Fake Fiancée(17)

I hated him. I loved him.

He was the only immediate family I had.

Yet, after my wreck when the police had dragged the lake looking for my body, I’d never volunteered I was alive. Not until I turned eighteen. Mimi had supported me in that decision because she’d seen the marks on my back.

The beginning of my family’s demise had started when my brother had been delivered stillborn. Born five years after me, his grave was in the Blaine family cemetery in Snowden. A framed photo of him had sat on my mother’s nightstand, a tiny boy wrapped in a blue blanket, his lids tightly shut. His name had been Lincoln, and although my parents never discussed him in front of me, I’d hear their hushed voices through the thin walls at night. Most of those conversations would end with my mother crying, the sound muffled as if she pressed her face into a pillow.

Mimi nudged my arm gently. “Forget all that. I’ve told you, and that’s all we have to say about it. Let’s focus on the good news. Tell me about Max. Is he as handsome as he looks on TV?”

I smiled rather absently and rambled off an answer, but my thoughts were scattered somewhere in the mountains of North Carolina, remembering a family that had broken my heart.





Sunny

FOR THE TENTH TIME, I checked my appearance in the small compact in my purse. My hair had been styled until it was straight, my makeup was minimal except for pink lipstick and mascara—but my hands were still shaking.

I was freaking out. I shoved the compact back in my purse and zipped it shut, analyzing why I was so antsy.

Was it being in close proximity to Max again?

Or was it the deception itself?

Both.

It had been five days since our little agreement, and tonight was our first official night out as a couple. Of course it had to be at a place where I wouldn’t know anyone—a football party.

I stood in front of the door—the one I was supposed to be knocking on—and sucked in a sharp breath.

I could turn around and call the Uber to come back and get me.

I could go home, bake some chocolate pie, and draw up some T-shirt designs.

Or . . .

I could go in there like a boss and show these people I was worthy of an Oscar.

Think of the money, Sunny. You need it.

He hadn’t written a check yet, though. I could always back out right now.

No.

I shook my arms and stretched my neck, psyching myself up, prepping for a long night of being Max Kent’s arm candy. Batting my eyelashes and summoning my inner groupie, I stared at the wooden door and practiced. “Hey, baby. I’ve missed you.” I did a delicate finger wave. “I love you, Maxie-Pooh.”

“In the great scheme of things, Maxie-Pooh isn’t that bad. I’ve been called worse,” a deep voice murmured from behind me.

Caught.

Mortification swept over me. I spun around on the sidewalk to see Max and Tate, both clad in jeans and blue Leland shirts that clung to their sculpted chests. They towered over me, one dark with glossy hair that swung around his shoulders and the other slightly smaller with a headful of sandy blond hair.

“Yeah,” Tate said, grinning. “Jock-ass is my favorite, though. I think you’re going to make me laugh a lot, new girlfriend.”

“You can call me Sunny.” I felt the blush rising up my cheeks. “Just so you know, I don’t always talk to myself.”

“Glad to know I’m not dating a loon,” Max replied.

“Nope. Those only pick the lock to your room,” I said smugly.

“You can pick it anytime,” was his quick comeback.

I blushed. Again. “Speaking of crazy, have you found Sierra?”

The grin slipped off his face. “No. I didn’t have a number for her—because I don’t encourage her—but I managed to get it from one of the other players. I texted her but got no reply. She’s not a student here, so I haven’t been able to track down her home address yet.” He rubbed at his temple. “I’m sorry about her. You know, you could have ridden with me tonight instead of insisting on taking an Uber.”

He had texted me earlier in the day to see if I wanted to catch a ride with him, but keeping it professional meant the less time we spent together alone, the better. “I’m fine.”

“At least let me pay for it,” he said.

“No.” He’d already done enough with offering to fix my car if Sierra didn’t pull through. In fact, yesterday he’d called a garage to come pick it up and give him an estimate.

“Is this our first disagreement?” he asked, an amused look on his face.

“First of many, I bet,” Tate murmured just as a cute redhead opened the door and called for Tate to come inside. By the eagerness on her pretty face, I imagined she’d been standing by the window waiting for him to show.

“I’ll catch you two later. My lady awaits.” He gave us a little grin as he brushed past us to the girl waiting on him.

“Is that his girlfriend?”

“For the moment. He flits from girl to girl. Not exactly a paragon for committed relationships.”

I thought about Bart. “Typical.”

He ignored that, his eyes coasting over me and lingering appreciatively. I’d worn a soft pink fuzzy sweater. Ultra feminine and cropped so that it showed a sliver of my stomach, it was something I imagined a girlfriend of his might wear. When I’d worn it around Bart, he’d barely kept his hands to himself in public. It was also itchy as heck.