condom,” he whispered in my ear. “But I’m clean.”

  I wanted him like that. I rotated my center against his hard length. “I’m on the pill.”

  “Fuck, yes,” he groaned.

  He tossed his head back and called out my name as I settled him in deep.

  But then he took over. Fast. Furious. Perfect.

  Hands held my hips and he thrust into me. He tangled a hand up in my hair and tugged my head back, and once my neck was arched, he sucked me hard. It made me hotter. Desperate. Wetness dripped between us. I screamed his name when I went over the edge.

  He came soon after, satisfaction and something else that I couldn’t read on his face as he kissed me.

  Max

  HOMECOMING ARRIVED. ALL WEEK I’D been obsessively studying the opposing team’s defense and perfecting my pass. I was not going to lose another fucking game. Then my dad called and announced he’d be at the game tonight. Encouraged by Millicent and my chance at the Heisman, he was eager to come. I hadn’t seen him since last Christmas, and it was screwing with my head.

  Ryn pulled me to the side as we waited to take the field. “What the hell is wrong with you today? You’re distracted.”

  He wasn’t wrong. Stress was eating at me. Every single thing I did, every play I made was crucial.

  I rubbed my head. “I’m fine.”

  But I played like shit during the first half. We were up by ten when the defense read my play, and I threw the ball right into the beefy hands of one of the Carolina players, who ran it back for a touchdown.

  At halftime, my gaze locked with Sunny’s and I sent her a two-finger kiss and held it up. It was something she’d come up with early in the season—a public display to make me look good when the news covered me or it was photographed.

  Now, it actually meant something to me, but I didn’t know how to define it. I didn’t allow myself to think about the depth of emotion she created. It was as if I was standing at a crossroads and I couldn’t decide which direction I wanted to move.

  Coach sat me down in the locker room. “Whatever’s been eating at you, work it out of your system.”

  Right. I resolved once again to push Sunny—and my dad out of my head.

  In the fourth quarter, I threw a gorgeous touchdown pass to Tate. We scored again with a field goal in the next series and won us the game.

  I met Dad after the game, and we headed to the press conference where I was asked questions and then Dad and I posed for photo ops. Later, we piled up in his Escalade, picked up Sunny at her house, and headed to an exclusive Italian place. Millicent had tipped off a few choice reporters that we’d all be there.

  At the restaurant, he talked loudly to everyone we passed who knew him, signed a few autographs, and generally made an ass of himself over Sunny.

  He finished chewing a bite of his filet and considered me. In his late forties, he was still a handsome man with sandy brown hair and a trim build. The only hint of age was a slight dusting of gray at his temples and the crow’s feet around his eyes.

  Sunny kept eyeballing us, probably sensing the tension roiling off me.

  I zoned in when I realized he’d been talking for a while.

  He finished a long critique about my throwing technique and how it was off. Then he went on to talk about the merits of the freshman quarterback at Ohio who’d been taking up most of the news coverage for the past two weeks.

  Sunny set down her knife and fork on her plate. “With all due respect, Mr. Kent. Max is the highest rated quarterback in the country. No freshman at Ohio can hold a candle to him.”

  A burst of laughter came from him. “Oh honey, call me Byron. I’m way too young to be Mr. to you—and you’re my future daughter-in-law. Hopefully, we’ll be seeing a lot more of each other in the future.”

  She smiled politely, but I sensed her reserve. She�
��d worn a soft blue dress with pleats at the neckline and a flowy skirt and strappy heels—which I fully intended to take off with my teeth later.

  Dad set down his napkin and considered her. “Are you pregnant, dear?”

  I froze mid-bite. What a fucking jerk!

  Sunny looked at me and then at Dad. “Ah, no. Perhaps I shouldn’t have worn this loose dress.” She smiled wryly and shrugged.

  She was too damn nice to him.

  I set my fork down. “I’d appreciate it if you minded your own damn business.”

  “You’re my son. Am I not allowed to ask questions?” His expression changed, growing pensive. “I know we haven’t always seen eye to eye, but you’re growing up, getting married, and I’m cutting back on my hours at the station. Maybe we can spend more time together.”

