Fake Fiancée(6)

Her eyes flared as she took in every inch of me. Heart-shaped lips parted in surprise. Guess she hadn’t expected a six foot six badass.

“Who are you?” I said curtly. Direct. I had shit to do.

Smoky gray eyes blinked, looking uncertain. A range of emotion skittered across her face, from anger to amazement to complete and utter confusion. “I—I’m your new neighbor. I moved in last week.” Her voice was thin and reedy as if she couldn’t breathe.

Great. Another psycho.

I vaguely recalled a truck backed up to the porch of the sagging house across the street. “Yeah? What’s your problem?” I said, popping a smirk and slipping into my I’m cool mask. I wore it a lot in public. When you’d gotten to the level of success I had, everything you did was open for scrutiny. I played everything as if someone was watching—or I tried to. “Mad because you weren’t invited to our party last night?” I asked, leaning against the doorjamb.

She rubbed her forehead and continued that dazed stare.

Those fucking goosebumps came back.

“Uh, hello?”

She blinked rapidly. Clearing her throat, she shook herself, swallowed, and smiled tightly, seeming to gain her equilibrium. “I don’t really party. It’s the skank I’m here about.”

“Skank?” I asked, rearing back with a frown.

From the doorway, she swept intelligent eyes over me and Tate on the couch. “That’s right. Which one of you has a girlfriend that left here a few minutes ago—who was obviously intoxicated, by the way. She slammed into my car. And if you don’t give me her details, I’m going to notify the police.” A look of urgency came to her face. “But for right now, I’m hoping for a ride to class. It’s really important that I not be late.”

Girlfriend? Neither of us—oh shit . . .

“Didn’t I see Sierra leaving your room?” Tate asked me, scratching his bare chest. “Have to admit, she seemed a wee trashed.”

I cursed, blew out a breath, and slumped against the doorjamb. Tate was the one who encouraged the groupies. He liked them to do his homework, make his bed, wash his car; they were his personal maid service.

Neighbor Girl looked suitably disgusted, a smidge of I should have known it was you on her face. “Nice girlfriend. What are you going to do about her ruining my car, Mr. Quarterback?”

The spitfire knew who I was—which wasn’t surprising.

“She’s not my girlfriend. No doubt, she’d love for me to be her baby-daddy—”

She held a hand up. “It’s a bit early to get squeamish.”

Tate snorted in the background.

“She broke into my room,” I huffed. “I woke up and there she was all bare-assed and ready, but nothing happened.”

“I bet,” she muttered.

Why was I explaining this to her?

I rubbed my scruff. Most girls would be tripping over themselves to ingratiate themselves with me. Trust me, it gets old fast when you don’t know if a girl likes you for you or if she just wants to be with you for the money and fame that’s sure to be part of your future.

I should have been more upset at her throwing a kink in my day, but for some reason I was more amused than chagrined. Perhaps it was the Hello Kitty Band-Aid on her toe. My lips twitched. “You’re kinda prickly, aren’t you?” And pretty.

“Not usually.”

“Then it’s just me?”

“Just you, Quarterback.”

I was stumped. Here was a girl who couldn’t stand the sight of me, and I had no clue why—well, except her car was ruined. Still. It was an odd experience to have a member of the opposite sex disliking me on sight. “Look—”

Tate let out a groan and pushed himself up to standing. “You’re both ruining a perfectly good hangover with all this bloody banter.” He grinned. “I’ll run you to class, love. Just give me a sec to put on my trousers.”

What the hell? He didn’t have a class until noon. Why would he—

Oh, I got what was going on. I saw that glint in his eyes as he checked her out. He thought Neighbor Girl was hot. Dude had more notches on his bedpost than he could count.

I waved him away. “Take a seat. You’re probably still loaded.” Turning back to her, I said, “Sierra really did that much damage?”

She nudged her head toward the street. “See for yourself. I can’t open the door, much less drive it.”

I stepped out to the porch and considered the vehicle in question, a late model Toyota sedan with a smashed driver’s side door. The window had burst, and glass glittered in the road. Gouges raked down the entire length of the vehicle. I whistled.

What the hell had Sierra been thinking?

How had I not heard that from inside the house?

Probably because I was in the shower with the music cranked up.

I walked back in and took a more appraising look at Neighbor Girl, and she stiffened. She acted tough, but it was just that, an act, judging by the lip biting and twitchy hands that kept plucking at her backpack. She was oddly nervous.

“It’s pretty bad, but I don’t think it’s totaled. Just cosmetic,” I said as I tried to find something positive to say about her poor car. I didn’t know Sierra well, but I’d seen her at practice before, usually pulling away in a sleek little convertible. I didn’t even think she was a student here. I exhaled. Shit, shit, shit. I was responsible for this. I should have noticed she was still drunk. “Let me find Sierra later today and I’ll ask her to call you.”