Close to Me

by Monica Murphy

  He’s got me there.

  “I like her hair,” Tony says, his tone, his entire demeanor impassive, like we’re talking about the weather. “She’s got a cute vibe.”

  “You should go for her then,” Caleb suggests.

  “Nah. Not my type.” Tony’s gaze meets mine and he tilts his head, like he’s giving me permission to talk to her.

  Huh.

  “How do you know she’s a smart girl?” I study her, taking in her narrow shoulders, the elegant slope of her back. She brushes her hair back from her face, tucking the strands behind her ear and offering me a glimpse of her profile. She’s pretty in an understated way, I guess.

  I don’t recognize her at all.

  “Because she’s reading a book, dumbass.” Caleb sounds enormously pissed off, though I know he’s not. That’s just how he always sounds. “If you don’t ask her to wear your jersey, I think I’ll ask her instead.”

  Yes, this is what we’re doing on a Thursday afternoon during lunch. Trying to find a girl for me to ask to wear my jersey on game day. It’s a big deal at our high school, and so far during my reign as the varsity team’s quarterback, I’ve only had a girl wear my jersey once. It was Cami Lockhart, right at the beginning of our junior year, when I thought there was a possible chance we could work shit out and we could be a couple again.

  But then someone sent me her private story off Snapchat—a video of her making out with motherfucking Eli Bennett, the quarterback for our rival school’s team, and I was done.

  For some reason, this year my boys want to see me make a claim. Find a woman. They tell me I’m too grumpy. That maybe if I’m getting some on the regular, that’ll mellow me out. Some of them even complain I’m too focused, which I don’t get. Why wouldn’t they want me focused?

  Focused wins games. I’ve had that drilled into my head over the years by my Dad.

  “No way,” I tell Caleb when he acts like he’s going to approach the mystery girl sitting at the table. “I’ll do it.”

  I don’t know why I’m bothering with this. I don’t know her, but I’m guessing she knows me. Hell, she’ll probably be flattered I asked and wear that jersey tomorrow proudly. We have an away game, so I doubt she’d show up in the stands with it on Friday night, but it would be cool to see her wear my number around school all day.

  Maybe I could make it a thing. Give it to a different girl every week. They’d start fighting for their chance. It could turn into a contest. Maybe it would go viral…

  “Go ask her.” Diego gives me a shove in the girl’s direction, his hand right in the center of my back. “Before you chicken out.”

  Okay, that shit’s annoying. And it’s just the incentive I need to make it happen. Glancing over my shoulder, I glare at my three best friends, but all they do is make clucking noises at me in return like they’re a bunch of chickens.

  Assholes.

  Slowly I approach the table, wondering what I should say first. I don’t have a problem talking to girls. I never really have. I almost wonder if this is because I grew up in a household full of women. Don’t get me wrong, Dad is the definite alpha of our family and he leads the pack. But I’ve got my mom, my older sister Autumn and my younger sister Ava, and growing up I was always with them, of course. Our little brother Beck didn’t come along until years later, and by then I was resigned with the idea that I’d never even have a brother.

  So I was constantly surrounded by females. Autumn and Ava used to fight like cats and dogs. Now that Autumn’s gone, away at college in Santa Barbara, we don’t see her that much. Ava is happier I think. Having an older sister trying to boss you around all the time has got to get old.

  I know I got tired of Autumn’s bullshit. Now, I miss her. Not that I’d ever tell her that.

  Deciding I need to approach this mystery girl straight on, I walk around the table, keeping a wide berth so she doesn’t get suspicious or think I’m a stalker. And once I’m facing the table, I take a good, long look at her.

  She’s vaguely familiar, so I’m assuming she’s a senior like me or maybe a junior. Our school is small, so most of the time I feel like I know everyone, but I can’t place her. I don’t know her name. Her hair is this burnished, reddish-gold color and her features are small. Delicate. She’s wearing glasses. I’ve never been interested in a girl who wears glasses before.

  Not that I’m interested in this girl. I don’t even know her. But as far as my first choice to wear my jersey this week, it’s not a bad one.

  Not a bad one at all.

  One of my friends, I’m not sure who, makes a bok-bok noise and I send them all a menacing look before I march right up the table and clear my throat. “Hey.”

  The girl lifts her head, warm brown eyes meeting mine, her expression open. Friendly.