  My food wanted to crawl up out of my stomach. “Now?”

  “I know I wasn’t always there for you—”

  I scowled. “You were never there. And now you want to show interest when life is going well for me?”

  He folded his hands together. “Don’t be a little bitch, Max.”

  Keeping my voice low and making sure my face stayed impassive, I said, “I’m here right now for the photo op, so they can see a father and son together.” I waved my hand around at the people in the restaurant. “But it’s all a goddam lie.”

  Seconds ticked by as we stared at each other. His phone on the table pinged, and he flicked his eyes down at it. Mine followed, seeing it was his current girlfriend, some ex-supermodel. And it just hammered it home.

  “You can’t fix something that you never cared about in the first place.” I nudged my head at the phone. “Go on, answer it.”

  “Can I interest you in any dessert?” the server said as he reached our table, oblivious to the tension.

  “Sunny, do you want anything?” I asked.

  “No,” she said quietly.

  I read disappointment on her face before she quickly covered it.

  I exhaled heavily, feeling the exhaustion from the day catching up to me.

  What did she want from me?

  I pushed the thought away. I couldn’t let anything get to me right now—not when there was only one regular season game left. Tonight I’d nearly screwed up everything when I’d thrown that interception.

  “We’ll take the check,” my father added, tucking his phone back in his pocket.

  Good.

  I was ready to get the hell out of here.

  Sunny

  WE WENT BACK TO MAX’S after dinner with his dad. He made love to me as if on autopilot.

  This is a photo op. We’re a goddam lie.

  My heart dipped at the memory of those words he’d uttered to his father.

  Doubts crept in. Did he mean that about us too?

  On Sunday morning, I left his bed while he still slept and went to my place. After showering, I headed to the kitchen to make a chocolate pecan pie to take to Mimi’s later for our early Thanksgiving celebration we were having since Ash and Isabella would be out of the state for the holiday.

  My phone pinged with a text, and after I’d poured the mixture into a pie shell and popped it in the oven, I picked it up.

  The text was from an unknown number.

  Watch your back.

  I set it down on the counter. Don’t engage.

  Even though I didn’t want to worry Max before a game, I forwarded it to him. I couldn’t lie to him, and he’d be upset if he found out after the fact.

  Someone knocked at my door and I jumped.

  This whole thing was making me antsy. I checked the window and saw Isabella’s white SUV.

  I headed to the den and opened the door. Isabella and Ash stood there, each of them holding a dish to take to Mimi’s. “Happy Friendsgiving,” they both cried in unison.

  I grinned and got them settled while I headed to my bedroom to get dressed.

  Max burst through my bedroom door as I was putting on mascara. “I just saw your text. Where’s your phone?” he said sharply. “I want to see the number.”

  I nudged my head at where it sat on the vanity table amid all my makeup. “It’s an unknown number, probably a burner.”

  He picked it up and glared at it as if expecting the phone to speak to him. His finger did a flurry of movements, and I craned my neck to see what he was doing. He’d taken a screenshot of it and then sent it to himself. “I’m going to forward this to the campus police. They need to be aware of what’s going on.”

  “Thanks.” I turned my back on him, smoothing out an eyebrow.

  He paused, his eyes searching mine in the mirror. “Everything okay? You left without saying anything this morning.”

  “I’m fine.”

  He smirked. “Fine is never fine when it comes to females.” He leaned against the wall, crossing his arms, giving me a nice view of his biceps.

  My lips tightened at being reminded of his other conquests.

  I applied another coat of lipstick to keep my hands busy. He watched, making me jittery.

  “Can you give me some space, please? I can’t finish with you staring.”

  “What’s wrong with you?” he asked. “You’ve been weird lately.”

  I set down my eye shadow on the vanity top. “Some of the things you said last night—it got me to thinking. I mean, we’re having sex, but is that all we are?”

  His brows knitted. “No.”

  “Then what are we? Define it.” I hated the insecurity I heard in my voice—but I just needed him to tell me how he felt.

