by Tracy Wolff
“There’s nothing wrong, I’m fine.” He spit the words out like nails from a nail gun.
She might not be the most sensitive person, but even she could tell that he was mad … about something … of which she had no idea.
Clearly, they needed some space.
She really, really needed her own car. Her father’s truck was in the garage. Why hadn’t she thought to drive it? It would have been so much better than this, and it would have given them time apart.
Was he upset about the sex? Had she done something wrong? He seemed to enjoy himself. He could have been faking it. Was it physically possible for men to fake orgasms?
It was probably a bad time to google it.
“Sure you’re okay? Because you look a little … angry.” Maybe his knee was really hurting? They did need to address one very important thing. “I know now might not be the best time for this, but we need to nail down some fake engagement boundaries.” She knew it was a lot to ask, but she couldn’t have her parents finding out they weren’t really engaged until she was ready for them to find out. “Since we’re having sex and keeping up the appearance of being engaged, we need to talk about monogamy. I know it’s a lot to ask, and you’re probably used to having several partners at once, but as long as we’re together, can we agree to, you know … keep things just between us?”
It was the responsible thing to do.
His fingers tightened around the wheel until his knuckles turned white. “Are you fucking kidding me right now?”
She was eighty percent sure that was rhetorical, so she turned to look out of her window. Maybe he’d tell her later what was the matter.
Ten minutes later, the silence was killing her. Seriously killing her. “So, umm, how about those Rangers?” She couldn’t take it any longer. Surely baseball was a safe subject. It was as American as, well, football, and she knew that was subject non grata. Maybe the weather? She examined the clouds gathering in the sky. “Looks like we might get some rain.”
Heath’s only response was a growl. He actually growled at her.
That was annoying, and also a little worrisome—Heath didn’t get mad. He was the most laid-back person she’d ever met … except for now.
Deciding she wasn’t going to talk to him again until he talked to her, Lyric spent much of the rest of the ride picking at a string on the jeans she’d borrowed from Harmony. She’d never realized how skinny skinny jeans were until she’d worked them on. Maybe her mother had a point about her thighs. But she still had plenty of thigh gap, so her thighs couldn’t be that bad.
Heath certainly didn’t have any complaints about her thighs, even after she’d damn near smothered him with them when her mother had called.
Should she ask Heath what the optimal amount of thigh gap was?
She glanced at him. His jaw was working, and his eyes were mean. Probably not the best time.
All this silence gave her lots of time to think.
Christ. How had her life gone so far off the rails, she wondered, as she leaned her head against the passenger’s-side window. This time last week she’d been fuming over Mistress Kailana, and now she was fake marrying the boy she’d lost her heart and her virginity to before she’d grown up and given up on love.
Now her father might die unless she continued with this farce of an engagement. Lying had never been her strong suit.
Heath took a deep breath and blew it out in a huff that reminded her of the Arctic wind she’d once felt when doing a research trip to the North Pole. Only Heath’s was way colder.
She rolled her eyes. She’d had enough. Why the hell was he mad? She was the one who was going to have to deal with the fallout when Livinia and Bowman found out the truth about their engagement. Hell, Lyric was the one who’d probably have to tell her parents the truth. Heath sure wasn’t going to do it.
She picked at the string some more.
In hindsight, she shouldn’t have had sex with Heath … again. That was when all of this tension had started.
What had she been thinking, anyway?
The truth was that she hadn’t been thinking. Or at least, she hadn’t been thinking with her brain. Lyric sucked on her bottom lip. When men followed their libido instead of their mind, they were said to be thinking with their penis. Did that happen to women too? Had she been thinking with her vagina?
Was that even possible? Her vagina didn’t have any gray matter—did it?
“Have you ever heard of a woman thinking with her vagina?” She turned to Heath and then remembered that she had vowed not to talk to him until he stopped acting an ass.
Slowly, he turned his head to look at her, glared, and then turned back to the road.
“Okay, enough of the silent treatment. Why exactly are you mad at me?” She hadn’t been able to figure it out, so asking was her only shot at making things better.
“You know why.” He spat out each word.
“No, I really have no idea.” She reviewed the events of the last few hours again and couldn’t find any big missteps. Unless he was jealous of the fact that her multiple orgasms had had multiple orgasms. But hey, that was his own fault. And Mother Nature’s. Lyric took no responsibility for it whatsoever.
He turned into the hospital parking lot and pulled into a parking space close to the front door. “I’ve got some stuff to do, so I’m dropping you off. Text me when you’re ready to leave.”
It was her turn to glare at him. “Oh no you don’t. You started this whole thing, and now my daddy is training for our wedding like it’s the Senior Olympics. No way am I facing him alone.”
“Fine.” He shoved Cherry Cherry into park and turned off her engine. “But before we go in there, we need to get one thing straight. Last night wasn’t about scratching some goddamn itch.”
Scratching an itch? What did he mean? Oooooooh. “Um … do you have any um … medical conditions I should know about?”
“What?” His eyes went as squinty as reptilian slits.
