Naomi chuckles, shaking her head. “I used to think so. She sent Max an apology message last year—I assume it’s when she met Jesse. She’s not a bad person, and she seems really happy with Jesse.”
“That’s very mature of you,” I grin. Another pang passes through my heart. Everyone looks so annoyingly happy. And here I am, on my own, having to pretend to smile along with it all. At least I have Ariana.
Naomi seems to sense my mood.
“You nervous about Vegas?”
I take a deep breath. Both Ariana and Naomi are staring at me expectantly. I shrug. “Yeah, I think so. Maybe?” I laugh. “I don’t know.”
Ariana tilts her head. “When was the last time you saw them all?”
“Six years ago.”
She whistles. Naomi takes a deep breath. “I’m sure it’ll be fine.”
“I’m not,” I laugh. “Last time I saw them, they told me they never wanted to see me again. They told me I’d brought shame on the Ainsworth name and basically disowned me.”
“Shit,” Ariana says. “And I thought my family was fucked up. All that because you did that sugar baby stuff in college?”
I nod. “When they said they wanted me to marry that hotel owner guy and I refused, they told me they wouldn’t pay for college. It was either that, or stripping, and I didn’t want to take my clothes off,” I laugh.
Naomi sips her coffee. “So the sugar baby thing…”
I shake my head. “It was fine. With my clients, it wasn’t sexual at all. They just wanted a date to family events, or someone to go to the movies with.”
“So you never slept with any of them?” Ariana asks.
“No, I wasn’t a prostitute,” I laugh.
“So what was the big deal? That’s why they disowned you?”
I nod, sighing. “They didn’t believe me when I said it wasn’t sexual.”
“And your sister’s wedding…”
“I guess the olive branch is officially extended,” I grin. “Maybe I should bring a really old guy to the wedding and call him my sugar daddy. Just for a laugh. It’s not like I have anyone else to bring. I’m painfully single.”
Ariana laughs, and Naomi shakes her head, grinning.
“I don’t know,” Naomi smiles. “Maybe you should just lay low this time.”
I sigh, draining the rest of my coffee. “Yeah, probably. I’d better get back to work,” I say, putting on my best smile. “Enjoy your afternoon off.”
“Will do,” Naomi grins. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Ariana looks at the two of us. “And what about this weekend? We’re going out, right? We’re going to party like it’s your thirtieth birthday!”
I just groan, and the two of them laugh.
We say goodbye and I walk out. The bell jingles above my head as I step outside, and I take a deep breath.
It seems like the only person who found that whole interaction difficult was me. The rest of them—Naomi, Ariana, Farrah, Jesse—they were all too happy to find anything difficult. Naomi is in love, Ariana is happy being single, and I’m just here, stuck in the middle. Alone.
I run my fingers through my hair and slip a pair of sunglasses onto my face. I know I shouldn’t be offended by couples being happy together, but I am.
Maybe I just need to get laid.
3
Andrew
“So, how does it feel?” Ben says as I grunt and put the dumbbells down on the ground.
I rub my shoulder. “How does what feel?”
“How does it feel to be number one?” He grins. “All signs point to you being a starter this year. If you keep training like this, you’ll be in top shape by the time the season rolls around.”
I grin. “Feels alright.”
It feels better than alright. Being a starting receiver for the New York Giants is literally a dream come true for me.
The year before last, our starting quarterback, Elijah Matthews, went off the deep end. His fiancée left him for his own brother, and he started drinking a bit too much. Then, last season, Elijah got in a couple fights and got suspended halfway through, and now he’s lost his spot as starting QB. After a tough end to the season last year, the team finally feels like it’s recovered.
Everyone is looking forward to next season. The fact that I get to be a starter is just the cherry on top.
“Just alright?” Ben says as he arches his eyebrow.
He takes my spot on the bench and I move to his place behind it. It’s his turn to lean down and grab the weights. He lifts them to his thighs and glances at me in the mirror.
