by Lana Baker
“Rose.”
I don’t look in his eyes, but I can tell from his voice that he’s hurt by my words.
Professional. I argued and protested that I wasn’t a hooker, but what am I doing now? I’m being paid a lot of money to pretend to be in a relationship with this man. Not only that, but I’m being paid to lie. I swore I’d never do that.
I walk silently to the floor-to-ceiling window. It looks out on the backyard. Jackson showed me pictures of the property, but they really didn’t do it justice. The yard is the size of a city park. It’s fully enclosed; a little boy’s dream—pond, trampoline, lots of grass to run around on. Compared to the miserable gray square of concrete that counted for outdoor space in our apartment building, this is a world away.
I swallow. All I want is a better life for my boy.
“Professional,” I repeat, more determined this time.
We’re so close to finding a way out. I just have to make sure I don’t allow Jake to distract me from my end goal.
Jake
I look her up and down in disbelief. “You’re going to have to work a lot harder than that if you want to stop me from being attracted to you.”
It’s true. She’s dressed in baggy sweats with her hair scraped back off her face. If her intention was to look like crap, then it’s not working. Her sweats don’t hide those curves—nothing could.
She bristles.
“I know, I know. Professional.” I sigh.
She shrugs.
“Is he asleep?”
She shakes her head. “No. It usually takes him a long time, but I think he’ll be asleep soon. He’s not used to this much excitement in one day. The poor guy’s exhausted.”
I smile. There’s so much of her in him that I can’t help but genuinely like the kid.
“I figure if we’re going to be living together for six months, then we might as well get to know each other. He’s got a good throw.”
Her eyes grow sad. “Don’t do that,” she whispers. “I don’t want you to get close to him and then abandon him when these six months are up.”
That cuts. “Who says I’ll do a thing like that? Jesus, Rose. I’m not an asshole.”
“Yeah, well,” she shrugs and shakes her head. “Wouldn’t be the first time something like that happened.”
I don’t know how to respond. I never claimed to be a nice guy, but I also don’t understand guys who just ignore their responsibilities. And then an image of Darla crops into my head and I want to roll my eyes at my own smugness. I know exactly how easy it is to ignore something that’s too difficult to deal with.
When I look up, she’s watching me with an expression that says ‘see? You know exactly what I’m talking about’. I shrug. What do I know about kids? For all I know, she’s right—I’ll grow tired of the kid after we’re done playing happy families for a day or two.
“Maybe you’re right,” I say shrugging. “At least he knows what the deal is. I was surprised you told him.”
Her face turns to pure ice. “Of course I told him. You think I’d bring him here and let him pretend this was some dumb happy ever after?”
I wince. “You don’t have to make it sound so crazy. It happens all the time.”
She stares at me for a couple of moments. “I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just… I try to be honest with him. He’s a good kid. He deserves the truth, not some bullshit story.”
“Can he handle it, though?” It’s been bugging me since I found out he knew. Coach and Charlie don’t seem to have a problem with it, but that doesn’t make me relax. If the truth comes out, they’ll deny knowing a thing about this, and Rose and me will be left to pick up the pieces. I’ll end up playing for some minor team while working day shifts at McDonalds to try and pay off my debts before I turn eighty.
She glares at me. “Of course. He knows that when I tell him to keep something to himself that means he can’t tell anybody at school.”
“I thought you hated lying.”
She squares up to me like I’ve challenged her. Oh god, the things this woman does to me. I’ve never met anybody like her. Sparks fly when we’re together—I’d like it to be more sexual than angry, but I’ll take what I can get. “This isn’t lying. I never asked him to lie. I told him to keep the truth to himself. They’re eight-year-old boys. Nobody’s going to quiz him about the authenticity of our relationship.”
I can’t help feeling skeptical. “Rose, the kid just moved into a mansion with a Grizzlies wide receiver. This is kind of a… special situation.”
Her eyes narrow.
“Look, all I’m saying is that the other kids are gonna want to talk about this.”
“What because you’re such a hotshot?”
I shrug. “I never said I was a hotshot. But I’m a wide receiver for the Grizzlies. You may not have heard of me, but that puts you in the minority around here.”
“A little arrogant, don’t you think?”
I stare at her. She drives me fucking crazy, this pint-sized whirlwind. All I want to do is pick her up and carry her back to my bed.
“Not arrogant. Just speaking the truth.” I take a step closer. I’m painfully aware of the way her eyes wide when I invade her space. “Now, if I wanted to be arrogant, I’d tell you all about what I can do in the bedroom, not on the field.”
Her breath hitches.
I don’t move any closer, but I bend my head so our faces are only inches apart. “Or I’d tell you that what I said about having a massive prick? Well, I didn’t make that up, Rose.”
“Jake,” she murmurs, eyes glued to mine.
I tilt my head to one side. It doesn’t take a genius to see that she’s thinking furiously behind those baby blues. Why can’t she stop thinking and just give in to this thing between us? I open my mouth to tell her to go with it; to let nature take its course. I want to tell her that we’ll be married; that we may as well try to make it work. That I’m truly sorry I lied; I only did it because I’m sick of people using me for the money they think I have.
