The Faker Rulebook

by Crow, Baylin

  My cock jerked. "Any time. Any place. But right now, you need to get naked and fuck me."

  "I'm not just going to fuck you, babe. I'm going to have you moaning my name. And then I'm going to take you slow because I never want it to stop. Until you can't take it anymore and beg me to let you come."

  I shivered as he scooted down my legs, taking my underwear with him. He paused at the sight of my hard cock, leaking a string down to my stomach and licked his lips. "You're fucking dripping for me."

  I bit my lip hard as he ripped his boxers down his legs and then crawled back over me. Dipping down, Rook's soft lips pressed to my neck before his breath tickled my ear. "I love you, Noah."

  Sucking in a sharp breath, I wondered if those words would ever hold less power over me than they did in that moment. "I love you back. Always have. Always will."

  "I'm marking that down in the rulebook next."

  My chest vibrated with laughter.

  He pulled away and cocked a brow. "No veto?"

  Why the fuck would I say no to that? "That's one rule I can swear to never break."

  His grin was soft, but his gaze grew hungry as it dropped to my lips. "Good. You're stuck with me. Forever."

  "Still a creepy ass rule."

  He chuckled. "Shut up and kiss me."

  With lightning speed, I brought my hands to the back of his head and pulled him down, stopping just short of pressing his lips to mine. "Forever."

  "Damn right," he growled before he slanted his mouth over mine.

  Rule number twenty-three, I added silently. Be grateful for stupid ideas that lead to perfect forevers.

  Epilogue

  Noah/One Year Later

  I'm nervous as hell as I watch the quickly dwindling minutes left in the final quarter of the game. My knee bounces wildly as my gaze tracks Rook's every move down the polished court in the massive arena.

  Twenty thousand fans pack the stands around us where I sit with Rook’s mom and dad a few rows behind the bench. All three of us are wearing Rook’s purple and white jersey. Scantily-clad cheerleaders stand perfectly poised on both sides of the court, and cameras and commentators take up different angles of the court, competing for the best shot and view while more press sits nearby. The scents of hot dogs, pizza, beer, colognes, perfumes and sweat permeate the air. Everything is so familiar, yet new.

  This isn’t college anymore. It’s not even Texas. I’m battling an impending onset of anxiety because this is Rook’s first game as a pro baller with the Knoxville Dragons in east Tennessee where we both moved several months back when Rook was drafted.

  The arena is charged with anticipation crackling in the air because the game is too close to call. I wonder if everyone else can sense it too. That sizzling spark is the reason I choose to sit in the stands. The chaotic sounds that get your blood pumping and heighten your senses when you have a lot riding on a game. Tonight’s important. I want this for Rook. He’s fucking earned it with as much work as he puts in. At this level, it’s much more physically taxing and he sucks it up every damn day.

  "Noah." Mrs. Oliveira reaches over and squeezes my clammy hand in her dainty one. "Relax and take a deep breath."

  I glance at Rook's mom who sits next to me with Mr. Oliveira at her other side. Her eyes are focused back on the game, but her thin red lips twitch, deepening the laugh lines on her pale face.

  She releases me, and I wipe my palms over my jeans. "I might be just a little nervous."

  Her light golden-brown eyes meet mine, twinkling with amusement as she raises a shaped brow. "I never would have guessed."

  I'm just about to make a smart remark that will likely cause her to withhold my favorite meal when we visit for Christmas next week, when I catch the retort behind locked lips. Her laugh that follows is light as she sweeps dark brown hair behind her ear.

  “Noah.” Rook’s dad has a voice much like Rook’s, but rather than a rasp, his sounds like gravel has been fed down his throat. He waits until I look at him. Sharp green eyes, made brighter by the warm brown shade of his skin, peer back at me. “That boy was born for this. You know him better than anyone. Settle down and enjoy it.”

  “Yes sir,” I reply, but it does nothing to soothe the nervous energy zipping around my body. I focus back on the game, my gaze shifting through the sea of white and purple mixed with black and red, tracking down my favorite player.