“You’re not scared, are you? Everyone will be looking at you, Butterfingers.”
I chuckle. “Scared shitless.”
“I guess you’d be crazy not to be a little nervous,” he grins as he bounces the big dumbbells off his legs and up to his shoulders.
We don’t speak while he does his set. He presses the weights over his head, exhaling loudly with every rep. I stand behind him, ready to spot him if he falters.
He doesn’t, obviously. Ben is a machine.
I sigh when he puts the weights down and glances at me. Light plays in his eyes as he nods to the weights.
“Your turn.”
“Give me a second,” I sigh, taking a seat on the bench. “You flew through that set.”
“What can I say?” Ben says, flexing his bicep in the mirror. I chuckle, shaking my head. My hand goes to my shoulder again and I massage it without thinking.
The bench groans as Ben sits down next to me. He glances at me and his eyes flick to my shoulder.
“Still bothering you?”
“It’s just a twinge. I can work through it.”
“That’s your right arm.”
“I know.”
“Does Coach know?”
“I told him it was fine.”
Ben sighs, shaking his head. “I don’t like this, Andrew. You should get it checked out.”
“If anyone finds out about this, it’ll be a media frenzy. The last thing the team needs is more drama.”
“If you don’t get it checked out, you’ll make it worse. How’s that for drama?”
He stares me straight in the eye and finally I relent, nodding.
“You’re right.”
“I know.”
“I’ll get the team physio to check it out.”
“If you want, I can get you an appointment at my clinic—PhysioFIt. They’re good, and they’re discreet. Better than that idiot they’ve hired for the team. They work with lots of professional athletes. Coach approved them as off-site team physios a few months ago.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. Meghan got my groin back in working condition two years ago and it hasn’t bothered me since.”
I nod, rubbing my shoulder. I remember when Ben injured himself, his recovery was quicker than everyone thought.
Ben’s right. It wouldn’t hurt to see a professional. It’s not like my shoulder is killing me—I can still work out and move and catch. It’s just a little twinge now and then, like a worry niggling at the back of my mind. Sometimes it’s really stiff when I wake up. It’s probably the perfect time to get it checked out, before it gets any worse.
“Come on,” Ben says. “That’s enough rest. Time for your last set.”
We finish off our workout and hit the showers. By the time I’m getting in my car, I’ve made up my mind. I’ll go see this Meghan woman and get this shoulder checked out.
Worst case, I have to have ongoing physical therapy. Best case, they tell me there’s nothing wrong with it.
It’s a low-risk solution, and if Ben says they’re discreet, then the press won’t get a hold of it and I can continue to be one of the starting wide receivers for the Giants without any unnecessary drama.
I turn the ignition on with a deep breath. What am I so afraid of anyway? Am I worried that there may be something wrong with my shoulder, and I’m just in denial about it? I need to get over myself.
As if he reads my mind, Ben texts me with the name and phone number for the PhysioFIt office. He’s written a note to say to mention his name and to say I’m on the team. I stare at the text for a few seconds as my car rumbles underneath me.
I sigh.
I might as well just rip the band-aid off right now before I chicken out.
The phone rings three times before someone picks up.
“PhysioFIT, Meghan speaking. How may I help you?”
A bolt of lightning goes down my spine. This woman has the sexiest voice I’ve ever heard. My mind immediately flies to the million different possibilities of what she might look like. She could be tall and leggy, with long, blonde hair. Or maybe she’s a voluptuous brunette, or a feisty redhead, or—
“Hello?”
“Yes, hi,” I say, clearing my throat. “I got this number from my friend, Ben Cooper. I’d like to make an appointment.”
“No problem,” the sexy voice purrs. “What do you need help with?”
“How much time have you got?”
She laughs. “Is there a specific problem that physio might be able to alleviate?” I can hear the grin in her voice. There are a few problems that she could alleviate, that’s for sure.
