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

by Cathy Yardley

  She felt a wave of relief. “I’ll hold you to that.”

  “But that might not guarantee that your bookstore makes it,” he pointed out, and it was like getting splashed with cold water. “Do you have a backup plan?”

  She didn’t, not really. Rachel had some . . . She needed to talk to her about that. But for now . . . “Just a good sale, getting a bunch of the convention traffic, would be a huge boost. It’d get us through the next month or two. Sometimes, that’s as good as it gets.”

  He was quiet for a second.

  “I’m not telling you this as a sob story,” she said, feeling a pinch of pride. “I’m not just trying to guilt you into helping. This is an even trade, damn it.”

  “I know that,” he said. “But you’re a pretty cool woman, you know that?”

  “I’m aware,” she said, pushing the bravado. “See you in a few.”

  She clicked off her phone, then rested her head on the cold plastic of the steering wheel for just a minute longer.

  “I can do this. I can do this, damn it,” she told herself, turning the ignition and letting the engine roar to life.

  She had to do this. Cressida and Rachel were counting on her. And if she’d get out of her own way, get over her pissy attitudes, self-sabotage and self-pity, she’d make sure it got done.

  * * *

  Jake decided to have Hailey come up to his room to brainstorm. She sounded upset but determined when he’d talked to her on the phone. He knew this whole “fake relationship” thing was a long shot, but Susie still hadn’t heard from the producers, and he was getting antsy. He had to do something. Besides, he was fascinated by Hailey. Attracted, without question. A little wary, too . . . partly because of his whole gun-shy approach to women, but partly because of her past. But just a little. His gut was telling him to trust her.

  Of course, that might be his dick. They were in adjacent neighborhoods, after all, and sometimes his dick was louder.

  She knocked, and he let her in. “Thanks,” he said, glancing up and down the hallway to make sure the paparazzi wasn’t there. They might’ve sent somebody more seasoned. Not that he was all that newsworthy, he thought. But the photos had been steamy, and sex sold.

  She came in, sitting down on the bed. She must’ve come directly from work—she was wearing a pair of jeans that clung to her curves and a long-sleeved Seahawks shirt with the sleeves scrunched up. “Nice digs,” she said, bouncing a little. Which caused other things to bounce, very nicely, on her frame. He forced himself not to stare.

  Don’t be that guy, Jake.

  He sat on the small couch. “So, any ideas, coach?”

  She stretched out, propping her head up on one arm. “I may have something.”

  She looked good on the burnished gold comforter, he thought. Which of course, reminded him of how close the two of them had come in his other hotel room, at the casino. His cock twitched. He steadfastly ignored it.

  Working, buddy, he chastised absently. Just business, remember?

  Too bad that was getting to be a harder and harder tenet to remember.

  “Well?” he said, only sounding a little hoarse. “What’d you have in mind? Walk by the water, holding hands? Sharing spaghetti like Lady and the Tramp? I could buy you roses somewhere . . .”

  “Slight pivot,” she said, surprising him. “I’m wondering if maybe I got you on the wrong track.”

  He frowned. “Like . . . what, exactly? We should have promise rings and stay celibate or something?”

  Her eyes widened, then she rolled onto her back, letting out peals of laughter. “God, no!”

  “That’s good,” he muttered. No way was he thinking celibacy when he had someone as smoking hot as Hailey in front of him, even if sex was technically off the table. If they were going to be in a “pretend” relationship, they were going to be “pretend” all over each other.

  Remind me again why the “no sex” thing was a good idea.

  He growled at himself softly, then forced himself to focus.

  “I think you need to go hang out with the fans,” she clarified. “Get to know your audience. And let them get to know you.”

  He blanched, thinking of the VIP fiasco. “I’m doing that on the panels, aren’t I?”

  “Not really,” she said, surprising him. “On the panels I’ve seen, Simon’s a raging extrovert, a showman. Charming as hell. Miles is Simon’s straight man, and they’ve got the double-act down pat, but even then, he shares stuff about himself. Like his dog, Tuna, or his not-so-secret obsession with eighties music. You, on the other hand . . .” She surveyed him seriously. “You’re pretty closed-mouthed. You’re two-dimensional. There’s nothing to grab onto.”