  It isn't hard. His dark hair and bronzed skin have always drawn my eyes like magnets. My heart swells with pride and love when I look at him. And if I’m totally honest, a dash of disbelief still exists. Rook is mine. He chose me.

  You might think I'd be used to it after the circus that was March Madness shortly after Rook and I had become a couple. Those crazy weeks of college games were overwhelming as teams were eliminated one by one, watching their hopeful dreams of making it to the final four crash and burn. The media coverage was thicker than ever, and they couldn't seem to get enough of our relationship. So it was impossible for me to forget for even a second that what we had was real.

  But the NBA is on a totally different level. The crowds are larger and wilder. The stakes higher. The media far more invasive. I can only imagine it’ll get worse. But Rook is worth way more than any pains that come with the package of dating a pro athlete.

  My gaze sweeps across the court as shoes squeak across the polished floors, the basketball thudding unheard over the sound of the crowd. A giant player, who makes Rook seem average height, attempts to steal the ball from Garibay, Rook’s teammate. The ball gets loose and the resulting crash of big bodies hitting the floor as they try to recover it is followed by a shrill whistle. Garibay emerges from the group holding his ribs, and I wince at the thought of taking a shot from one of these guys.

  “Nasty elbow,” someone gripes from behind me. “But of course, they don’t call a foul. And this is likely our last possession.”

  There's a sudden frenzy of movement and everyone around us jumps to their feet. I'm alert immediately and on my feet with the rest.

  A battle for the ball is getting heated, and I realize it's because the ball is in Rook's hand. He’s the new guy. Easy pickings, right? They don’t know Rook. He lives and breathes this damn sport, and he never meets a challenge he doesn’t accept. My boyfriend breaks away and charges down the court.

  He pivots, avoiding the last defender, stops on a dime, and it feels like the whole arena holds their breaths as he shoots. The game hangs on this shot, and I want this win for him so much my chest aches.

  Nothing but net. The home crowd erupts. And I clap louder and harder than I ever have before. I'm proud as fuck of him.

  His teammates are on him in seconds as the buzzer echoes in the massive arena. And I wait for it. The moment I know his eyes will meet mine. They always do.

  His whiskey gaze homes in on mine, and it's like the air is sucked straight out of my lungs. I'm grinning like a lunatic. He winks and mouths I love you.

  Mrs. Oliveira shakes my shoulder. "Look, dear, you're on the jumbotron."

  I don't want to look away, but I do and immediately wish I hadn’t. There's my face, gaping like an idiot. Some clever cameraman saw the exchange. My face heats, but I smile through the embarrassment. I like my new intern job, working with an indie film producer behind the scenes and would rather keep my face off of the screen, thank you very much.

  I search for Rook again, but he’s already rushing off in the direction of the locker room with his team.

  “I’ll never get used to that,” I mutter, and I’m met with Rook’s parents’ laughter. “I’m glad you both were able to make it to the game.”

  “We wouldn’t have missed his first game.” His mom beams. “Have you talked about Christmas with Rook? I’m still planning on having you both for Christmas morning, right?”

  I nod. “That’s the plan. Then we’ll head to Kansas the next day to see my mom, brother and his family.”

  “How are Kendra and the new baby?” Rook’s mom’s eyes light
up.

  My nephew is just shy of four weeks old and cute as hell. “Good. But he’s a traitor. Cried when I held him and fell straight asleep in Rook’s arms.”

  Rook’s dad chuckles. “Figures. That boy gave us hell as a baby. Never wanted to sleep, but now”—he waves his hand around the arena—“it makes sense. He just loved the attention.”

  The stands have mostly emptied while we’ve been talking, and finally Mrs. Oliveira stands. “We need to get back on the road. I have so much to do for the holidays. I wish my husband wasn’t afraid of heights so we could just fly, but…”

  “I am not scared of heights,” Mr. Oliveira grunts uncomfortably, and I cough while attempting to hold back a laugh.

  She rolls her eyes. “Let’s go track down this super star boyfriend of yours and say our goodbyes.”

  As I follow behind his parents, my thoughts drift to how everything started. How Rook and I made the leap from best friends to fake boyfriends to more. So much more.

