One Week Girlfriend (Drew + Fable #1)(2)

“Sex.” She spits the word out, her green eyes narrowed, her pale blonde hair glowing bright from the shine of the streetlight we’re standing under. “Look, my feet are killing me and I’m exhausted. You chose the wrong night to think you can get with me.”

I’m totally confused. She’s talking like she’s some sort of paid prostitute and I’m hoping to get a quickie blowjob in an alley or something.

Drinking in her features, my gaze settles on her mouth. She has a great one. Full, sexy lips, she could probably give a most excellent blowjob if I’m being honest with myself, but that’s not why I’m here.

Makes me wonder exactly how many of my fellow teammates have got with her. I mean, the only reason I’m talking to her is because of that reputation she mentioned. But I’m not trying to buy her off for sex.

I’m trying to buy her off for protection.

Fable [noun]: a story not founded on fact; an untruth; falsehood.

Campus golden boy Drew Callahan is holding onto me like he’s never going to let go and he makes me nervous. He’s huge, well over six feet and with shoulders as broad as a mountain. Considering he plays football, that’s no surprise, right? And I’ve made out with a few of the guys from his team. They’re all pretty muscly and big.

But not a one of them makes my heart race just by grabbing my arm. I don’t like how I react to him. I don’t usually react to anyone.

With all the strength I can muster, I tug out of his grip and step away from him gaining some much needed distance. A sort of pleading light flickers in his eyes and I part my lips, ready to tell him to f**k off when he beats me to the punch.

“I need your help.”

Frowning, I rest my hands on my hips. Which is sort of hard considering the stupid bulky coat I’m wearing. It’s cold outside and the flimsy skirt I wear for work is allowing a major draft to coast up my legs. Thank God for wool tights, though I know my boss hates them. He says they’re not very sexy.

I could give a crap about what he says when it comes to what’s sexy. My tips are still good. I have over one hundred dollars in my purse from tonight. It’s already spent though.

My money is always spent before I actually get it in my hands.

“Why do you need my help?” I ask.

He glances around, as if afraid someone might see us. No surprise. Most guys don’t want to be seen with me in public.

Sometimes it really sucks, being the campus slut. Especially when I don’t even go to that stupid university.

“Maybe we could go somewhere and talk,” he suggests with a slight smile. I’m sure most girls would melt at first sight of that smile, the beguiling look on his face. It’s a beautiful face and he knows it, with those dark eyebrows that match his brown hair and the striking blue eyes.

But I’m not most girls. I don’t fall for a bunch of crap. “I’m not going anywhere with you to talk. If you have something to say, you can do it right here. Be quick with it too, because I need to go home.” I’m pretty sure my mom isn’t there and my little brother is all alone.

Not good.

He blows out a harsh breath, sounding all irritated. I don’t care. Whatever he has to say can’t be something I’d consider. I’m too curious though, so I need to know. Just so I can savor it later.

Drew Callahan does not talk to girls like me. I’m a local. A townie. He’s the quarterback of our winning university football team. He’s like a superstar, larger than life, with fans and everything. He has NFL aspirations for the love of God.

I work a shitty job and can barely make ends meet. My mom is an alcoholic who sleeps around and my little brother is starting to get into trouble at school. Our worlds are such total opposites I don’t have a clue why he would want to talk to me.

“Thanksgiving break is next week,” he starts out and I roll my eyes.

Duh. I’m extra thankful for it too. Means everyone will vacate this town and the bar will be virtually empty, making work a breeze. “Go on.”

“I have to go back home.” He pauses, his gaze cutting away from mine and uneasiness slips down my spine. I have no idea what this has to do with me. “I want you to go with me.”

Okay. That I didn’t expect. “What? Why?”

His gaze meets mine once more. “I want you to pretend to be my girlfriend for a week.”

I gape at him. I feel like a dying fish. Closing my lips, opening them. As if I’m gasping for my last breath, which I sorta feel like I’m doing. “You’re kidding.”

He slowly shakes his head. “I’m not.”

“Why me?”

“I…” He shakes his head and clamps his lips shut, as if he doesn’t want to tell me. “I’ll pay you.”

I cross my arms in front of my chest. They’re elevated from the stupid puffy jacket. I hate it so much but it’s the warmest coat I own. I bet I look like a blimp. “I’m not for sale.”

“Listen, I don’t want to pay you for anything—sexual.” His voice drops an octave and chills scatter all over my skin. The way he said that was sexy, though he didn’t mean to be. “I just need you to pretend to be my girlfriend. We won’t have to share a room or anything like that. I’m not going to try and get in your pants, but we’ll have to look like we’re together, you know what I mean?”