But I don’t say any of those things. Why? Well, how can I? The lie I’ve already told her is nothing compared to the secret I’m hiding from all of them. I’m not gonna stand here and tell her I’ll be straight up with her from now on, even though I’d give anything to have her in my arms.
“Rose,” I grunt, looking away. It’s hard to focus when she’s right there, looking so damn good.
“Yeah?” She steps closer.
I consider telling her everything. It seems so easy. She’s a smart woman—I’m sure she could help me figure it out. But part of me knows it’s not that simple. I can’t involve her like that. If I do, there’s a risk that the press might take it and run; make her look like some controlling bitch who stage-managed the whole thing.
I won’t do that to her. She thinks she’s seen my life; the fame and the money? She has no idea. She will soon, but I’m willing to bet that Coach’s staff will do their best to turn her into a media darling. I’m fine with that. But I won’t let the press tear her apart—not when it’s my problem.
I exhale. Am I an asshole for wanting to tell her exactly what she wants to hear so I can drag her back to my bedroom in the guest house? Because that’s all I want to do.
She stands there, watching me expectantly. She wants this as much as I do, my gut tells me.
Just do it.
Say something smooth.
But I can’t.
I close my eyes and turn away, telling myself that someday in the future when all this has passed, we might get a shot.
“I’m gonna go to the store. Get some protein powder. Who knows when they’ll show with the food delivery.”
Her face flickers with disappointment. Trust me, I know how that feels.
Chapter Thirteen
Rose
A loud shriek pulls me to the window. At first, my heart pounds in case Sam is hurt. It’s been my biggest fear ever since he was old enough to play sports, or climb trees, or all of
the other dangerous things he likes to do.
Instead of sprawling on the ground with a broken bone, though, my son looks like he’s having the time of his life. He’s standing in the middle of the garden, football in the air ready to throw as Jake sprints across the grass.
Living with Jake has been easier than I thought it would be. Well, in a sense. He’s been polite, considerate, respectful. He picks up dinner most evenings on the way back from practice. Every evening, he spends at least an hour outside with Jake working on his game. He leans against the kitchen bench and chats to me while I do the dishes.
It’s blissful.
And it’s torture.
I don’t know what happened between us, but it’s like he’s completely pulled away. That first night, I was sure something was going to happen between us. Not just that, I actively wanted it to, even after everything I said about being professional. And I thought he did too.
I wrap my arms around myself and watch them, racing around the spacious garden like they’ve known each other all of their lives.
I was worried about Sam when I came here, but maybe I should have been worried about myself. Because the more time I spend with Jake, the more I want him. And I can’t think of a good reason why we shouldn’t be together.
Okay, he lied. But now that I’ve spent time with him, I’ve been able to see the guy underneath the hard body and smart mouth. He sings to himself when he’s cooking six eggs omelets for breakfast. He makes mouthwatering chili. He talks himself down, yet he knows more than me about any subject you’d choose to quiz him on.
I told him he was arrogant, but now I see he isn’t. He’s just… honest. Which is funny, given how I thought he was a liar at the beginning. He’s a kickass football player. And he knows it. But he’s not arrogant about it. He doesn’t expect us to worship the ground he walks on because of it.
I lean my head against the cool window pane.
I can’t deny it any longer.
I’m crushing so hard on Jake Thorne that all thoughts of acting professionally have evaporated. I don’t know if I can do this. I’ve got five and a half months left—I need to do this for the life-changing sum of money that will set Sam and me up for life. I will do it. But I have a feeling that my heart’s going to be a shattered little shell by the end of all this.
Just then, Jake turns and stares back up at the house. It seems like it happens in slow motion. His grin widens and he raises a huge hand to wave up at me. My stomach erupts with butterflies. My breath quickens. My core contracts with longing for a body that I’ve dreamed of every night since we met, but that I’ve yet to experience in real life.
I’m frozen. I tell myself to stop acting like a weirdo; to wave back. But I can’t. I’m stuck there, staring down at him like I’m watching a movie. He’s the most breathtakingly beautiful man I’ve ever seen in my life.
And at one point he wanted me.
“What’s up with you?” Jake asks, bounding into the kitchen and pushing back his dark hair.
I look up from the falafel I’m trying to mix. “Um, nothing.”
“You looked like you’d seen a ghost out there. What are you making?”
“Falafel,” I say, trying to remain calm as he hoists himself up on the countertop beside me. He’s still wearing his standard issue Grizzlies shorts. I have to force my eyes to focus elsewhere.
I can’t help but think that whoever designed those shorts knew exactly what they were doing. I’m so occupied by not looking at him that I don’t realize I’ve pulled the bowl so close to the edge. I jerk my hand and the whole thing drops to the floor.
“Damn it,” I hiss, crouching to clean it up at the exact same moment he jumps off the bench to help me.
We both seem to notice this at the same time. I tilt my head and find myself staring into his hazel eyes. They seem darker somehow. I shiver, wondering if that’s my imagination at work.
