“Why?” he asked.
I chewed on my bottom lip. Think, Sunny, think! “It pumps blood and provides nutrients. We can’t live without it. It’s the center of our—”
“Wrong. We can live without it with a heart transplant.” His finger landed on Max. “You. Mr. Kent. What’s the most important organ?”
Max adjusted a pair of tortoiseshell glasses he’d slipped on at some point, looking suave and cool as if the altercation with Bart had never happened. “The brain, sir. It controls vision, hearing, smell, balance, learning, memory, and a few things I’m sure I’ve forgotten. It communicates by using neurons, and it’s estimated we have billions.”
My mouth gaped. It dawned on me that Max wasn’t exactly the dumb jock I’d imagined.
Maybe there was more to him . . .
Nah.
“Nice answer,” Whitt replied.
Max paused, his eyes gliding over to mine. “But back to the heart—Miss Blaine makes a valid point.”
“How so?” Whitt asked, crossing his legs as he leaned against the podium.
The entire class looked from Whitt to Max to me. It felt as if the entire room hushed to hear what he had to say.
Max cleared his throat. “The heart may not be the control center, but the brain is nothing without oxygen that the heart supplies. They rely on each other—it’s a relationship of sorts. Also, metaphorically speaking, the heart is the seat of the soul and our psyche. After all, it is the organ that falls in love.”
Whitt chuckled. “Love has nothing to do with our heart.”
“I disagree.” Max sent me a leisurely look, sweeping over my face. “When you first meet someone special, your heart reacts. It flutters or jumps or something. It’s like it recognizes its other half.” He dipped his head, appearing a bit embarrassed by the admission.
I didn’t buy it. Not for a hot minute.
Wistful sighs came from the girls around me. Maybe even a couple of guys.
“ . . . so romantic . . .” someone murmured from the back of the room.
“ . . . you can have my heart anytime . . .” said another.
Oh, please.
I lifted an eyebrow at Max. You are so full of shit, my eyes said.
You know you want me, his eyes replied.
“Player,” I whispered under my breath.
He just grinned.
Max
I FOLLOWED SUNNY OUT OF class, grabbing her hand before she stepped into the stairwell. I wasn’t ready to let her walk away. An idea was niggling at me.
“Wait. Let’s talk a minute. I have a proposition for you.”
She turned toward me, a harried look on her face as she shuffled her backpack around. “What’s up? Oh, and nice acting in class. Half the girls are in love with you now.”
“Just half?”
She glared. “Fine. Probably all of them.”
“But not you?” I asked.
“Sorry, but your little show was impervious to my hard heart.”
I shrugged noncommittally. Class had been a show, but pretending was what I did best. I pretended that losing my mom hadn’t slayed me my freshman year. I pretended that my dad was the best guy in the world. I pretended that Bianca hadn’t hurt me last year.
I pushed those thoughts aside.
“Okay, this is going to sound nuts, but maybe we could continue our little charade about dating?” I said. The idea had taken root in class, and the more I thought about it, the more stoked I became.
“Why would you want to?” she sputtered.
“It’s simple. I want the Heisman, but with all the rumors about me fighting last year with Felix—it’s a long shot. The award isn’t just about achievement and skill. It’s all hype and to get hype you need a feel-good story that resonates with people. Maybe finding a serious girlfriend and falling in love could be the story that tips the voters over.” I paused. “Heck, we could even go all the way and say fiancée. The reporters would eat up that romantic shit—just like that classroom did.”
Her mouth opened. “Fake fiancée? Falling in love? What is this . . . a Hallmark movie?”
“We could be the best damn Hallmark movie ever made, Sunny.” My voice was dead serious.
“And what do I get?”
I leaned in closer, feeling drawn to her, inhaling her sweet scent. “A thousand bucks. You’re always working. You need money, right?”
A little puff of air came from her parted lips. “I don’t know. This seems crazy. You’re crazy.”
Maybe I was—but football was everything.