“You said something about itching. I just … you know … wondered if there was something you wanted to tell me.” Her eyes locked onto his. “Like maybe you have something that’s causing a rash? Something I should know about?”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“STDs are fairly common.” She worked her phone out of her back pocket. “I don’t know how common. It’s nothing to be embarrassed about.” Thank God they’d used condoms.
“Jesus Christ.” He scrubbed his face with his hands. “I haven’t had this much trouble communicating with a female since I learned to speak.”
She pulled up Google and thumb typed. “Look, twenty percent of the US population has an STD.” She showed him her screen. “I think I’m okay. We used condoms. It’s all good.”
Was there something wrong with the condoms? Maybe she should google condom expiration dates. Did they have expiration dates?
“Oh my God, will you stop talking about STDs.” He gritted his teeth. “You are the only person in the world, besides the Dallas Cowboys, who can make me so damn mad.”
“What did I do now?” It looked like he didn’t want to see the map of the US showing which states had the highest population of STDs. It was kind of interesting—you were screwed if you lived in Louisiana, Mississippi, or Alabama. Then again, screwing was what had gotten them screwed in the first place. She turned her phone off and shoved it in her back pocket.
“What’s between us is about more than scratching an itch.” Heath stared out the front window and refused to look at her. That, more than anything, told her how upset he was with her.
“I actually used the words ‘scratching an itch’? That doesn’t sound like me.” Had she actually used those words? “I mean. I don’t have an STD, if that’s what you’re worried about it. I got checked after I found out Rob the Knob was riding bareback with Mistress Kailana.”
“What is it with you and STDs?” He turned to her, fists clenched and eyes blazing. “You don’t have an STD.
I don’t have an STD. We don’t have an STD.”
“That’s good to know.” She felt her shoulders sag with relief. “I felt really bad about you having one of those rashes. I hear they can be really uncomfortable.”
“Oh my God.” He reached for her, unfastening her seat belt with one hand and lifting her onto his lap with the other. And then he was kissing her, his mouth ravenous on hers as he thrust his tongue inside her mouth and took her over. There was no other word for it, except maybe devoured. Yes, he devoured her, destroyed her, then left her wrecked and very aroused.
He leaned back and scrubbed his face with his hands. “We didn’t have sex. We made love. It was more than just random sex, and it sure as hell was more than scratching an itch. We’re friends and you mean a lot to me.”
She put her hand on his thigh. “Your friendship means a lot to me too.” More than she was willing to admit to anyone, including herself.
“Just promise me that no matter what happens, we’ll remain friends. I like having you in my life.”
“Of course, I’ll always be your friend.” She’d walked away from him once before. She wasn’t sure she had it in her to do it again. “We’re good together. I like having you in my life too.”
Most of the tension relaxed from his body, and he smiled at her. “Good.” He leaned over and gave her a quick peck on the lips. “Let’s go see your father.”
* * *
Chapter 18
* * *
As they walked through the sliding glass doors of the hospital, Heath twined his fingers with hers. Lyric knew that he was playing the role of her fiancé, but part of her wanted to pretend that it was in some part real. It was dumb and pointless, but her rejected seventeen-year-old self still lived deep inside of her. And then there was the fantastic sex. Talking about blurring lines. But she wasn’t seventeen anymore. She knew the difference between sex and love.
“In case I forget to tell you later, thank you, Heath.”
He smiled his mega-million-dollar smile at her, the one that had had her heart beating way too fast from the time she realized that Heath’s throwing arm interested her a lot less than his eight pack. “For what, darlin’?”
“In case I forget to tell you, thanks for pretending to be my fiancé. My family is so happy.” Well, everyone but Harmony. For the first time in Lyric’s life, her mother was happy with something she’d done … or well, was pretending to do. And her father. He was so excited. They just needed to let him believe it for the next month or so until he was stronger, and then they’d tell him the truth. Sure, he would be mad, but he’d forgive her, and by then his heart would be able to take the bad news.
Heath brought her hand up to his lips, gave her a very gallant kiss on the back of it. “No problem. Gives me something to do.”
“Speaking of that … have you given any more thought to—”
“We’re not speaking of it. And we won’t be. Ever.” His voice was flat and final.
She was his fake fiancée and not his teammate. She didn’t take orders from him or anyone—except maybe her boss, but only when she agreed with them. “You need to think about the future, Heath. It’s coming whether you want it to or not.”
“Let it come.” He navigated the hallway, practically pulling her behind him. “I have enough money to wait it out.”
“Your future isn’t a tropical storm. You can’t hunker down and hope for the best.” She knew him better than she was willing to admit. He wasn’t a wait-around kinda guy.
“How about coaching?” She would make him face life after football or die trying. “I bet you’d be really good at it.”
His cell phone buzzed, and he looked relieved for a possible subject change.
She wasn’t giving up. He was helping her, so she would return the favor, whether he liked it or not.
He pulled the phone out of his front jeans pocket, checked the number, hit reject, and shoved it back into the same pocket. “You ready?”
“For what?” Since there was no telling what he’d do or say next, she had to be ready for anything.
He raised a brow as he pushed open the door to the wing where her father was staying. “The show, obviously.”
Nerves played ping-pong in her stomach in spite of the steadying feel of his hand on the small of her back. She nodded and smiled. “I was born ready.”
He laughed, just like she’d intended him to. “Like I haven’t known that since we were five years old.”
He tucked her hand into the crook of his arm. He held his head high and seemed proud to have her on his arm. His gait turned from wobbly to steady.
Just for a millisecond, she allowed herself the belief that this was real. That Heath was in love with her … that they were getting married … that they were a couple. It soothed a small crack in her seventeen-year-old self’s soul. She smiled to herself, and then she let reality sink back in.
It was okay that this was all make believe, because the hurt that had torn her apart was fading. Time, and now Heath, had picked up that brokenhearted seventeen-year-old, brushed her off, and given her a hug.
Laughter billowed out of her father’s room as they approached it, and Lyric couldn’t help grinning. Everyone was in such a good mood. She loved it—loved even more that for once she was at least partially responsible for it.
Heath pushed the door open and held it for her. She started to walk in, but paused for a moment as she realized there was someone else in the room. Someone who was very definitely not family. Her mother sat in the chair next to her father’s bed, talking with a man in a tailored pink shirt, black trousers, and what looked like an honest-to-God cape. Was he a superhero or a magician? They were hunched over a large three-ring binder.
“How is the patient feeling this morning?” Heath led her to the other side of her father’s bed.
“So much better.” Her father’s color was back to normal. “I’ve been up and walking already this morning.”
“That’s what Momma said.” Lyric leaned forward and dropped a kiss on his cheek. “I’m so proud of you.”
“So this is the bride?” Cape Man had an accent that was part Zorro and part Dracula. He stepped in front of Lyric and inspected her like she’d been grown in a lab. “We have our works cut out for us, yes?”
He gingerly pinched a lock of her hair between his fingers.
He thought she needed work? The man was wearing a cape … on purpose.
“I know.” Her mother put her hand over her heart. “We need to burn those shoes.”
Lyric took a step back. “Why?” She glanced down at the sparkly pink Birks Heath had somehow found for her. “I like these shoes. Heath got them for me.”
Her mother shrugged her shoulders in defeat. “Just promise me, you won’t wear them on your wedding day.”
“Or any day when you are around peoples with eyes that works.” Cape Man was getting on her nerves.
“I don’t think we’ve met.” Heath held out his hand. “I’m Heath Montgomery.”
“I’m Gregor Von Ramirez.” Instead of shaking Heath’s hand, he clicked his heels together and bowed low, his cape dusting the floor. He announced, “Event planner to the stars.”
San Angelo had stars? Well, besides the ones in the sky and Heath, of course.
Heath pulled his hand back in. “Good to meet you, Grayson—”
“It’s Gregor—”
“Sure, Garry.” Heath was enjoying messing with Gregor.
“It’s Gregor—”
“Okay.” Lyric looked at her mother for translation. “Why do we need an event planner?”
“To plan your wedding.” Her mother beamed. “Gregor was kind enough to drop everything and drive in from San Antonio.”
Oh God. Things were getting way out of hand. Lyric glanced at Heath uneasily and then said, “I think there’s something I need to tell you.”
“Me too.” Her mother patted her father’s arm. “Your father has already been up a third time since I talked to
you. He is determined to be ready to walk you down that aisle.”
“Walk her?” Heath said, suitably impressed. “At this rate, he’s going to be able to carry her.”
“Well, not unless she is losing twenty pounds.” Gregor’s accent was heavy on the Dracula.
“Lyric’s light as a feather.” Heath stepped into Gregor’s personal space. “Of course her father can carry her … with one arm tied behind his back.”
“My baby girl is perfect just the way she is,” her father said with a huge grin. He was the happiest she had ever seen him. “Now what did you want to tell us, baby girl?”
“Your wedding has given your father something to live for.” Her mother leaned down and kissed him on the cheek. Was Lyric imagining the warning in her mother’s voice? And the implication that if Lyric told them the truth, she’d kill her father.
“Oh … um.” She really didn’t think that would happen, but it wasn’t like she was going to take the chance. At this rate, she and Heath were going to take their secret to the grave. Or at least back to Hawaii. “Well. Mercury’s in retrograde, so it should be the perfect time to plan a wedding.”
Good God, what had she done?
Her family wasn’t going to take the news that her fake engagement had ended very well. Maybe she and Heath would have to have a fake fight and a bad breakup?
“That is so good.” Gregor nodded his approval. Was it her imagination or had his accent slipped? “Astrology is a true science that helps explain the universe and our place in it.”
That was it, she was choking him with his own cape.
“Well, isn’t that lucky?” Her mother was giddy. Lyric had never seen her mother giddy and really wasn’t sure how she liked it. “Have you set a date yet?”
“A date?” Lyric turned to Heath.
“Not yet, but I’m thinking a short engagement would be best.” He winked at Lyric.
This was turning into a bigger disaster with every second that passed. So why was he egging them on?
“I’m so glad you agree. Long engagements are for the indecisive. You two are so much in love. I hate to see you waste even one minute.” Her mother turned to Gregor. “We were just looking over photos of wedding cakes. Do you or Heath have a preference?”
