“You’re insane.”
“Insanely genius,” Clay argued, resting his elbows on the table between us as he leaned toward me even more. It was almost comical, how massive his arms were compared to the tiny table, which wobbled precariously on its thin legs as it took his weight.
“I… it’s just… absurd.”
I pushed my glasses up the bridge of my nose, cold fingertips brushing my hot cheeks as I uncrossed my legs just to cross them the other way. I then crossed my arms over my chest, all body language pointing to how uncomfortable I was with this conversation and the proposal in it.
I was here to coach Clay Johnson how to be better with the media after his breakup — which had thus far been agonizing not only for him, but for the entire team.
I was not here for him to tease me about my crush on Shawn Stetson, or to con me into some ridiculous fake relationship to get his attention.
The fact that he’d even picked up on my crush was embarrassing enough. Here I thought I’d always been good at hiding it — mostly because, to Shawn, at least, I was invisible. Ever since the first time I heard him play last semester, I’d all but stalked him, listening to him play on campus any time I had the chance.
I blamed my fascination with him on one of my favorite books — Thoughtless.
S.C. Stephens made me fall in love with Kellan Kyle, and when I’d finished that book and been completely lost, in the worst book funk of my life, unable to function… I’d stumbled into Rum & Roasters.
And there he was, Shawn Stetson, broody and mysterious and dark and handsome.
“Look, G,” Clay said.
“Giana,” I corrected.
“Would you rather I call you Kitten again?”
My eyes were mere slits as he smirked at his own cute joke.
“I’m a guy, and as a guy, I know what guys want. At least — most, straight, sane guys. And I’m telling you. That guy?” He pointed a finger at where Shawn was playing his set on stage, the bar dim in comparison to where a soft spotlight illuminated him. “He wants a woman of mystery, one who can be his muse, who will be a little hard to get, a little out of his league.”
My eyes nearly bulged out of my skull before I covered Clay’s gargantuan finger with both my hands and shoved it down, quickly glancing at Shawn to make sure he hadn’t seen.
“I can have him eating out of the palm of your hand by Thanksgiving.”
My cheeks were so hot, I was worried they’d singe my hair as it fell over my face. “What makes you think I’d want that?”
Clay just cocked a brow.
Okay, so I’m about as easy to read as a billboard right now.
I chewed the inside of my lip, glancing at Shawn and then back at Clay before I lowered my voice to a whisper. “He barely knows I exist.”
“Another thing I can help with,” he said, sweeping a large hand over himself. “Do you think anyone on this campus could ignore the girl who has Clay Johnson’s attention?”
I rolled my eyes at the cocky insinuation, but couldn’t argue against his point.
It was true.
That massive hunk of muscle and those piercing green eyes had been off the market since Clay walked onto North Boston University’s campus — much to every girl’s dismay. And while he’d been a miserable prick since he and Maliyah broke up, the groupies that followed the team around like flies were begging for even a taste of his affection.
Still…
“He’s a musician,” I pointed out, folding my arms. “He probably couldn’t care less about football.”
And the universe loved to play jokes on me, because at that exact moment, Shawn finished the song he’d been playing, and after strumming his guitar a few times, he spoke right into the mic and said, “Ladies and gentlemen, we have a celebrity here with us tonight. Clay Johnson, NBU’s best safety and a shoe-in for the NFL. Make sure to get your autographs while you can.”
Clay held up a hand in a humble wave as every pair of eyes shot toward us. I ducked and tried to hide my face as Clay ate every second up, throwing a seductive smirk and a wink at a particular table of girls. They quietly whispered to one another with their eyes sweeping over Clay, their smiles eager, all nudging one another like they were picking straws over who would try to talk to him first. I rolled my eyes when one of them not-so-subtly took a video of him on her phone.
“Any requests, man?” Shawn asked next, and the fact that he was talking to Clay and Clay was at my table was about as close as I’d ever been to being in the same universe as my crush.
Clay eyed me with that damn smirk still securely in place. “How about ‘Just Say Yes’ by Snow Patrol?”
I rolled my eyes again, and as Shawn began to play, Clay leaned in even closer.
“Are you out of arguments yet?”
I sighed. “So, let me get this straight. We would be in a fake relationship, in which you, hypothetically, would help me get Shawn, and I…” I blinked, coming up blank. “Would do what, exactly? I mean… what’s in this for you?”
A shadow of something washed over his face then, and he sat back, shrugging a bit before he drank half his beer in one gulp. “Maliyah.”