“I’m just focused—it’s what it takes to be the best. Plus, it’s not just the Heisman. You could keep the groupies off my back. And Bianca. Hell, I could have the best season of my life—and all because I have a pretend girl next to me . . . one that I don’t really have to invest a lot of work in. See? It sounds like the perfect plan.”
A long exhale came from her as she took her eyes off me to focus on the students milling past us to head to the stairwell. I watched her face with keen interest, looking for a chink in her armor, some way to convince her that this was a spectacular idea. She chewed on her bottom lip.
“I’ll even help you study for this class. I am a pre-med major, you know. And . . . I can put in a good word for you with Whitt. He loves me,” I said in a sing-song voice. “Come on. You know you want to. I’m fun and hot. You’d be so popular—”
She held her hand up. “I get the picture. How long will we have to—you know—be together?”
“They announce the finalists the first week of December, so that’s around three months, give or take. We could come back after Christmas and say we’d broken up. You can even say you broke my heart. Easiest thing ever.”
She mulled that over. “Don’t you have a girl you could ask—like someone you already have on the hook?”
“It’s got to be you. I trust you.”
“Why?” Her brow wrinkled.
“I don’t know. Maybe it’s because you’ve got guts enough to stand up to me.” I carried on, rushing through the words, making it sound easy. “There’d be minimal obligations—of course. We’d have to be a couple in public—maybe attend some frat parties together or have lunch at the Student Center. Nothing crazy.”
She frowned. “I don’t get out much. I bake cookies and watch sitcoms. I’m nothing like Bianca. I can’t be all girly and stuff.”
“I don’t want to be with anyone like her,” I said rather sharply. “It’s football season anyway. I go to class, train, and play. I’ll be gone some weekends for the away games. We can keep appearances to a minimum. Besides, the less people see us, the less likely they’d know we’re fake.” I shrugged. “Just, if we do this, don’t fall in love with me. I don’t want anything serious.”
“Trust me,” she said with steel in her voice, “that won’t happen.”
“Good.”
“Good.”
My lips curved up at her snippy tone. “So what’s the answer?”
She pursed her lips and thought. “Five thousand—and it’s just girlfriend. None of this fiancée stuff. It sounds complicated—class was already a mess with Bart—plus
I don’t want to lie to my grandmother.”
Why did I feel disappointed?
Not at the money part, but the fact that I couldn’t get a bigger commitment out of her.
Whatever. Take what you can get.
“Fine. Girlfriend it is, then.”
She sent me a nod, her face set as if she’d made up her mind. “It’s a deal. You’ve got yourself a fake girlfriend until December.”
I sent her a smooth smile as we shook hands, not impervious to the zing when we touched. I was attracted to her—obviously—but I was determined to not ruin a good thing.
No groupies.
No Bianca.
No drama.
Just the Heisman and my future in the NFL.
We talked a bit more as we walked down the stairs, our steps in sync as we came out the metal
door to the lobby. I felt good about this. Confident. Sunny would be perfect for the outsiders looking in. She wasn’t a rich girl. Hell, she worked. She didn’t have a volatile temper like Bianca, and she was nice, except for when she was being prickly, but my gut knew that was her defense to protect herself from jerks like me.
She was on her way to another class, and I had one on the other side of campus, so we parted ways. Before I thought too hard about it, I brushed my lips against her cheek before she walked away. Why not? It’s what a boyfriend would do and looked good if anyone was paying attention.
She accepted the touch and then walked away from me in those tight yoga pants. Her ass was perfectly round and the way she swiveled her hips with just the right amount of sass . . .
I thought back to that off the charts kiss in the elevator.
It was going to be tough to keep things between us platonic.
You have to, Max.
I pivoted and headed to my next class, willing myself to focus on football. I was going to ignore the odd connection I felt with her. It was for the best anyway. I couldn’t get attached to her. My entire career depended on it.
Sunny
A FEW HOURS LATER, I’D finished two more classes and walked home. Hot and sweaty from the four blocks, I was grouchy and a bit off kilter from the thing with Max.