  Until she keeps looking at me, her gaze narrowing, that open, friendly expression disappearing within seconds. Almost as if she realized who she’s looking at and doesn’t like what she sees.

  Damn.

  When she still hasn’t said anything, I decide to keep talking. “What’s your name?”

  Her eyebrows shoot up. “You don’t know my name?”

  I know this sounds weird, but I like the sound of her voice. A lot. “Should I?”

  “I know yours.” She sniffs, shutting the book she was reading. She takes off her glasses and folds them before she sets them on top of her book. “Jacob Callahan.”

  Ah, see? She knows me. She’ll totally agree to wear my jersey. “You have the advantage then.”

  “Because you still don’t remember my name?”

  I shrug helplessly and flash her a smile that’s hopefully equal parts bashful yet charming. “Guilty.”

  She rolls her eyes, resting her arms on top of the table. “Did you have a question or something?”

  Her tone is short. Dismissive. This girl is totally trying to get rid of me. “Yeah, as a matter of fact, I do have a question for you.”

  “I’m waiting on pins and needles for you to ask,” she says, her voice going up a notch, those brown eyes of hers extra wide.

  They’re pretty, I’ll give her that. She’s pretty. There’s a sprinkling of freckles across the bridge of her nose and she has really straight, very white teeth.

  “I was wondering if you wanted…” I let my voice drift and I glance down at my shoes, kicking at the base of the picnic bench. I’m trying to up the anticipation a notch.

  “Wanted what?”

  Guess she’s not one for anticipation.

  “If you wanted to wear my jersey tomorrow.” I lift my head, my gaze meeting hers straight on and I see the surprise there in her eyes. I shocked her with my request.

  She studies me for a while, and now it’s my turn to wait with anticipation. Her full lips part, like she’s about to say something, but instead, she grabs her things and starts shoving them into her backpack.

  As if she’s about to leave.

  When she shoots me an irritated glare, slides off the picnic bench and walks away without another word, I chase her, surprised by how quick she is. My friends are laughing, I can hear them as I follow after this chick—still don’t know her name—but I can’t worry about them right now.

  “Hey!” I call out to her, but it’s like my voice only spurs her on. She’s practically in a full jog as she heads toward Adams Hall, and I wonder if her plan is to duck into a classroom and hide from me.

  Putting a little speed behind my step, I catch up with her easily, hooking my fingers around her upper arm and stopping her escape. She turns to face me, the look on her face so full of disgust I immediately release her and take a step back.

  “Why are you chasing me?” she asks breathlessly. Her cheeks are pink. I get the sense that maybe she doesn’t exercise much? I mean, I’m not even winded.

  “You never answered my questions.”

  She lifts her chin. Blows out an exaggerated breath, like what I’m asking is too damn much. After the last five minutes, I don’t even want
this chick to wear my jersey now. She’s making way too big a deal about this.

  But I gotta know what her answer is. Maybe I’ll find out why she’s acting like this too.

  “My name is Hannah,” she finally says and it all hits me at once. I know her. Barely. Hannah Marlowe. Senior. Moves in a completely different crowd. I’ve never had a class with her ever because she takes all the advanced courses. My friends were right.

  She’s a smart girl.

  “Right. Hannah.” I nod and smile. “I know you.”

  She smiles in return though it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “Uh huh. Sure.”

  “I do. You’re friends with…” My voice drifts. I don’t know who she’s friends with. I can see their faces, but I can’t recall their names.

  “Please.” She reaches out, settling her hand on my forearm and it’s like a spark of electricity between us the moment our skin makes contact. She snatches her hand away like I burned her. “Stop trying so hard.”

  I almost want to laugh. This girl is telling me to stop trying so hard? Does she even know who I am? The power I wield at this school? I’m the most popular guy in the senior class. This is my year to shine. My year to reign.

  And this Hannah nobody is telling me to stop trying so hard?

  Get the fuck out of here.

  Can’t back out now though. I’m fully committed.

  “So what do you say, Hannah? Want to wear my jersey tomorrow?” Not like I want her to anymore. She’s been rude from the moment I started talking to her.

  “Gee, I sure appreciate the offer but…” She scowls at me. “No.”

  Preorder Falling For Her now! Coming June 2nd!