  “My jeans pocket would disagree with you,” he muttered, squirming uncomfortably, but he sighed. “What should I talk about? I answer questions. And I don’t want to talk about my dad, or Hollywood stuff.”

  “Good, because nobody wants to hear about that crap here,” she said. “They want to get to know you. What’s interesting about you?”

  “How the hell should I know?” he said, getting up and pacing. “Seriously. I hike, I surf. I don’t have any amusingly named pets, no weird hobbies. I am boring, white-bread, vanilla. There is no ‘there’ there.”

  He felt bitterness, and deep down, a slight sense of loss.

  “I’m an underwear model, remember? Mostly they want me to stand around and brood.”

  She looked at him, silent for a long second. He waited. Then those ridiculously full lips of hers curved into a smirk.

  “This a private pity part, or can just anybody show up?”

  He winced.

  “You are more interesting than you let on,” she said.

  “You’ve known me like a day,” he shot back dismissively.

  “A couple of days,” she corrected. “And in that time, I figured out that you’re more sensitive than you let on. You’re funny. You like nature, and hate bullshit. You’re honest. You won’t have sex with me, partially because you don’t trust me, but also because you’re protecting me.”

  His eyes widened.

  “Don’t try to deny it. You know we’ve got a quid pro quo thing, and you don’t want to mix sex into that. Know what that tells me?” She didn’t wait for him to finish. “You’re a romantic. You like sci-fi and fantasy, which tells me you have good taste.”

  He grinned at that one.

  “You ran from some overzealous groupies, rather than cussing them out or being an asshole. You’re not jealous of Simon and Miles. And you could’ve told me to take a hike, but you didn’t. You were open-minded and gave me a shot, even though let’s face it, it’s a Hail Mary at best.” She smiled. “You’ve got a good heart inside that great bod, Jake Reese. If more of the fans knew about it, the show would sign you in a heartbeat. So let’s let them see it.”

  He swallowed hard. Nobody, not even women he’d dated, had looked at him this way. Read him this way. Said such positive praise in a no-nonsense way.

  She got up, holding out her hand. “Let’s go downstairs, and hang out with the masses a bit.”

  He took a deep breath, then stood up, holding her hand. “If I get mauled,” he said, laughing shakily, trying to cover his suddenly raw emotions, “I’m blaming you.”

  “Poor baby,” she cooed. “I’ll protect you.”

  He leaned forward carefully, kissing her on the cheek. Her eyes widened.

  “Thanks for the pep talk,” he said, squeezing her hand.

  Her look of surprise melted into something warmer—sweeter. Her smile made her look younger for a moment, less guarded.

  “You’re very welcome.”

  They headed down to the convention rooms. He felt a little nervous, but holding her hand like a talisman helped. He then discovered curving his arm around her waist and holding her to him helped even more.

  “No hiding behind me, metaphorically speaking,” she warned.

  He chuckled. They went to the sales floor. He complimented sever
al people on the fan-made art they were selling. There was an impromptu dance party going on in one of the other rooms, he noticed. Hailey tugged him over.

  There were mostly women, he noticed immediately. They’d commandeered a small sound system, and were dancing around enthusiastically to the eighties alternative music that the show so often played. New Order, Talking Heads, David Bowie. He nodded in approval, clapping after a song stopped.

  The women turned, staring at him, and he immediately felt self-conscious. “Private party, or can anybody join in?” he asked, echoing Hailey’s earlier sentiment.

  “Oooh!” One woman squealed loudly, clapping her hands.

  Oh, Christ. It couldn’t be.

  It was.

  “Pocket-Ripper,” he quickly muttered to Hailey as the woman came up and threw her arms around Jake. “Help.”

  Hailey took charge immediately. “You need to let him go. Now.”

  The other women in the crowd looked surprised—and a bit repulsed—at Hailey’s sharp statement. In the lull in the music, he could hear them murmuring to each other.