“I’ve just got a twinge in my shoulder, and I’d like to get it checked out. I, uh… I play for the Giants.”
“No problem. I’m actually the physical therapist assigned to your team, my name is Meghan. I have a cancellation for tomorrow morning if you’re available to come in?”
“Sounds good.”
“And what was your name?”
“Andrew Davis.”
“No problem Andrew. Tomorrow at 10am work for you?”
“Sure.”
I rack my brain trying to think of something to say. I just want to hear her voice a little bit longer. She taps on the computer and then her voice comes through the phone again.
“Just wear something comfortable and bring some athletic shoes. I’m sure you know the drill. I’ll grab your email and phone number so I can send you some more information, and then I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”
I give her the information she needs, and then reluctantly hang up the phone. Taking a deep breath, I close my eyes and lean back in the driver’s seat of my car. It’s still idling underneath me, but I’m not ready to start driving yet. My mind is still spinning from that conversation—from that voice.
I don’t have time to enjoy the feeling though, because my phone dings. The name that pops up on my screen makes my mouth sour.
Hannah: Your deposit was late this month.
I sigh as anger flares through me. My deposit was late because I’m sick of paying you off like some bribe! You’re my ex-girlfriend, not a corrupt politician.
My fingers hover over the keys, but I just sigh.
Andrew: I’ll have the money in your account by tomorrow morning.
I toss the phone aside and put my car in gear. At least I’ll get to meet that sexy physical therapist tomorrow.
4
Meghan
I glance at the clock—9:30am. That means I have half an hour before my next client.
He’s the client with the growly, deep voice that made heat bloom in the pit of my stomach. The New York Giants player with a twinge in his shoulder.
His voice gave me a twinge a bit lower down.
Yep, I really do need to get laid. This is getting out of hand.
I bounce my leg up and down as I sit at my desk, glancing at the clock again. Bringing my hand to my lips, I start gnawing at the edge of my nail.
I need a coffee or some fresh air. I need something before he gets here. Naomi glances up from her desk and frowns.
“You okay?”
“I’m fine. I’m doing a coffee run, you want anything?”
“Small latte?”
“Sure,” I say, waving away the bills that she takes out of her wallet. “On me.”
“Meg,” she smiles. “Don’t be ridiculous. It’s your birthday week! You sure you’re okay?”
“Just got a lot on my mind these days. Maybe I’m just depressed that I’m turning thirty,” I grin.
“A night out tonight will help.”
“It will,” I smile. “Okay, gotta go before my next client.”
Naomi turns back to her screen and I slink out the door. As soon as I get outside, I take a deep gulp of fresh air, shaking my head and turning toward the coffee shop down the street. Get a grip!
I’ll get a special coffee today, with some kind of flavoring in it. Maybe caramel or vanilla. A little birthday treat to take my mind off the fact that I’m a ball of nerves. Every day that brings me closer to my sister’s wedding brings my stress level to a new high.
Naomi’s right! It’s my birthday week, and I should enjoy it. Who cares that I’m thirty and alone, and I have to endure my sister’s wedding in two weeks?
Yeah, a nice vanilla latte will help. I might even get a slice of banana bread, toasted with a big pat of butter on it. It’ll be my birthday cake.
I’m imagining the butter soaking into the banana bread as I open the door to the coffee shop. My mouth is already watering, and I’m smiling to myself when I get to the counter. Banana bread is my kryptonite.
“Hi, Nathan,” I say to the barista. “One vanilla latte and one regular latte, please. Both smalls. And a slice of your banana bread—toasted with butter.”
I reach down to my purse as Nathan makes a noise.
“I’m sorry, Meg,” the teenager says, scratching his scruffy blonde hair. “We just sold our last slice.” His voice squeaks on the last word and he puts a hand to his throat. Then, he gestures to a man sitting at a table. “We have one more blueberry scone left, if you want that?”
Disappointment blooms in my chest, and I swallow it back.
I nod. “Sure.”
