Fake Fiancée

“As many as possible.” And I thought about you every single time this week.

“Why do you want to put it in our butts?”

My hands flew up in the air. “Who said I did?”

She turned fire-engine red. “Fine. It was just a question—I’ve always wondered.”

Now it was my turn to laugh. “You should see the color of your face right now. For the record, there are plenty of other places I’d like to put it.”

She waved that comment off. “Do you believe in soul mates or love at first sight?”

I tensed. “Yes.”

Her eyes zeroed in on mine. “Seriously? Come on—this is your fake girlfriend. You can tell me the truth.”

“If the universe wants us with one person, I dig it. I believe in fate,” I said.

“Don’t you just think it’s more about who is standing in front of you when the time is right? What if you met your one true love at a party when you were sixteen, but because you went your separate ways for one reason or another, you never see her again? Or maybe the next time you see her, she’s already committed to someone else.”

“I believe that whatever’s meant to be will be.” I toyed with my water glass, feeling self-conscious. “Maybe it’s because I lost my mom early, but I believe a lot of stuff that can’t be explained.

“When she died, I—I was lost. I can barely recall anything I did or said that night. But I feel her with me sometimes. She loved my hair because it was the same color as hers . . .” I laughed. “I’d always been a short hair kind of guy, but now that she’s gone, I wear it long. I dream about her too. I imagine she’s some kind of cool angel in heaven explaining football to all the other angels. They’re all sitting around eating chicken wings and pizza and watching me play on a big screen.” It wasn’t like me to open up about my mom. “I didn’t mean to get so serious. Ask me something funny.”

“I like you when you talk about her. Your face gets all soft.” She sighed. “Anyway, have you met her yet?”

“Who?”

“The girl fate has given you?”

“I plead the fifth.”

“Oh.”

I swept my gaze over her, taking in the V-neck of her gray shirt. It seemed simple enough with its funny logo, but the shoulders had been cut out and some kind of lacey material had been sewn onto the sleeves and hem.

“Did you make your shirt?”

She looked surprised. “How did you know?”

“Honestly, it was just a guess. It doesn’t look like anything I’ve seen. I like it.”

Another nonchalant shrug with a whole lot of meh.

She didn’t even care that I was impressed with her.

I wanted to push her. “It’s obvious you’re a talented girl—but can you kiss me without getting all hot and bothered? Right now.” I had no idea what I was doing or saying. I was acting on pure instinct.

She glanced at the tables next to us and then came back to me. No one paid us any attention. “You want to do another ‘elevator scene’? I thought we agreed on no more kissing.”

I shook my head. “Agreements are made to be broken.”

What the hell was I doing?

“Here?”

“I dare you.”

A hint of steel grew on her face. She’d taken the bait. She stood up, brushed her palms down her tight jeans, and covered the distance between our chairs with two steps.

I stood up to meet her. Her palms touched my chest, those eyes of hers burning a hole through me—or maybe it was the other way around.

Her lips met mine with a soft press and then immediately retreated, but no way was I letting her get out of this. My hand curled around her waist and squeezed. A soft nip, the slide of my hand in her hair . . . and her lips clung to mine.

Yes.

“I guess we should, um, sit down now. People are probably staring,” I murmured as we eased back to take a breath. Honestly, I didn’t give a fuck who was watching. I just didn’t know what to say.

She swallowed, her hands sliding down from where she’d curled them around my neck. She played with a strand of my hair, a soft look on her face. “Yeah.”

But neither of us moved to separate.

In the background someone got up to the microphone to read a poem, bringing us back.

We sat down as the waitress approached our table. Her name was Cyndi, and she’d been flirting with me unabashedly since the moment she’d shown us our seats and taken our order. I also noticed she’d undone a few of the buttons on her white shirt since the last time she’d made a pass by us. “How was the food?” She directed her attention to me.

“Great,” I replied, indicating our empty plates. I glanced back at Sunny. “You want anything else?”

She shook her head.

“We’ll just take the check,” I murmured to Cyndi.

Her red lips slid into a knowing smile. “Are you sure there’s nothing else I can get you?” She giggled.

Okay. This was weird. I focused back on Sunny. “Dessert?”

“No,” she said, her face tight as she took in the waitress.

Cyndi sashayed off.

“You’ve slept with her, haven’t you?” she muttered as soon as Cyndi was out of earshot.

My brows knitted. Where was the sweet girl I’d kissed? “It’s not like I’ve screwed every girl on campus.”

“But she was one of them. There’s probably more than just her in here that you’ve slept with . . .”

My lips flattened. “I did fuck her. Once. But I was single and so was she. Not every guy is like Bart. When I care about someone, it’s all about them—because there’s only a handful of people I’ve ever cared about to begin with. I don’t throw away and squander relationships. My mom taught me to treat women with respect because she never got that from my dad. I don’t lie. If it’s just to get off, they understand what I want. Got it?”

She rubbed her forehead. “I’m sorry. I—I overreacted. It doesn’t matter if you slept with her.” She paused. “You never said what happened to your mom.”

My heart dropped at the memory. “She died of a brain aneurysm the summer before I started college. We were on vacation—in North Carolina actually.”

Her face paled. “You must have been devastated.”

Yeah. It had been a wonder I’d been able to throw a complete pass my freshman year, but somehow I’d channeled all that emotion and feeling into football.

She reached across the table and grasped my hand. My thumb brushed hers, lingering.

Cyndi chose that moment to return with our check, giving me a clear view of her cleavage as she leaned down to give it to me. I ignored her, but Sunny still pulled back. I noticed Cyndi had slipped a piece of paper under the check with her phone number on it, but I pretended like I didn’t see it when I placed cash on top and handed it back. Her eyes darted to Sunny, a spiteful look there.

We gathered our things and headed out the door into the fall evening. We started walking to the parking lot a couple of blocks over, and without even knowing how it happened, we were holding hands again.

“What are you doing tomorrow night?”

Her face split into a grin. “Pulling down swan wallpaper in my bedroom. The former owners of the house had a thing for birds.”

“Nice,” I said. “I’m coming over to help you.”