  A muscle clenched in his jaw, his face hardening. Distance grew in his gaze. “I can’t do this a few days before a game—”

  I held my hand up. “Fine. Then let me finish getting dressed.”

  He stood there as if he wanted to say something, his shoulders tense, but then pivoted and left, neatly shutting the door behind him.

  Once at Mimi’s, things went well. Her apartment was comfortable and before long, we’d all eaten and the guys had disappeared to do chores for Mimi—which mostly consisted of getting down her Christmas decorations from the small attic she had.

  Mimi watched Max drape green garland around the mantel in the living room as Frank Sinatra holiday music filled the air. He pulled a snow globe from one of her boxes and set it on the coffee table. “Such big hands around that globe.”

  My lips twitched. “Stop having sex fantasies about Max, Mimi. It’s weird.”

  Isabella just snorted.

  “Just because I’m old, doesn’t mean I’m blind. I still got some life left in me yet.” She put away dishes in the cabinet. “You know, I see how he looks at you.”

  I stopped wiping her table. “The only thing important to him is football. Always will be.”

  Max

  MONDAY I WOKE UP, SHOWERED, and dressed in jeans and a flannel that Sunny had commented she liked once.

  My chest ached, and I rubbed it. She needed me to reassure her about us—but my head was all over the place. Pressure was everywhere—from Coach, the players, and myself.

  Not to mention, today was my mom’s birthday. I pinched the bridge of my nose. I’d give anything to have her here with me when I played my last regular season game this week.

  You look like hell, I told myself, staring into the mirror at the dark shadows under my eyes.

  Tate was peering into the fridge wearing boxers and nothing else when I came into the kitchen.

  “Morning, Gorgeous,” I said, setting my backpack on the counter. “You ready for this week?”

  “No.” He sent me a bleary-eyed look as he opened a carton of OJ and drank it straight from the mouth.

  My phone pinged. It was my dad.

  I’m coming back to Atlanta this weekend for your last game.

  Just great.

  I replied, Do what you want.

  His next text blew me away. I’ll call you later. I know what today is. She’s on my mind too.

  He’d remembered it was her birthday?

>   I was fucking shocked.

  Tate gave me a considering glance. “You okay, mate?”

  I nodded and leaned against the counter. “Yeah. Just family stuff gets me worked up—and I don’t need it before a big game.”

  Tate took another swig from the OJ. “What do you need?”

  Sunny came to mind, but I didn’t say it.

  I grabbed a Gatorade from the fridge. “Just the game, man.”

  I stalked off, not wanting to talk anymore. I went outside and immediately checked out Sunny’s place, making sure everything was fine. It appeared to be, so I walked to my Land Cruiser.

  What the hell? I came to a halt at the knife in my front driver’s side tire. I dropped my backpack to the ground and inspected it. Not only had they stabbed the damn thing, but they’d punctured it in several places before leaving the knife for me to find. I yelled for Tate and he came out the door, still clad in boxers.

  We checked out the rest of the car, and sure enough the passenger side door had a deep gouge going all the way through the paint to the metal of the frame.

  “Bloody hell, someone doesn’t like you very much,” Tate said, scratching at his jawline. “I know you’re thinking Felix, but with the game coming up . . . it seems risky for him to pull this.”

  I paced around the car again. Someone had been right outside my bedroom window last night screwing with my property. With Sunny just across the street.

  Was she okay?

  My mind flew in a hundred different directions . . .

  I called her but she didn’t pick up. I knocked on her door, and when I didn’t get an answer, I ran around to the back and knocked. Nothing. I peeked in the windows and had a direct view into her kitchen. Everything looked fine. I jogged back to my house.

  Tate was still standing in the yard, hands on his hips like a mother hen. “Everything good?”

  “I guess she’s in class already.” I hoped so.

  Feeling a sense of urgency, I booked it to the detached garage where I kept my Harley.

  “Let me know if she isn’t in class,” Tate called out to me as I backed my bike out. I adjusted my helmet, Tate handed me my backpack, and I cranked it up. Within seconds, I was on the road and pointed toward the Clark Science Building.