I frowned. “I don’t understand.”
“I know my girl,” he said, his eyes more determined than I’d ever seen — and that was saying something, because I’d seen this guy power down the field for an impossible interception more than a few times. “I know that she still loves me, still wants me, but she thinks there’s something better out there. She’s always wanted the best.” He paused. “She’s been brought up with that desire. It’s just part of who she is.”
I had to fight to keep my lip from curling at how he made all of that sound like a good quality.
“But when she sees me with someone else, when she thinks I’ve moved on?” He shook his head with a devilish smile. “That green monster will get her. She’ll be begging to get me back.”
I wrinkled my nose. “I don’t know, Clay… I don’t want to play those kinds of games.”
“Trust me — everyone plays them. So, if you’re not playing — no, if you’re not winning?” He shrugged. “You’re losing.”
His words made something in my gut tighten, my eyes skirting to where Shawn strummed his guitar on stage. My heart did a backflip just like it always did when his gaze washed over me, even though it was so quick I barely registered the color of his golden eyes before they were gone again.
I was invisible to him. I always had been.
I would never admit out loud how many times I’d fantasized about him, particularly when I’d re-read Thoughtless. Every time he played at this bar and glanced my way, I wondered if it would be the night he’d end his set and walk right over to my table, demanding to know me, demanding to take me home. When would he suddenly realize the wallflower girl who watched every set, who knew every word to his original songs, who sat quietly in the corner while every other girl threw themselves at him?
The fantasies always got a little spicy after that.
Still, even when he did look at me, my instant reaction was to look away, to hide, to sink into the crowd and become invisible once more. Attention like that made me uncomfortable, made me self-conscious, made me wonder if I had something in my teeth rather than if I was desirable. I wasn’t the kind of girl who could hold his stare once I had it, who could smirk and lift a brow or lick my lips or draw a seductive circle on the rim of my coffee.
I didn’t have main character energy.
I was more of the quirky, cute best friend with all the sage advice.
I sighed, heart longing for something that seemed so out of reach. When Shawn glanced at me again, I hid my face just like always, cheeks burning, and then I peeked up at Clay, who just cocked a brow like he’d caught me red-handed.
Or in this case, red-faced.
All my life, I’d been too scared to go for what I wanted — I was the exact opposite of Maliyah, of Clay, of everyone I worked with on the team. I wasn’t like my siblings, destined for greatness and like a magnet to anyone in my vicinity. I wasn’t like my boss, who commanded attention in every room she graced.
I was the side kick, and I had always been content to be in the background.
But now, for the first time, I found myself yearning for the spotlight.
And for a freaking boyfriend, for science’s sake.
Uncrossing my legs, I leaned forward, folding my hands together on the table. “We need terms. Conditions. Rules.”
When a smooth tilt of Clay’s lips was his only response, I wondered just how much trouble I was getting myself into.
I held up a finger. “The first one being that regardless of what you help me with Shawn-wise, you do whatever I need you to do for the media. I’ll leave you alone for the next couple weeks like I promised, but come Chart Day, you play the perfect college athlete and make me look good.”
“Sounds like a lopsided deal now.”
“Is it really, if you can get Maliyah back?”
He tilted his head at my challenge, sitting back in his chair and crossing his ankle over the opposite knee. He had to back all the way up from under the table to do so. “Touché. What else?”
I sat back, tapping a finger against my chin as I tried to recall all the fake-dating tropes I’d read. The truth was I read about a book a day, so they all blurred together after a while. But one thing I knew about pretending to date someone was that you absolutely needed rules, or things got messy.
“No PDA,” I finally said.
Clay made a buzzer sound, the noise so loud a few students at the tables around us looked over their shoulders. “Impossible. No one who’s actually dating avoids PDA.”
“Fine.” I made a face. “Then we need a safe word.”
“A safe word?” Clay chuckled. “Do you think I’m going to be tying you up, Kitten?”
Something wicked gleamed in his eyes, like he’d just thought about what that would entail, and once again, he leaned his large frame over the tiny table.
“I mean, that can be arranged,” he added with a smirk. “If you’d like.”
The way my lips parted at the invitation, how my heart skipped a beat before galloping a little quicker than before, was not okay. Fortunately, I covered it pretty well as I rolled my eyes.
At least, I hoped I did.
“I just mean that if you do something I’m uncomfortable with, I want a way to tell you.”
“Why don’t we just go through what is okay?” he suggested.
I tilted my head, considering, and then nodded.