“You don’t like falafel, then?” he says, eyebrow quirking. The corners of his mouth twitch and I wonder if he knows just what kind of effect that rasping voice has on my body.
“I like it just fine. I was distracted, is all.”
His eyes widen a fraction and his gaze moves over me, scrutinizing every inch of me it seems.
“By?”
I exhale sharply. He’s not making this any easier. And I wouldn’t want it any other way. I haven’t felt this way since high school. I’ve tried to make myself feel that same sweet anticipation, but it has always seemed so false since then—real-life encounters so disappointing now that they’re no longer forbidden.
There’s nothing false about this.
“I think you know,” I whisper.
His eyes are a perfect storm of conflict. Who knows what he’s thinking—all I can tell is there’s a lot going on in there.
For once I don’t care. I can’t see past the prize anymore. I want him. I don’t care if it’s for tonight or this week. I can’t wait anymore.
“Where’s Sam?” It’s a struggle to spit the words out; my heart is hammering so hard in my chest.
He shrugs. “Said he wanted to work on his weak arm some more.”
“You get tired?” I tease.
Jake shakes his head and clamps two huge hands around my shoulders. I feel safe. Enclosed. I don’t know how he has the power to make me feel like this, he just does.
“Nope.”
“What then?”
He pulls me to my feet and I accidentally step on some of the mess.
“I should clean that,” I murmur, making no move to wriggle out of his grip.
He grabs a dishtowel from the countertop and throws it over the mess. “There. That should keep it safe for the time being.”
He takes my hand and pulls me in the direction of the guesthouse. I follow, spellbound. I’ve never been inside. Jake hangs out with us most nights, but I’ve never entered the smaller space of the guesthouse. His thumb caresses the web between my thumb and forefinger. That simple movement is like a drug: relaxing me; lulling me into a little tiny world where it’s just me and him.
He opens the door that separates his part of the mansion from mine and all my senses are heightened. Is that cologne I smell? A gift from an old girlfriend? Or something he buys for himself. I stare up at his messy hair. His eyes shine with an intensity that I’m sure is reflected in my own.
And then reality comes crashing down around us with the sound of a slamming door and a little voice that demands attention right away.
“What’s going on in here? What’s this stuff on the floor?”
I pull my hand away.
The spell is broken.
Jake smiles ruefully and walks through to the guest house. I know it’s probably for the best, but I can’t help but feel disappointed.
Chapter Fourteen
Jake
Damn it, I’m late for practice and I forgot to grab my KT tape from the car last night. I don’t want the guys to see me put it on in the locker room—it’s not exactly a good omen that my left quad is niggling before the season’s even begun. I rush into the bathroom and grab a towel, wrapping it around my waist. It’s not a good idea to be late for practice. The cat-calls from the other players is one thing, but there’s also the fact that the coaching staff have the authority to fine us several thousand dollars if we don’t show up on time.
I don’t know how exactly I got into this position. People assume I’m rich beyond my wildest dreams, but the truth is I live on handouts from the club. Rose isn’t the only one who’ll benefit financially from this arrangement. If I don’t go along with it, I’ll never be able to build a future for myself.
I have nobody to blame but myself. It was stupid, really. I know nothing about finance, but I still should have known better. Maybe it was the fact that the adviser had gone to private school with one of my teammates that made me trust him. Plus he worked for a huge global company. He seemed like a hotshot. He told me all about the millionaires and billionaires he invested for.
He told me that only idiots let money sit in their checking account. Told me I should have my money working for me. By the time he said he’d be able to double it if not triple it, I was practically throwing him my credit cards.
That was dumb, as it turned out. I didn’t even realize there was anything wrong. I’d get these official-looking statements showing my balance. I barely looked at it—I’d see the little graphs in the top corner that showed me how much I’d gained on my investments. Now, I know it’s easy as shit to make that stuff up on a computer.
I only found out the truth one day when I got a call from the feds. They’d raided his office and found my details on a list of his clients. By that point, there was no money left to salvage. Not only was I left with nothing, but I’d also borrowed heavily—that hadn’t been a problem. I was a pro-football rookie, after all. The banks were only too willing to throw money at me, based on my future earnings.
I’m still paying it off, bit by bit. Some of the people I owed money to tried to bankrupt me, but the club stepped in. They worked out an agreement where my salary would go straight to them. I wouldn’t even see it. In return, they’d settle my debts; stave off the bankruptcy. They paid my legal fees out of pocket. I thought it was the team looking out for their own. Now I know they just wanted to keep the story out of the papers.
“Fuck,” I hiss into the mirror. Now is not the time to stand around thinking about the mistakes I’ve made in my life. If I did that, I’d need to stand here for hours.
I rush through the guesthouse and into the main house. It’s quiet. I assume Sam and Rose have left for the day. I dash through the living room toward the front door, focused only on making it to the facility on time. I’m so focused, in fact, that I don’t see Rose coming out of the kitchen. She doesn’t see me either, apparently, because I walk straight into her and send her crashing to the ground.