I set my books down on the rickety kitchen table, grabbed a soda from the fridge, and sat down to play back my morning.
For some insane reason, I’d agreed to be his girlfriend.
I hadn’t been able to tell him no.
Why did he have to be so damn irresistible?
The entire time he’d been talking to me in that stairwell part of me was trying to keep my eyes off his flawless face, another part of me was trying to convince myself to run like hell, but it was the money-hungry part of me that won the battle. I could cut back on my hours at the library. I could check in on Mimi more. Heck, I could study. I might even be able to save some of it for after graduation.
If he wanted to throw it away, who was I to say no?
You don’t really know him, Sunny!
Did I need to?
It’s not like he and I would be emotionally involved. He’d made it clear he wasn’t looking for a real relationship.
And asking me to be his fake fiancée? He certainly knew how to get my attention, but I had my limits to deception—mostly because of my grandmother. Mimi was all I had as far as family and lying to her made me feel ill. It was going to be hard enough when I told her I had a boyfriend. I couldn’t tell her he was fake. She’d be equal parts disappointed in me for debasing myself for money and hurt that she couldn’t provide more for me.
Forcing thoughts of Max back in that locked box, I went outside, kicked my broken car in frustration, and called an Uber to take me to Mimi’s. I saw her every Monday afternoon before work, and a ruined car wasn’t going to stop me.
I arrived at her assisted living apartment complex and walked to the back where the pool and hot tub were. She waved me over from a patio table, shoulder-length dyed blond hair blowing in the wind. At sixty-five, she was spry and had piercing gray eyes that could cut right through you. Laser eyeballs, I called them. The residents vied for her attention, and according to her, she’d had “relations” with several of the single men.
I plopped down next to her and stretched out my legs. “You’ll never believe what happened today, Mimi.”
“I hope you won the lottery.” She showed me her flip-flops. “I need to add to my collection. Mrs. Barnes in 2B has been bragging she has more pairs than me.”
“Well, we can’t let that happen.” I pulled out the cushy flip-flops I’d picked up last week at Wal-Mart. “Check these out. They have bumble bees on the straps and the bottoms are made from a yoga mat.”
“Well done, grasshopper.” She tucked them down next to her and poured me a glass of tea from the pitcher on the table.
“I don’t know why you love those so much,” I said, nudging my head at the ones she already had on.
“’Cause Mr. Wallis said I have beautiful feet, and I should show them off.”
Mr. Wallis was an old boyfriend in the apartment complex who was currently dating Mimi’s archenemy, Mrs. Barnes in 2B.
“Isn’t he the one with the foot fetish?”
“Maybe.” Her eyes flashed to a tan gentleman in a red speedo who was at least eighty. She nudged her head at him, her voice low and conspiratorial. “Ricky’s my latest. He’s from New York City—darn liberal, of course. He snores loud enough to wake a bear from hibernation, but his pecker still works—at least for two minutes. He’s a frisky one, that one. Maybe a keeper.”
I bit back a grin. “I can’t keep up with you. I thought you were dating Mr. Sully in 3A? You said he brought you flowers every day. And he has a nice vacation house in Boca.”
She waved that idea away. “Meh. He got too attached—and sometimes he’d get on these long tangents about sailing. The man is crazier than a dog in a hub-cap factory when it comes to boats. All he talks about is rudders and nautical miles. The only rudder I wanted was the one in his pants. Plus, I do not want to spend the rest of my life floating on some ocean in the middle of nowhere. There’s sharks there, and I can’t even swim!” She took a breath. “Tell me about your news, hon.”
I inhaled a deep breath, preparing for the crazy storm that was about to land on my head. “I have a boyfriend too . . . Max Kent.”
She slammed down the glass of tea that had been on its way to her mouth, and she bounced in her chair like a kid. “The Max Kent, the football player from LU?”
I grimaced. “None other.”