  Who the hell is she?

  Why is she acting that way?

  What’s going on with the two of them?

  Pocket-Ripper was wearing a Mystics’ ALL KNIGHT LONG T-shirt and a smug expression, hanging on tighter. “What, you think because you slept with him you own him?”

  “No,” Hailey said, and he swore, it was like she was a theater-trained actor. She wasn’t shouting, exactly, but every person in the room could hear every word she was saying. “I’m saying you need to let go of him because you were at the VIP event, and you assaulted him.”

  Now jaws dropped open, and the looks of revulsion turned to Pocket-Ripper.

  The woman laughed nervously, but did release him, thank God. “That was . . . that wasn’t . . .” she spluttered. “I’d had a little to drink, with lunch. It was a VIP event!”

  “So you’re saying you paid money, so you should get to touch whatever you want on him?” Hailey said coldly.

  The woman turned to Jake. “Aww . . . he didn’t mind. You didn’t mind, right?” She sounded defensive. “I’m sure you’ve had worse.”

  “I didn’t like it,” he said quietly.

  Since it had gotten quiet, all the other women heard him.

  “Well, excuse me,” Pocket-Ripper said, apparently feeling the heat of everyone’s judgment. “I was just having a good time.”

  “That’s not cool,” said one of others, a tall woman with a Dr. Who T-shirt. “Not cool at all.”

  “That’s sexual assault,” another agreed. “What the hell?”

  Pocket-Ripper spluttered. “Fuck you guys!” she said, storming off.

  Hailey touched his arm, and he startled. He didn’t realize just how tensed he’d been. “It’s okay,” she breathed. Then she turned to the others. “Sorry about that. So, are we dancing, or what?”

  They laughed, and the music started up—this time Oingo Boingo’s “Dead Man’s Party,” from the Halloween episode. They started bopping along.

  Tall Woman walked up to Jake. “Sorry about that,” she said. “I hope you don’t think we’re all like that.”

  Jake sighed. “No, of course not. The VIP event got a little out of hand.”

  “Sexual assault at a con or a VIP event, is not cool,” Tall Woman said, shaking her head. “And considering your history, I’d think they’d be extra careful.”

  “What history?” Hailey asked curiously.

  “The . . . you know,” the woman whispered. “The stalker?”

  Hailey turned to him, eyes wide. “You have a stalker? Should I be worried?”

  Jake shook his head. “I haven’t heard anything from her for a month or two,” he said.

  “Don’t worry. We’ll keep the crazies away,” another woman said, bumping fists with Tall Woman.

  “Thanks,” he said, and meant it. They were nice, protective. He then wound up having a conversation with each of them. Tall Woman—real name Samantha—had come all the way from Nebraska. She was ordinarily a human resources rep for an equipment rental company, but she liked going to conventions, and she loved the show. The other woman was a dog groomer from Florida, also named Samantha. They were sharing a room, even though they’d never met before in real life. They both ran a fan site and Facebook group.

  He took selfies with both of them. He then wound up talking to about twenty different people. He thought he’d hate it, but they all loved the show, and they were respectful and interesting. And just nice.

  He wished he’d done this sooner.

  He looked over at Hailey, who after defending him from Pocket-Ripper had left him to his own devices. She was shaking it to “Don’t Go” by Yaz. And a damned fine shake it was. She winked at him, noticing him looking.

  “She seems really nice,” Samantha from Nebraska said.

  “She is,” he said, reluctantly turning away from his staring. “She’s awesome.”

  Samantha from Florida gave her friend a quick look. “We don’t mean to pry.”

  “You’re not,” he said, realizing this was probably the sort of opportunity that Hailey would approve of. “She’s the best.”

  “How did you two meet?”

  “After the VIP, strangely enough,” he said, deciding to stick as close to the truth as possible. “That lady had just ripped my pants pocket off, and I was trying to hide. I dove into the coffee shop where Hailey was working and hid behind the counter.”

  “No way!” Nebraska Samantha said, laughing.