“Holding hands?”
“Of course.”
“Kiss on the cheek, forehead, etcetera?”
My cheeks warmed. “Yes.”
Clay arched a brow. “Kiss on the mouth?”
Again, my heart was beating out of rhythm, but I tucked my hair behind my ear, lifting my coffee mug to my lips for a sip of the foam that had gone cold. “I suppose it would be weird if we didn’t.” I snapped my fingers, pinning him with a glare. “But no tongue.”
“No tongue?” Clay sucked his teeth. “Who’s going to be envious of a peck on the lips? Certainly not your boy Shawn over there, I can promise you that.”
I grunted, and like a bucket of ice water being thrown over me, I realized how incredibly stupid the whole premise was. I didn’t live in a freaking book — I lived in real life, where there was no plausible way any of this would turn out in our favor.
“This is absurd,” I said. “It’s not going to work. And it’s weird and desperate, and we should just forget the whole thing.”
I started gathering up my things, but Clay reached out, his hand folding over my wrist so softly it surprised me given the mass of that calloused hand.
I stilled, swallowing as my eyes crawled the length of his toned arm, finding him watching me with a deep sincerity. It unnerved me, that gaze, how steady and yet somehow… terrifying it was. I wondered if this was what his opponents felt on the field, fear spiking the hairs on the back of their necks.
“Meow.”
I cracked a laugh. “Meow?”
“If I go too far, if you’re uncomfortable and want me to back off, just meow.”
“Oh, my God.”
“But you won’t have to,” he added quickly. “Regardless of all the research you’ve done on me and what you think you know, I’m a gentleman.” He sat back, finally removing his hand from where it held my wrist, and I didn’t realize I wasn’t breathing properly until him removing his hold on me brought a sharp inhale through my lips. “And I want to make Maliyah want me back, not you fall in love with me.”
I snorted. “Trust me, no worries there.”
“Okay, so,” Clay said, sitting up and counting on each finger. “I behave on camera, guide you through all the steps to get Mr. Emo Guitar Guy to fall for you, and you play along as my fake girlfriend to make Maliyah jealous.”
“And if I meow—”
Clay smirked. “Now I kind of want to make you uncomfortable just to hear it.”
“Don’t,” I warned.
“Fine. If you meow, I back off.”
I nodded, considering all the terms. “One more thing,” I said, clearing my throat as I picked at the paper frills stuck in the spiral of my notebook from tearing pages out of it. “What if things get… messy.”
“Meaning?”
I scratched the back of my neck on a shrug. “I’ve seen enough movies and read enough books to know that sometimes, these things can get… complicated.” My eyes found his. “What if one of us wants out?”
“You can’t just back out,” he said, frowning. “That would be breaking the deal.”
“But what if…”
I couldn’t say it, not with my pulse hammering so loud in my ears it was like a whole drum line in there.
Clay smirked. “So you are worried about falling in love with me.”
My face fell flat. “Ugh, thank you for reminding me how impossible that is.”
A barrel laugh left his chest as he extended his hand over the table. “If at any point you want out, just say so. I’m not holding you hostage. But,” he said, taking his hand back when I went to grab it. “Don’t quit on me just because you feel like it. I’m committing to the cause. Are you?”
“Trust me — if helping you get Maliyah back means I don’t have to deal with another disaster like yesterday, I’ll do whatever it takes.”
A satisfied smile curled on his lips, his hand back in place. “Then we’ve got a deal, Kitten.”
I slid my palm into his, a hard steady shake sealing the ridiculous plan.
And up on the stage, Shawn Stetson watched us with a curious look on that beautiful face of his.
A week and a half later, I snuck Clay into my office, peeking down the hall to make sure no players or staff saw us. Not that it would matter — I could easily play it off as media prep — but something about the real reason we were alone together convinced me I wouldn’t be able to sell the lie.
I clicked the door closed as softly as I could once he was inside, turning toward him with a relieved exhale that no one saw.
“Why are you acting like we’re about to hijack a bank?”
“Honestly? That sounds less scary than why we’re actually here,” I admitted.
Clay smirked, folding his arms over his massive chest as he took a step toward me. He was still in his practice jersey and padded pants, both of which were stained and damp and clinging to him. The closer he got, the more I smelled him — and I wished I was disgusted by the mix of sweat and dirt and grass and something like teakwood, but the cocktail was like his own brand of pheromones, and I had to actively work to keep my eyes trained on his cocky face instead of trailing the length of all his glorious muscles.