Her palm pressed her chest like Fred in Sanford and Son when he’d fake a heart attack. “I can’t believe it. You waltzed in here all cool and calm like you didn’t have a care in the world. Why wasn’t that the first thing you told me! Lordy, you did win the lottery.” She settled back down, her chest rising rapidly. “You’re not pulling my leg, are ya?”
I threw my arms up. “I swear you love football more than you do me.”
“He’s hotter than a red jalapeno, Sunny!” She fanned herself. “He moves like lightning, and not all quarterbacks can run, let me tell you. Some just stand there like grumps and throw the ball—but not him. Nope, he’s got some speed on him. He’s the whole package. I’d like to know the size of his rudder . . .”
“Mimi,” I shook my head. “Don’t even go there.”
She giggled.
“This calls for a celebration.” She reached in her beach bag she’d brought down and pulled out a flask. I watched her pour a healthy amount into both our glasses. Mimi was a bit of a hippy and a free thinker when it came to me. If she had a beer, she offered me one. If she was having sex, she didn’t hide it from me. Truthfully, she was more of a friend than a parent figure, but by the time I’d arrived at her doorstep three years ago I’d been done with anything that had to do with the word parent.
She sat back. “Go on. Take a sip. And then I want all the details on how you met.”
I sputtered at the taste, getting a whiff of strong alcohol. “Um, it’s . . . good.”
“It’s a Long Island Iced Tea. Got the recipe off the internet. I googled it.” She lifted her glass as if to say cheers. “The internet has nothing on this old woman.”
I giggled. “You always know exactly what I need, Mimi.”
Her face changed, the lines around her mouth deepening as she frowned.
I set the drink down carefully. “What’s wrong?”
“Your father called.”
A breeze fluttered, cooling us off in the September humidity. Laughter came from the people playing checkers at a nearby table, and somewhere from one of the open windows I heard the drone of a gameshow. The Price is Right? Family Feud?
It didn’t matter—because she’d brought him up.
A small shrug shifted her frail shoulders. She cleared her throat, her eyes swinging to my face and then back to her tea. “
I hadn’t spoken to the man since the day your mama left here to marry him, so there’s no love lost between us, but he asked me to give you a message, and I will.”
“What is it?”
“He’s dying.”
My chest froze. “From what?”
“Cancer.”
One of Mimi’s sisters had passed last year from bone cancer, and I’d seen her at her frailest. My father was a big man, and I couldn’t imagine his frame bent by weakness. I tossed myself further back in the seat, desperately analyzing how I felt, but there was no answer. I was a mixed-up bag of emotions when it came to him.
I hated him. I loved him.
He was the only immediate family I had.
Yet, after my wreck when the police had dragged the lake looking for my body, I’d never volunteered I was alive. Not until I turned eighteen. Mimi had supported me in that decision because she’d seen the marks on my back.
The beginning of my family’s demise had started when my brother had been delivered stillborn. Born five years after me, his grave was in the Blaine family cemetery in Snowden. A framed photo of him had sat on my mother’s nightstand, a tiny boy wrapped in a blue blanket, his lids tightly shut. His name had been Lincoln, and although my parents never discussed him in front of me, I’d hear their hushed voices through the thin walls at night. Most of those conversations would end with my mother crying, the sound muffled as if she pressed her face into a pillow.
Mimi nudged my arm gently. “Forget all that. I’ve told you, and that’s all we have to say about it. Let’s focus on the good news. Tell me about Max. Is he as handsome as he looks on TV?”
I smiled rather absently and rambled off an answer, but my thoughts were scattered somewhere in the mountains of North Carolina, remembering a family that had broken my heart.
Sunny
FOR THE TENTH TIME, I checked my appearance in the small compact in my purse. My hair had been styled until it was straight, my makeup was minimal except for pink lipstick and mascara—but my hands were still shaking.
I was freaking out. I shoved the compact back in my purse and zipped it shut, analyzing why I was so antsy.
Fake Fiancée Page 5
