Fake Fiancée(32)

My stomach flopped around, anxiousness rumbling.

She was going to be angry. I could feel it . . . taste it. Hell, it permeated the air around me.

I shook it off.

Focus on you. What you want.

Sometimes you have to play dirty to get what you want.

An hour later I came out of my room dressed in brown slacks, a pale blue button-down, and a navy blazer. My long hair was everywhere. I wouldn’t put it up until the game. It was typical for the players to dress up before and after game, especially since Sports Center was hosting game day.

Tate checked me out with a critical eye, raking his gaze up and down.

“Irresistible enough for you, Mr. Fashion Critic?” I said and held my hands out.

“It’s missing something . . .” He snapped his finger. “I’ve got it. One word: bowtie.”

“Dude. It’s fine,” I called after him as he jogged to his room.

He came back in the kitchen with a myriad of bowties, most in crazy colors and patterns.

I sent him a look. “Seriously?”

He waved that thought away. “I think this one. Very Renaissance man.”

“Do you think she’ll say no tonight?” I asked, looking down at the one he held up for me. Navy with white checks, it was the least offensive one to my more manly tastes. I took it from him.

He grinned. “No clue, man, but you’re crazy if you don’t hit that—”

My hackles rose. “Ease off.”

“Whatever. I could have her if I wanted. Girls can’t resist me when I pour on the bloody accent.”

“Shut up.” I dug my finger into his shoulder and pushed him against the wall. A picture of the team that a groupie had hung when we moved in fell to the floor and shattered.

He pulled away, brows drawn together. “What the fuck-all? It was a joke.”

I ran both hands through my hair. “Sorry. Just don’t talk that way about her.”

“You’ve been off for a while, mate. Since you met Sunny.” He grabbed a broom and dustpan to clean up the mess. “You’re into this girl.”

My lips tightened, and I pivoted and stalked away from him, landing in the hall in front of the mirror. I popped my collar and adjusted the tie. Tate was wrong, and tonight would prove it. The only thing I was into was football.





Sunny

THE DAY OF THE GAME arrived.

I picked up Mimi in the Land Cruiser and then stopped to grab Isabella before we headed to the stadium. Since Isabella’s ticket was for the student section, she went off to hang out there while Mimi and I took primo seats on the first row near the forty-yard line.

Mimi got settled, crossing her jean-clad legs, and fussed with her lipstick. She glowed with excitement. “Did you get your hair done this week?” I asked, noticing she’d covered the gray that she sometimes got in the part of her hair.

She preened. “It’s not every day you get such great seats. Of course I got my hair did.”

I rolled my eyes.

“Things must be going well between you and Max,” she commented.

“He’s . . . amazing.” He’d given me his car, he’s paid me up front for being his fake girlfriend, and he’d kept his hands to himself. And he’d spent the night with me. It had been incredible.

So why was I feeling anxious?

She sent me a mischievous grin. “Remember, if you want to keep a man, you gotta keep him focused on your assets.”

“Which is?”

“Your brain, dear, your brain. Get your mind out of the gutter.” She gazed around at the crowd with a satisfied grin. “Now point me to where I can get something to wet my whistle. Back in my day, they didn’t sell alcohol at a football game.”

While she waved down the drink vendor, I did a quick outfit check.

The dark blue dress (a Leland color) I’d borrowed was a bit over the top for a game, but I wanted to look good for Max. Isabella had plucked it from her closet, dangled it under my nose, and declared it was the one. Short and tight, it was made from one hundred percent silk and had peek-a-boo cut-outs near the bust and waist that hinted at my pale skin underneath. I finished the look with leopard-print stiletto slingbacks. Isabella’s as well since there never seemed to be time to go shopping.

One thing about having an eye for art is I knew how to apply makeup even though I rarely wore it. Today I’d used a heavy hand. My foundation had perfect contouring, with emphasis on my high cheekbones and straight nose. I’d been told my best feature was my gray eyes, so I’d played them up with hues of blue. Eyeliner created a tasteful wing effect, and I’d filled in dramatic eyebrows. A nude lip-gloss finished it. My long hair had been straightened until it hung in a shiny waterfall down my back, contrasting vividly with the dress. This was my first big public appearance, and I hoped I looked like the kind of girlfriend Max Kent would have. I’d been relieved to see several eyes watching us as we walked down the stadium steps to our section.

Of course they’re probably just wondering who got those fantastic seats.

Dressed in their gray and blue uniforms, our team jogged from the inner part of the stadium, and the home crowd went nuts. Mimi and I jostled to our feet to do the wave along with everyone else.

I watched Max’s number seventeen jersey as he stood on the sideline going over plays with the quarterback coach.