Fake Fiancée(7)

“And if that doesn’t work out?” She crossed her arms.

“Then I’ll take care of your car. Somehow.” Was I seriously going to cough up the money to pay for this girl’s car to be repaired if Sierra didn’t come through?

Her brows knitted, surprise on her face. “Wait, that’s too much. I didn’t mean for you to pay for my car. I just came over to find out her name—and maybe bitch a little because it’s a big day for me and now everything is falling apart. But you didn’t hit it; the lunatic did. The police can deal with her—”

“I’ll do whatever needs to be done.” Which really meant I didn’t want the cops sniffing around here. Girlfriend of Max Kent Involved in Hit and Run would be the headlines whether it was true or not. The media would run with it and Coach Williams would flip his lid. No thanks. I rubbed my forehead. “Damn groupies. I wish they’d leave me the hell alone.”

She mulled that over, her nose scrunching up. “So you really didn’t have sex with her.”

“Swear. She’s been with half the team. I wouldn’t touch that with a ten-foot pole.”

“He hates easy tail,” Tate chimed in from the couch. He propped his feet up on the coffee table, watching us with interest. He indicated me with a nod, like we were members of some Hot Guy Club. “He’s an alpha, love—like me. We like to work for it. I’d work for you.” His gaze roamed over Neighbor Girl lazily, with an intent that was so obvious I half-expected porn music to play in the background.

Seriously? I gave him a look that said back off.

Wait. Why did I care?

I glanced back at Neighbor Girl, and the earlier palpable tension between us had eased somewhat although I could tell the jury was still out on if we were going to end this on a happy note. A grimace crossed her face as she checked the time on her phone. “Okay, we can deal with this later. I have to go.”

Thank you, baby Jesus.

She played with the bottom of her shirt.

We just stood there. Staring.

The air around us thickened, becoming charged with electricity.

Sometimes in the middle of a normal day, a life-changing choice is thrown in front of you. Right then, you’re one decision away from a completely different existence. You decide your future even though you aren’t even aware you’re doing it. Your choice might result in finding love or death or winning the fucking lottery—you don’t know.

Was it like that with this chick at my doorstep?

Losing my mom made me think about that kind of shit all the time. One minute she’d been there—and then she’d been gone.

“I really need a ride to class,” she said, pulling me back. She gave me a sheepish look. “I have Whitt first thing and he’s a jerk.”

Oh, right.

I cleared my throat and focused. “Sure, I can get you to class. And thank you for coming to me before you called the police.” I tilted my head. “Maybe this little incident brought us together for a reason.”

“Like what?”

“Like we should go out,” I said, my voice growing husky. “I can make it up to you.”

She flushed. “You mean like have sex with me? I’d rather have a car.”

My lips twitched. Again.

“I don’t hang out with jocks,” she added. “It’s a rule. Nothing personal.”

I shrugged. “I’m an athlete—not a jock. Big difference.”

“Not to me, Quarterback,” she said curtly.

I grinned. Her snippiness didn’t faze me. It amped me up like I was staring down a blitz and had to throw a Hail Mary to win the game.

I took a step back and snatched up my backpack off the floor. I slung a casual arm around her shoulders, much like I would any girl I was friends with.

“What are you doing?” she asked, giving my arm a bewildered glance. I noticed she didn’t pull away though.

“We’re leaving. Let’s get you to Whitt’s class. I’m assuming that’s Anatomy and Physiology?”

She nodded.

“I’m in the same class.” I grinned, broader this time. “Coincidence or destiny?”

Her mouth parted, a puff of air escaping as she stared up at me.

And what did I do? I stared right back at her, feeling a whole lot of déjà vu.

Her body brushed against mine, and I caught a whiff of her scent . . . vanilla with a hint of lemon. It was different. Fresh. Sweet.

I glanced down at her full pink lips, wondering how they’d feel pressed against mine.

Fuck no. Forget that.

Focus on football.

Right. No hooking up with Neighbor Girl. The season had just begun, and I didn’t need a girl mucking up my year. Been there. Done that.

I tweaked the tiny line of freckles across her nose. “Hope you like listening to Snoop Dog, Blondie.”





Sunny

BLONDIE?

Please. Kill me now.

How easy did he think I was? Let’s go out. I’ll make it up to you. Yeah, right. He wanted to bone me and then kick back and watch me do the walk of shame . . . not going to happen.

I wouldn’t be the next girl stumbling around in his azalea bushes.

Yet, I couldn’t deny the absolute pure truth between us.

Ignore that, I told myself. So I did. I slammed the door on those feelings, stuffing them in the part of my brain that kept anything with the power to hurt me locked up tight.