  As much as I hate to think about my asshole ex, sometimes I’m grateful for him. Not him as a person, for sure. But for putting that stupidly perfect idea in Rook’s head. Brad’s only managed to dig himself a deeper grave, last I heard anyway. When he cheated on Andy again, the scorned man went straight to my brother and spilled the beans. Of course, Trevor wasn’t happy, but he’d forgiven me, and Brad was out of the picture. Win-win.

  * * *

  I've barely stepped foot into our downtown loft on the fifteenth floor before Rook slams the door closed and I'm pinned against the exposed white brick wall. The clean scent of him fresh from the shower clings to his skin as he presses his chest flush with mine. The rapid pounding of his heart thumps hard, eyes blazing with heat as he stares at me and groans. "I need you."

  "Oh yeah?” When he leans in to kiss my neck, I moan. “How bad?"

  He growls against the sensitive skin, nipping and sucking. "Fucking desperately. Seeing you in the stands, wearing my jersey…" Rook grunts and shifts his hips, letting me feel through his loose sweats exactly how much he's affected.

  "Where do you want me?" My head spins with ideas of how he’ll fuck me. I want it as bad as he does, especially when one of his hands slides to my ass and squeezes.

  "Bed. Bent over, gripping the headboard and screaming my name. Just like our first time." He thrusts, sliding his hard cock against mine.

  My cock pulses in my jeans as I remember the first time Rook slid inside me, and then proceeded to fuck me senseless. With a firm shove, I push him back enough to slide around him.

  We moved into the new apartment when Rook was signed by the Dragons. It was a big step up from our old place and we had opted for modern black-and-white decor.

  Rook doesn't ask questions as I move through the living room. He knows I'm not going to deny him. I strip my shirt off as I pass by the huge glass windows that overlook a grassy park and head for the black spiral staircase that leads to our bedroom. Judging by the appreciative, raspy noises coming from behind me, he likes what he sees as I take the stairs.

  The first piece of furniture we bought was a simple black iron California King-sized bed, complete with a mattress that was the same brand as the one we’d slept on during our week at the Greenes’ resort.

  After the long day, I let out a sigh of appreciation as I drop onto the massive bed made up with a plush, charcoal gray blanket.

  Wasting no time, Rook whips open the nightstand drawer next to the bed and curses.

  Frowning, I lean over, peeking in the drawer. “What’s wrong?”

  “Left the lube in the shower from this morning.” He grins and drops a kiss to my lips. “Be right back. Don’t move.”

  I roll my eyes and, with a laugh, push him away. I stare at his ass on his way out, admiring the view, and seriously wishing he didn't wear the gray fabric out in public. The way it highlights the shape of his body is for my eyes only.

  My gaze scans the room as I wait impatiently. Against the stark white brick walls, the black-framed posters of my favorite silent films alternate with photographs of basketball idols Rook damn near worships. Propping back on my elbows, I catch sight of the red corner of something sticking from beneath Rook’s pillow. My brows furrow when I realize it’s our rulebook. We haven’t added a rule in more than a month, and it’s mostly kept for sentimental value, normally stacked on a shelf in the closet. Out of curiosity, I slip it free and flip through the pages, grinning at some of the ones we added during the week of my brother’s wedding. We were so blind to what was really happening between us for too long.

  We've filled so many pages that only a few blank sheets are left. I’m about to close it, when I notice a new rule written in Rook’s handwriting. That wasn't there before.

  A thud comes from down the hall that sounds like Rook dropped something in the shower followed by a curse.

  “You okay?” I call out and receive a grunt in reply.

  My gaze drops back to the page.

  Rule number seventy-eight: Marry m

  Frowning, I read the two words again. The hell? Was the second m supposed to be me? My heart somersaults as I consider the possible meaning behind the rule. It doesn't appear finished, so who knows what I'm missing. Surely there is meant to be more to it.

  “You better be naked…” Hearing Rook’s voice, I glance up and see his large frame filling the doorway. He’s grinning, but the smile fades as he notices what I’m holding.

  “What’s this?” My voice shakes as I hold up the notebook.