  “True story,” he said, grinning. “She agreed to give me a ride to the hotel. I bought her dinner to say thanks, and we just . . . hit it off.”

  It really was true. They’d had a great conversation, even before their too-short, almost-sexual encounter. Even with the craziness of their “agreement,” he realized he liked talking to her. Liked hanging out with her.

  He just liked her.

  They were sighing. “That is so romantic,” Florida Samantha said. “Would you mind if we shared that on our blog, and in the group?”

  “Nah, go ahead,” he said. “And if you want an interview or something, just let me know.”

  “Really?” Nebraska Samantha squeaked. “You’d be up for it?”

  “Absolutely. Just email me.”

  She hugged him, then pulled away, red faced.

  “It’s okay,” he said, and gave her a hug back, ignoring her soft squeee. Then he hugged Florida Samantha, and grinned at her red face. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I think I’d like a dance with my girl.”

  They were chattering excitedly when he walked up to Hailey, giving her a hug from behind. The English Beat was playing, talking about the “Mirror in the Bathroom.” She was jamming, sweating, but she turned and gave him a brilliant smile.

  “How’re you doing, champ?” She leaned against him, and he felt her lush curves pressing him deliciously.

  He kissed her neck. “Doing great,” he said. “Thanks to you.”

  She turned around in his arms, kissing him on the mouth. “You’re very welcome.”

  He stared at her for a long second. Then lowered his mouth again, gently, patiently, giving her plenty of room to back off.

  Instead, she sighed, and leaned into him. Melted into him.

  He closed his eyes, luxuriating in the feel of her against him, the sweetness of her mouth. He tilted his head slightly, his hands smoothing along her back. She had her hands crossed behind his neck, tugging him closer to her. Her lips parted slightly. He licked the fullness of her lower lip, nipping at it.

  Despite the pounding beat, it might as well have been a slow dance. And they might as well have been the only two on the makeshift dance floor.

  There was a long hoot, and he pulled away, momentarily stunned. The ladies were laughing, clapping, cheering.

  They weren’t the only two on the dance floor, he realized foolishly.

  “Woot!” Nebraska Samantha yelled, as Florida Samantha whistled.r />
  Hailey was blushing, but smiling broadly. “So, can you dance?” she asked, giving a fantastic shimmy.

  He smiled back. “I do a mean Sprinkler.” At which he grabbed his left foot, put out his right arm, and demonstrated his terrible skills. Her laugh blended with the others.

  After a few more painfully awkward moves—the Cabbage Patch, the Running Man, and of course the Robot—he finally waved off, holding Hailey, who had collapsed against him, laughing.

  “See you guys tomorrow,” he called, and they waved back.

  “That was fun,” he said, as they collapsed together into the elevator. “I don’t know if it’ll help, with the contract I mean, but I’m glad I did it.”

  “You were great,” she said, eyes shining.

  They were alone in the elevator, leaning against each other, breathless from dancing and laughing. And looking at each other.

  He leaned forward, testing. Tempting.

  She met him halfway.

  * * *

  She was kissing Jake. Again. Not in front of an audience. This wasn’t for the con.

  This was for them, and them alone.

  His body pressed her against the wall of the elevator, and she had to fight the instinct to wrap her legs around his waist and just say “the hell with it.” Her lips parted, and his tongue swept through, tangling with hers as his hands threaded through her curls, pulling them loose from the ponytail holder. She hooked a knee over his hip, and he held it closer, rubbing his hardness against her softness, making her growl against his lips.

  She’d never needed someone like this. She’d had plenty of sex: fun, fantastic, varied. But she’d never felt like this about a person, specifically.

  If she didn’t fuck this man, she thought she might well die.

  Isn’t it more than that, though?

  She silenced the tiny voice that whispered the traitorous thought. She’d only known Jake, what, seventy-two hours. She wasn’t going to romanticize it. She wanted him. He wanted her.

  He tore away when the door dinged, releasing her leg. He was breathless, his eyes blazing. “You’re staying.”