Fake Fiancée(15)

“Why?” Her brow wrinkled.

“I don’t know. Maybe it’s because you’ve got guts enough to stand up to me.” I carried on, rushing through the words, making it sound easy. “There’d be minimal obligations—of course. We’d have to be a couple in public—maybe attend some frat parties together or have lunch at the Student Center. Nothing crazy.”

She frowned. “I don’t get out much. I bake cookies and watch sitcoms. I’m nothing like Bianca. I can’t be all girly and stuff.”

“I don’t want to be with anyone like her,” I said rather sharply. “It’s football season anyway. I go to class, train, and play. I’ll be gone some weekends for the away games. We can keep appearances to a minimum. Besides, the less people see us, the less likely they’d know we’re fake.” I shrugged. “Just, if we do this, don’t fall in love with me. I don’t want anything serious.”

“Trust me,” she said with steel in her voice, “that won’t happen.”

“Good.”

“Good.”

My lips curved up at her snippy tone. “So what’s the answer?”

She pursed her lips and thought. “Five thousand—and it’s just girlfriend. None of this fiancée stuff. It sounds complicated—class was already a mess with Bart—plus I don’t want to lie to my grandmother.”

Why did I feel disappointed?

Not at the money part, but the fact that I couldn’t get a bigger commitment out of her.

Whatever. Take what you can get.

“Fine. Girlfriend it is, then.”

She sent me a nod, her face set as if she’d made up her mind. “It’s a deal. You’ve got yourself a fake girlfriend until December.”

I sent her a smooth smile as we shook hands, not impervious to the zing when we touched. I was attracted to her—obviously—but I was determined to not ruin a good thing.

No groupies.

No Bianca.

No drama.

Just the Heisman and my future in the NFL.

We talked a bit more as we walked down the stairs, our steps in sync as we came out the metal door to the lobby. I felt good about this. Confident. Sunny would be perfect for the outsiders looking in. She wasn’t a rich girl. Hell, she worked. She didn’t have a volatile temper like Bianca, and she was nice, except for when she was being prickly, but my gut knew that was her defense to protect herself from jerks like me.

She was on her way to another class, and I had one on the other side of campus, so we parted ways. Before I thought too hard about it, I brushed my lips against her cheek before she walked away. Why not? It’s what a boyfriend would do and looked good if anyone was paying attention.

She accepted the touch and then walked away from me in those tight yoga pants. Her ass was perfectly round and the way she swiveled her hips with just the right amount of sass . . .

I thought back to that off the charts kiss in the elevator.

It was going to be tough to keep things between us platonic.

You have to, Max.

I pivoted and headed to my next class, willing myself to focus on football. I was going to ignore the odd connection I felt with her. It was for the best anyway. I couldn’t get attached to her. My entire career depended on it.





Sunny

A FEW HOURS LATER, I’D finished two more classes and walked home. Hot and sweaty from the four blocks, I was grouchy and a bit off kilter from the thing with Max.

I set my books down on the rickety kitchen table, grabbed a soda from the fridge, and sat down to play back my morning.

For some insane reason, I’d agreed to be his girlfriend.

I hadn’t been able to tell him no.

Why did he have to be so damn irresistible?

The entire time he’d been talking to me in that stairwell part of me was trying to keep my eyes off his flawless face, another part of me was trying to convince myself to run like hell, but it was the money-hungry part of me that won the battle. I could cut back on my hours at the library. I could check in on Mimi more. Heck, I could study. I might even be able to save some of it for after graduation.

If he wanted to throw it away, who was I to say no?

You don’t really know him, Sunny!

Did I need to?

It’s not like he and I would be emotionally involved. He’d made it clear he wasn’t looking for a real relationship.

And asking me to be his fake fiancée? He certainly knew how to get my attention, but I had my limits to deception—mostly because of my grandmother. Mimi was all I had as far as family and lying to her made me feel ill. It was going to be hard enough when I told her I had a boyfriend. I couldn’t tell her he was fake. She’d be equal parts disappointed in me for debasing myself for money and hurt that she couldn’t provide more for me.

Forcing thoughts of Max back in that locked box, I went outside, kicked my broken car in frustration, and called an Uber to take me to Mimi’s. I saw her every Monday afternoon before work, and a ruined car wasn’t going to stop me.

I arrived at her assisted living apartment complex and walked to the back where the pool and hot tub were. She waved me over from a patio table, shoulder-length dyed blond hair blowing in the wind. At sixty-five, she was spry and had piercing gray eyes that could cut right through you. Laser eyeballs, I called them. The residents vied for her attention, and according to her, she’d had “relations” with several of the single men.