Nathan puts the scone on a plate. “You want it warmed up?”
I shake my head. Nathan smiles and grabs the scone from the display case. He starts warming it up, then moves to make my drinks.
I glance at the man that Nathan pointed out. He’s breaking off a big piece of banana bread and popping it into his mouth. He closes his eyes and chews, and I watch his Adam’s apple bob up and down as he swallows. A strange mix of anger and arousal blooms inside me.
It’s just banana bread. I know it is. I probably shouldn’t be spending $4.50 on a slice of banana bread anyways, but I haven’t had a treat in weeks.
And now this guy goes and steals it on me. The best banana bread in the city, the one that I dream about when I haven’t had it in a while, and he goes and buys the last slice!
How dare he!
I stare at him, shooting lasers out of my eyes as he eats the last crumbs of the banana bread, completely oblivious. He wipes his hands on a paper napkin and then crumples it and throws it on the empty plate. Then he leans back in his seat, lifting his coffee cup to his lips.
My eyes flick to his dark, tousled hair, down to his broad shoulders. He definitely works out. The coffee cup looks tiny in his broad hands. His forearm tenses as he lifts it to his lips. As anger and arousal battle inside me, in this moment, I think arousal might actually be winning.
I take a deep breath as Nathan hands me the warmed blueberry scone. I look at the sad, non-banana bread pastry and anger starts to win the war inside me. Who would ever want some dry-ass scone instead of a delicious, sweet, buttery piece of banana bread? And this… this stranger had the nerve to get it!
Ugh!
I don’t know what comes over me, but my feet start moving of their own accord. With every step that takes me closer to him, I’m getting angrier and angrier.
That was supposed to be my banana bread. It was supposed to be my treat! He probably didn’t even appreciate how good it was!
“Hey,” I say as I plant my feet beside his table. I put my hand on my hips and stare down my nose at the handsome stranger. I drop the blueberry scone in front of him and arch my eyebrow.
God, he�
�s handsome. His jaw is strong and square, with a hint of stubble on it. His eyes are the color of whiskey and his hair is a thousand shades of brown and black.
He looks up at me, his eyebrows twitching ever so slightly upwards.
“Uh, hey,” he replies.
“I got you a blueberry scone.”
He glances at the plate and then up at me. His gorgeous eyes register a hint of confusion as his brows draw together.
“I… thanks? Do I know—”
“You seemed to be enjoying the last piece of banana bread quite a bit, so I thought you could polish off the scones as well.” There’s a bite to my tone, and I don’t even care.
“The banana bread?”
“Did you enjoy it?” I arch my eyebrow, cocking my hip to the side and staring at him. “I hope you did, because I’ve been thinking about that banana bread all week. So, thank you for that.”
He frowns, looking at the crumpled napkin in front of him and back at me.
This feels like an out-of-body experience. It’s like I’m watching myself do the most embarrassing thing I’ve ever done, and I’m powerless to do anything about it. I see myself snort at him, rolling my eyes.
“Well, I’m glad you liked it. Good day.” I spit the last two words out as a grin floats on the stranger’s lips. His eyes sparkle with mischief and I wonder what his lips taste like.
Mercifully, Nathan calls out my name and I spin on my heels to grab the lattes. My cheeks burn as I walk away from the man. I can feel his eyes on me, and I sway my hips a little more from side to side as I walk away. Righteous indignation allows me to hold my head high as I walk out the door without looking back.
When I get back outside, I let out a sigh. I stop walking just out of sight of the cafe, taking a deep breath. I shake my head, staring at the drinks in my hand.
What is wrong with me? Who does that?
At least I know that Naomi will think it’s funny, so we can both laugh my embarrassment off. When I drop Naomi’s coffee on her desk, I sink down on the chair and start laughing.
“What?” She says, smiling and frowning as she accepts the drink.
“Naomi, I think there’s something wrong with me.”
Mr. Right: The Complete Fake Engagement Series Page 35