  Did you know?

  That Drew + Fable have their own book? You can read their story in One Week Girlfriend available now at all retailers and only $2.99!

  Click HERE for more info!

  Temporary. That’s the word I’d use to describe my life right now. I’m temporarily working double shifts—at least until I can break free. I’m temporarily raising my little brother—since apparently our actual mother doesn’t give a crap about either of us. And I always end up as nothing but the temporary girlfriend—the flavor of the week for every guy who’s heard the rumor that I give it up so easily.

  At least Drew Callahan, college football legend and local golden boy, is upfront about it. He needs someone to play the part of his girlfriend for one week. In exchange for cash. As if that’s not weird enough, ever since he brought me into his world, nothing really makes sense. Everyone hates me. Everyone wants something from him. And yet the only thing Drew seems to want is . . . me.

  I don’t know what to believe anymore. Drew is sweet, sexy, and hiding way more secrets than I am. All I know is, I want to be there for him—permanently.

  Acknowledgments

  Big ol’ thanks to Drew + Fable for having kids so I can write about them later. So crazy, right? When I set out to write ONE WEEK GIRLFRIEND, I had zero plans on writing about their children.

  Well, look at me now.

  I hope you enjoyed this book. Ash and Autumn’s story was easy to write, and I can’t wait to explore this world even more. This is my way of telling you there will be more books.

  I want to thank all the readers, reviewers and bloggers who gave shout outs about this book – thanks for shouting about all of my books, actually. I can’t do this job without you, I swear! I want to thank my Facebook reader group—I love hanging out in there every day. From cat memes to book recs, it’s where we share all the good stuff.

  Thank you to Nina for the encouragement and for all the hard work you do. To Brittany for wanting to read this book because she still suffers from a #TuttleHangover and maybe Ash will cure it.

  Finally, I want to acknowledge the girls on my cheer team. I never in a BAZILLION YEARS would’ve thought I’d be a coach for my daughter’s high school cheer team, but I am. With zero cheer or coaching experience, my friend and I took on this job and while we went through some real crazy, difficult times, it’s also been a lot of fun. And while sometimes all those girls make me (us) nuts, and all the practice and games and camps take up a lot of my time, I wouldn’t trade this experience for anything else. So to Amy, Bobbee, Bella, Phoenix, Gracie, Paige, Gianna, Emma, Riley, Emylee and Gracelyn, you guys are AWESOME! Oh and to Brandy—she’s Autumn’s coach and she’s my friend and fellow coach in real life. She’s also my homegirl. My BBG. Stay woke, my friend. And go Badgers!

  Also by Monica Murphy

  The Callahans

  Close to Me

  Falling For Her

  Addicted To Him

  Dating Series

  Save The Date

  Fake Date

  Holidate

  Hate to Date You

  Forever Yours Series

  You Promised Me Forever

  Thinking About You

  Nothing Without You

  Damaged Hearts Series

  Her Defiant Heart

  His Wasted Heart

  Damaged Hearts

  Friends Series

  One Night

  Just Friends

  More Than Friends

  Forever

  The Never Duet

  Never Tear Us Apart

  Never Let You Go

  The Rules Series

  Fair Game

  In The Dark

  Slow Play

  Safe Bet

  The Fowler Sisters Series

  Owning Violet

  Stealing Rose

  Taming Lily

  Reverie Series

  His Reverie

  Her Destiny

  Billionaire Bachelors Club Series

  Crave

  Torn

  Savor

  Intoxicated

  One Week Girlfriend Series

  One Week Girlfriend

  Second Chance Boyfriend

  Three Broken Promises

  Drew + Fable Forever

  Four Years Later

  Five Days Until You

  A Drew + Fable Christmas

  Standalone YA Titles

  Daring The Bad Boy

  Saving It

  Pretty Dead Girls

  About the Author

  Monica Murphy is a New York Times, USA Today and international bestselling author. Her books have been translated in almost a dozen languages and have sold over two million copies worldwide. Both a traditionally published and independently published author, she writes young adult and new adult romance, as well as contemporary romance and women’s fiction. She’s also known as USA Today bestselling author Karen Erickson.

  Copyright © 2020 by Monica Murphy

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

  Cover design: Hang Le

  byhangle.com

  Editor: Mackenzie Walton

  Proofreader: