One True Pairing: A Geek Girl Rom Com (Fandom Hearts)

by Cathy Yardley

She blinked.

  He leaned in, slowly, giving her plenty of time to pull away, not crowding her, not grabbing her. His lips barely brushed hers, a whisper of softness.

  “If it isn’t for show, how do you feel?”

  She swayed toward him, her own lips brushing his, a mere slide of silk.

  “You know I’m attracted, Jake,” she said, and all he wanted to do was sink into that mouth and stay for a while.

  She pulled away before he had the chance. “And you know that you’re the one that made the rules. No sex,” she said, her voice brisk again, the heat slowly ebbing away. “Because this is business. And as you just pointed out, I’m doing this to help my sisters. And I’d walk through fire to help them, so I’m not screwing that up . . . which means I’m not crossing any lines, and neither are you.”

  He winced. She was right. What the hell was he doing?

  She smiled, but it didn’t make it to her eyes.

  “See you out there,” she said, her voice rough. “Sweetie.”

  * * *

  Jesus, Hailey, get yourself together.

  Hailey sat in the third row at the panel. She was in a standard hotel room chair, the stackable kind, not the plushest seats in the world. But that wasn’t the reason for her discomfort. No, the squirming was all her, still remembering Jake’s kiss, the way he’d held her tight against him . . . the feel of that growing bulge, pressing against her stomach. Yeah, baby.

  Was it hot in here, or was it just him?

  She looked at her cell phone for the third time, and still forgot to really check what time it was. That’s how flustered the man had her.

  When was the last time she’d been truly flustered by a man?

  Never. This was a first. That made her somewhat nervous.

  It’s just a con, she told herself. The guy himself knew it was strictly business. She was doing this for her sister, Cressida. And yeah, as noble as that sounded, and as important as Cressida was, she knew that it was also a bit of a cop-out. She was interested in this guy.

  The crowd was predominantly women, all talking and laughing, waiting for the guys to come out. It was just going to be the brothers today—Jake, Simon, and Miles—in a more intimate talk. Different women were talking about which one they thought was the hottest. She grinned as she heard various lines from the show quoted back and forth to each other.

  She sat close to the end of her row—near enough to the front of the crowd that Jake should see her, but far enough that she could walk out if she needed to. There were some photographers lined up against the wall by the door, cameras ready, angled toward the panel stage. Because this room was smaller than the big auditorium they’d been in yesterday, the rows were crammed, putting Hailey only a few feet away from the cameras. One of the photographers was a woman in jeans who looked very irritated and very bored.

  “Do you even know what they’re talking about?” Hailey heard the woman say, not too discreetly, to another cameraman.

  He shrugged. “I don’t watch the show.”

  “Neither do I,” the woman said, then got on her cell phone. “Phil, listen, there’s nothing here. I don’t care if he is Kurt Windlass’s kid, this is boring! This is one step above pet fashion shows and sweet sixteens. And I’m up here in the middle of nowhere. I hear Ciara’s up with Russell Wilson. I’m sure if I . . .”

  She trailed off, looking pissed.

  “Fine, fine, I’ll take pictures of Kurt’s choirboy kid,” the photographer said, rolling her eyes. “But I swear to God, if I get something worth publishing, I’m going to sell it to the highest bidder and screw your job, Phil. I’m tired of being stuck out in the sticks.”

  The photographer was still cursing as she hung up. Hailey felt the tingle of prescience. This. This was an opportunity. Any good con woman worth her salt would see the same.

  When the crowd burst into cheers, hoots, and applause, she got to her feet as well, clapping. The guys were all dressed casually, but all looked good. Simon looked almost predatory, turning on his charm like a spotlight. Miles was more withdrawn, shy. And then there was Jake, his eyes scanning the crowd as he grinned, this adorable lopsided grin that made him look boyishly handsome, almost mischievous.

  His eyes met hers, and he nodded. Not warming up, she realized. He was still pissed about the whole job thing.

  Damn it. There was paparazzi here. This was not a time for him to be prissy. He needed to sell the story—to set up the con. She couldn’t do this by herself.

  She’d have to loosen him up. Not easy, but not impossible, either, she thought, willing him to look at her.

  The crowd started asking questions again . . . stuff about the show. “Simon, do you think your character is ever going to get a girlfriend?”

  He shrugged. “Girlfriend, boyfriend, I’m open-minded,” he said, to more whistles and catcalls. He winked, obviously playing to the slash crowd. “But you know how it is. Significant others don’t last long on the show.”

  This brought up muted booing as they remembered his love interest in the first season had died brutally—drowning, for him to find. He made a sad face. The next question was for Miles, something about whether he was as bookish as his character.

  As he answered it, Jake looked over at her, just for a second. She stared at him like her eyes were a tractor beam, and she was calling him in.

  Get over it, she thought, taking a deep breath that put the girls up to their best advantage.

  She noticed his glance slowed a little . . . and heated a little. Better, she thought. But again, she couldn’t be too obvious. Damn it, she should’ve prepped him better. But how was she supposed to know the paparazzi would be following him here?

  She had to get him to play along.

  She cleared her throat, just a tiny bit. The audience by and large ignored her. But he caught it, she noticed. He stared, just a little longer.

  “Sorry,” she mouthed slowly, feeling a little stubborn.

  She noticed him shrugging a little. Apparently sexy looks and apologies weren’t going to get her anywhere. While the other guys were loose limbed and easygoing, he looked like a stick in the mud, a carved-out-of-marble tough guy with his arms crossed.

  Well, screw that.

  When next he looked at her, he paused, startled, then took a second glance. At least, she thought so. It was hard to tell . . . probably because she was crossing her eyes and doing fish lips. When she straightened her eyes out, he was staring at her like she was insane.

  She grinned, stuck her tongue out at him, and winked.

  He looked startled, and then covered his mouth. She could see from his eyes that he was grinning.

  “Jake,” a voice asked, and he quickly shifted his attention. He was looking looser, though. Well, that was something, she thought.

  “Yes?” he asked, a hint of warmth and a chuckle in his tone.

  “Do you have a girlfriend?”

  The crowd chuckled. “No. We’re all single,” he said, his tone suggesting it was obviously the standard line.

  “Are you sure?”

  Now the crowd turned and looked at the person asking. It was the girl—the one from the hallway. She was grinning, a little cruel, somewhat smug, even as her friend hissed at her to sit down.

  “Um . . .” Jake shot another glance at Hailey. Hailey quickly schooled her face to look surprised, maybe even a little panicked. “Yeeessss,” he said slowly.

  The moderator laughed. “You sure you’re sure about that?” he asked.

  Jake rubbed the back of his neck. “Um . . . let’s just go with it’s complicated,” he said, and the crowd started whispering . . . and then he looked at Hailey again.

  She could’ve sworn she’d seen all his sexy looks, but this . . . holy hell, the guy went straight to a DEFCON 1 smolder. She could feel it all the way to the toes of her Mary Jane stilettos.

  She swallowed hard, even as she felt her nipples go hard against her bra. The guy needed to be registered as a dangerous weapon, she thought
. He was a panty destroyer.

  He winked at her.

  Too obvious! She looked away.

  The paparazzo had noticed, though, and was looking at Hailey thoughtfully. Hailey looked to the other side of the room.

  Well, at least that was done . . . the photographer had taken the bait. Now, to reel her in.

  She waited until the end of the panel, and stayed in her seat for a second as the crowd milled around. She saw people shooting her curious glances, but ignored them, keeping a casual, unnoticeable bead on the photographer. When most of the crowd had exited, she walked over to the green room door, where the bouncer was.

  “Here to see Jake again?” he asked with a grin.

  “I’ll, um, wait for him here,” she said, forcing herself to sound tentative. The bouncer spoke into the walkie-talkie thing attached to his shoulder, announcing her presence. The paparazzo was a few feet away, trying to blend in with a potted plant from the looks of it.

  No wonder Phil doesn’t trust you with bigger assignments, Hailey thought derisively.

  Jake came out, giving her a hug that she shrugged off. “How’d I do?” he whispered in her ear.

  “Not bad, but . . . come on,” she said, tugging him away, toward the kitchens. He followed easily.

  “Listen, I’m sorry I was hard on you earlier,” he said. “I was just . . .”

  “Shh,” she said. “Play along.”

  Thankfully, he didn’t need to be told twice. She kissed him hard, and he responded immediately.

  It was getting easier, she realized. The way their bodies met and molded against each other. It was . . . God, she wasn’t going to think something cheesy and cliché, like it was like coming home.

  But it felt really, really good. Warm, and cozy, not just all flash and heat.

  That is, until he gripped her ass and tugged her against the length of iron he appeared to have in the front of his pants, causing her to moan into his open mouth.

  OH. MY. GOD.

  She had meant to make sure that the paparazzi had followed them, but now, she could barely keep her head above water. His kiss was honest-to-God making her dizzy.

  She felt his hand creep up under her sweater, his broad, hot palm flat against the skin of her back. She shimmied her hips a little as his mouth went to work on hers, then moved up her jawline, finding the sweet spot just where her jaw met her ear.

  “Oh, my God,” she breathed. “Jake.”

  He sucked, with gentle but relentless pressure. She couldn’t help it. She shifted against him, her hands in his hair, pulling him tight against her.

  He spun her, his body pressing her against the wall. She felt as one denim-covered leg moved between her thighs, pressing against her skirt. She knew she was already damp.

  He bit her earlobe, and she let out another moan.

  “Anything else I should be doing?” he whispered.

  “God, whatever you want, just don’t stop,” she said around a ragged breath as she clutched his shoulders. His chuckle was like dark chocolate, rich and sinful and delicious.

  “We’re in a hallway, baby,” he said, trailing more kisses along her throat until she shivered against him. “But God, if we were in a room . . .”

  She was ready to pass out. Yes. Yes, they need to get to his room, immediately.

  Then, just like a switch, he pulled away.

  “She left,” he said.

  She blinked heavily. “She . . . what? Who?”

  He stared at Hailey for a long moment, then his smile was pure sunshine.

  “The paparazzi. The one that was trailing you,” he said. “I’ve seen her around a few times. That was why you dragged me in here, right?”

  It took longer than she wanted to get her head together. “The . . . right! Right.” She nodded, too emphatically. “That was the plan. Yes. The whole time.”

  “You okay?”

  She shook herself. “Yeah. I have to go, though,” she said. “I’ve got to, um, get to work. At the casino.”

  He stroked her cheek. “Okay. See you tomorrow?”

  “Bright and early,” she said, then almost stumbled as she took a step away.

  “You sure you’re all right?”

  “Don’t get cocky, kid,” she muttered, “Bye.” Then she was strutting back through the lobby, feeling people’s eyes on her.

  But she wasn’t thinking about maintaining the con, or even upholding her image. He’d shaken her. All she could imagine was them in bed together. Then, he could be as cocky as he wanted. Hell, she’d encourage it . . .

  No, she chastised herself. They’d already struck the deal. She wasn’t going to fuck this up.

  God, woman, get yourself sorted out!

  * * *

  The next morning, Jake was already on his computer. The room was nice—Susie had made management grovel, and he had a suite—but he was still having trouble sleeping. He didn’t have to do anything until that afternoon, when he and the other guys would be judging a costume competition. He decided to take advantage of the break to see how his performance with Hailey went over. Just skimming TMZ and Perez Hilton, the photos had definitely been picked up—and they made his blood heat. The gossip sites had noticed as well. “Va va voom! Who’s headed for Jake’s room?” one article said. “Jake Reese has a new lady friend” another pointed out—rather obviously, given the clinch that the two of them were in.

  If that didn’t boost his damned Q Score, he didn’t know what would.

  He picked up his cell phone, dialing Susie. He doubted it would change the producers’ minds immediately—although God, wouldn’t that be nice?—but he wanted to make sure he was on the same track.

  “Jake, sweetie,” she said immediately. “How is everything? That hotel treating you right?”

  “Yeah,” he said, glancing over at the huge basket by his bed. “They even gave me this giant assortment of all my favorite candies. You put them on to that, I guess?”

  “Are you kidding? I’m trying to keep your weight down, kid,” she said, and he could picture her rolling her eyes.

  “If not you, then . . .”

  “Guess they must’ve talked to somebody in the convention,” she said, “or one of those nutty fangirls . . .”

  He suddenly felt a pang, and looked at the basket with more suspicion. Then he dumped it in the trash.

  “But I bet you’ve got more on your mind than your accommodations,” Susie said, now with a trace of smugness. “Somebody’s been busy, I see.”

  “That’s why I’m calling,” Jake said, stretching out on his hotel bed and crossing his ankles. “Well? Is this what the doctor ordered? Will this boost my Q Score?”

  She took a deep breath. “It’s definitely a step in the right direction,” she said, but something in her voice sounded hesitant, sticking a pin in Jake’s balloon of cheer.

  “What’s the problem now? I thought the idea was to become better known with the public,” he said, trying not to sound petulant. “You told me yourself to get a girlfriend.”

  “There’s a right way and a wrong way to do that, though. There’s a big difference between a bankable star, somebody who can move you up the ladder, and . . .” Susie’s voice sounded tight, tense for some reason. “Who is that woman, anyway? I know she’s not an actress.”

  “How do you know she’s not an actress?” Jake asked, knowing he was being difficult, but feeling incensed on Hailey’s behalf.

  Susie’s chuckle was patronizing, and his hackles rose. “Hon, at that size? That age? Unless she’s a comedian I’m not aware of, she’s not going anywhere in Hollywood, and you know it.”

  He made a low growling sound. He had been going to let Susie in on their plan, but her attitude was grating on him. “She’s sexy as hell.”

  “That is abundantly clear,” Susie agreed, irritating him even more. “But again—we’re thinking bankable. Your sexy girl isn’t . . . well . . .”

  “Isn’t what?” Jake said, his voice low.

  Another voice cu
t across Susie’s, gruff and impatient. “Let me talk to him. Susie, give me the phone, let me talk to him.”

  Just like that, Jake’s stomach dropped and his shoulders rose, pinching his blades together like he’d just been handcuffed.

  Damn it.

  “Jake,” the voice growled. “What the hell have you gotten into this time?”

  “Hi, Dad,” Jake said, trying not to sound like the rueful fourteen-year-old he suddenly felt like.

  His father was larger than life. A box office legend. Hollywood royalty, but not in a golden-boy sort of way. No, he’d been a hell-raising “man’s man,” an action anti-hero with plenty of rough edges. He’d successfully transferred from shoot-’em-up Westerns and cop dramas to psychological thrillers and political statement-makers, even garnering a few Oscar nods. When it came to the industry, few people were as revered—or feared—as Kurt Windlass.

  Which made it hard to just look at him and see “Dad.” Not, Jake supposed, that Kurt Windlass wanted to be a TV sitcom–styled father figure.

  “Saw the pictures of you getting frisky with the bimbo,” his father said sharply. “Did you pay her, or what?”

  “Did I . . . No!” Jake snapped. “God, Dad. We’re dating.”

  “You don’t date women that look like that, kid,” his father scoffed. “You don’t kiss women you date like that, either.”

  “How do you know?” Jake asked, getting up and pacing. His muscles started tensing: fight or flight. Funny, how often his father provoked this response. “This is the twenty-first century. Women that look like that? Really? What kind of judgment is that?”

  “Oh, don’t pull that politically correct crap with me,” his father answered, verbally waving away Jake’s protests. “As far as Hollywood business is concerned, they’re firmly in the fifties or possibly the forties, don’t kid yourself. The reason that you hook up with young starlets is because Hollywood runs on sex, and people find young starlets sexy. You hook up with an actress that’s recognizable because you multiply the star power. Christ’s sake, son, this is Hollywood 101.” He said it with evident disgust. “While I’m glad that you’re finally getting your head out of your ass and trying to do something to boost your career, you’re screwing it up. Why don’t you let me hire Sheila back? Or some other publicist who actually knows what the hell’s going on?”