“It’s just a little kiss practice.”
“Do you hear how ridiculous that sounds?”
He chuckled. “We haven’t had time to talk much since we made the deal. I think it makes sense to go through the plan.”
I swallowed. “Right. Which is… what again?”
“We’ll make our big reveal on Chart Day. We’ll start by walking into the stadium holding hands before practice, get the rumor mill going. The team will be buzzing with high energy since everyone finds out who makes the team and at what rank.”
“And then, in the cafeteria after practice, we… make a scene.”
He nodded. “We make a scene.”
“Because I run over to you and… kiss you.”
Clay’s smirk was incorrigible, and I swatted his arm.
“I’m so glad this amuses you,” I said with a glare.
“I just find humor in how you can barely say the word kiss.”
I cracked my neck, holding my shoulders back and refusing to admit to him that I’d only had a couple of kisses in my life — none of which rocked my world — and that this entire thing made me want to crawl into a hole and hide.
I could do that. It was an option. I could call this whole thing off right now and save myself the embarrassment.
But something strange happened after I left Clay that night at the coffee shop.
I realized something I hated to admit.
I wanted this.
It was outrageous, and would likely fail, but even the possibility of it working in a way that got Shawn to not only notice me, but take an interest in me?
It was too intoxicating of a fantasy to pass up.
So, if my role in all this was to make a scene so Maliyah would notice Clay was moving on?
I’d play my part.
Although, the fact that he thought I could make a girl like her jealous was a little ridiculous in its own right.
“Okay, let’s do this,” I said, ignoring that bit of insecurity niggling at my chest. I’d have plenty of time to let it keep me awake later. “So, you stand over there, pretend like you’re in line or whatever.”
I pointed by my desk, and Clay took his position, watching me with curious eyes.
“Alright,” I said, wringing my hands. “Here it goes.”
“Okay.”
Clay waited, and I just stood there, rolling my lips together and willing my feet to move.
“Here I come.”
He chuckled. “Okay.”
After another long hesitation, he opened his mouth to question me, and I launched before he had the chance.
It was a quick five strides before I leapt, and I squeezed my eyes shut tight at the prospect of him dropping me or being knocked off center by my clumsiness. But Clay caught me with ease, his arms coming around my waist as my legs locked around his. My breath caught with the force, hair falling into my face a bit and glasses sliding down the bridge of my nose.
I pushed them back up slowly, breathing heavily as I catalogued every place my body touched his — my arms around his neck, my chest pressed against his, my thighs squeezing at his hips.
And between my legs, something foreign tingled where his stomach rubbed against me.
Panic zipped through me as I scrambled out of his arms. “Okay. Got it.”
“Don’t you want to try the kiss?”
I narrowed my eyes. “Don’t be a brat.”
“What?” He feigned innocence, throwing his hands up. “I think you’d feel more comfortable if you tried it now, when no one is around.”
“I’ll give you a nice long peck and then scream you made it! to seal the proud girlfriend thing.”
Clay held up a finger and waved it side to side. “Not just a peck. No one is going to be convinced by that. They’d be more apt to think we’re brother and sister than a couple.”
“Fine,” I ground out. “A little tongue. But just a quick sweep, capisce?”
He cocked a brow. “What are you, an Italian mobster now?”
I waved him off. “I need to get back to work. And you need to get back to practice. I think we’re fine here.”
Clay smiled, conceding and heading for the door, but he paused at the frame, something slumping his shoulders before he turned back to me.
“Thank you,” he said, something thick in his throat with the words. “For doing this.”
The moment of softness from him caught me off guard, but I laughed it off, shrugging. “Hey, it’ll be me thanking you when you land me my first real boyfriend.”
The second the words left my lips, I balked — the shocked expression on my face mirroring Clay’s.
“First boyfriend?” he echoed.
I didn’t have the chance to answer before Charlotte swung through the door of her office, which was connected to mine, and started rambling off about twenty things she needed from me.
I shoved Clay the rest of the way out the door without acknowledging his question, and once the door was shut behind me, Charlotte swept in.
“Are you listening?”
I snapped up straight, grabbing my notebook off my desk. “Following. And I have an update on the auction, too.”
She eyed me cautiously, lifting a brow at the door I had just been guarding before she shrugged like it wasn’t worth her time to ask any questions. Then, she turned and slipped back into her office, me on her heels as she continued on with our list.
And I somehow managed to pay attention despite how my heart raced in my chest.