  He groans and scrubs a hand down his face. “Fuck. Where did you find that?”

  “It was sticking out from under your pillow.”

  He slowly strolls into the room, tosses the lube on the bed and sits down next to me. “I can’t believe I didn’t put it away. You almost busted me last night when you came to bed. I stuffed it under my pillow and guess I forgot.”

  That might have had something to do with me crawling over him and jerking his basketball shorts down so I could suck his cock. But… “Busted you doing what? What is this?”

  He flops back onto the mattress. “This isn’t the way it was supposed to happen.” His eyes narrow in accusation. “You ruined this by the way.”

  My eyebrows shoot high. “I ruined what? Feel free to explain instead of blaming me for something I’m not even aware I’ve done.”

  Rook lifts onto his elbows as he sighs while holding my gaze. “We have reservations tomorrow night. Dinner at Rochelle’s, and I thought… Well, I planned to propose."

  My arms fall limp and the notebook slips onto my lap. I have no idea what to say to that. Rochelle’s is my favorite restaurant; it specializes in pasta, but won me over with their breadsticks. Right now, the food is the last thing on my mind. Rook was going to propose? A swarm of butterflies on steroids take flight in my belly.

  "But the Rulebook," Rook continues as if he hasn’t just blindsided me and left me speechless. "It was supposed to be some cute ass idea to pop the question."

  Finally, I find my voice and whisper, "We're only twenty-three."

  Rook shrugs. "My parents were married at twenty. And before you say it, I know we’ve only been together for a year, okay? But, have we really been together for only a year? It doesn’t feel that way."

  No, it didn’t. I chew on my lip as I stare at him, looking for the moment when I realize it’s a joke. I don’t find it. "Are you sure about this?"

  Rook frowns. "You know, in all the ways I imagined this happening, arguing about it is not what I expected."

  "I’m not arguing." My world is just tilted on its axis a bit.

  "Are you going to answer me?" The gold flecks in his whiskey eyes are sparkling with intensity.

  I clear my throat as emotion clogs my throat. "Was there a question?"

  "Yeah. A pretty important one. You just read it." Rook gives me a look as if I'm dense, and in return, I briefly consider letting him sweat. But he really is sweating I realize as I take in the beaded drops forming at his dark h
airline. I can't do that to him.

  My lips hook up at the sides, and I tap the notebook in my lap. "That’s not a question. You literally wrote a rule that I have to marry you."

  He hums as he scratches his eyebrow. "I guess I did, didn’t I? Well, that makes this a lot easier."

  A wide smile stretches my lips. "Are you fucking serious? You're asking me to marry you?"

  "Yes, I’m serious." He grips my jaw. "Now stop making me fucking nervous and say yes already."

  "It’s cute that you think I might say no." I shake my head.

  "You’re cute." He reaches for my hand, twining our fingers together.

  "Just cute?" I try to pull my hand away and frown at him.

  "Sexy. Hot. Mine." He offers a crooked grin. "Better?"

  I tilt my head as if I'm considering it, but a grin slips free. "Much better."

  His hand wraps around my forearm as he yanks me down. As heavy as I am, he acts as I'm light as a feather as I crash down on top of him. "Then kiss me."

  "You know I would have kissed you anyway, right?" I laugh as I hover above his lips.

  "Not as my fiancé." He responds with equal amusement.

  "Holy shit." The enormity of what had just happened finally overwhelms me, and my smile spreads wider. "We're engaged."

  "That's typically what happens when someone proposes," Rook agrees with one corner of his lips hooking upward.

  I kiss his smart mouth. I never get tired of kissing him. It's the warmth. The feel of home. Comfort and electricity all at once. I pull back just enough to whisper against his lips. "We could do something else for the first time as an engaged couple."

  His eyelids lower, gaze smoldering. "You have such a dirty mind."

  "And you love it." I wrinkle my nose and make a face at him.

  "You have no fucking idea." Every ounce of teasing leaves his voice and his expression. "I love you. You've been my best friend, my fake boyfriend, and my boyfriend. But I want more. I want forever with you."