Does the woman not see the desperation in my eyes? I glare at her in complete helplessness. Austin moves from the bar and stands a few feet away. He stares at me for such a long time that I shift in discomfort. “Rebecca?”
My smile more closely resembles a grimace as I turn to face him. “Hey, Austin.”
He can’t stop blinking at me, and I mean, who can blame him? I look like a different person. I mean, I am a different person. This is me. The real me.
“You look—” He sets his drink down on a table. “Different,” he finishes lamely.
My smile turns brittle, crumbling bit by bit. I told myself I was through with lying, so I don’t say anything.
“Is there a special occasion or a reason you’re dressed up?” He tilts his head in curiosity.
“No.” The word feels numb. I can’t feel my tongue. “No, this is—” Deep breath. It’s time to come clean. I don’t want to be this person. I don’t want to live a lie. It’s exhausting. It hurts people I care about, people I love. “This is how I always look.”
Austin’s face scrunches in yet more confusion. The group next to us moves away, and we’re alone among the jazz and clinking glasses. “I don’t understand. I’ve never seen you look this way. Normally you look so—”
“Frumpy?”
Another blink. “Yeah.” He nods. “That.”
I look over to where Katie sits on the couch, but she’s moved to the bar. She watches me in concern, perched on the edge of her stool as if prepared to rescue me at my signal. I smile in reassurance, and she turns back around to speak with the bartender. When I face Austin again, my stomach twists from all the wine I drank earlier. And guilt. Can’t forget that. “Can we talk?”
The pull of his eyebrows is severe. He nods to an empty booth in the corner, away from prying eyes. Away from Casey’s prying eyes, I assume, should he return from wherever it was he went.
Once I slide into the booth, he slides into the other side. We regard each other for a moment before I clasp my hands under the table, gathering my courage. “I suppose you’d like an explanation.”
His frown digs the knife a little deeper into my sternum as he says, “You’re that girl he met at Ray’s at the beginning of the semester, aren’t you?”
“I am.”
“This is really how you normally look?”
I nod.
“Then why do you dress differently around Mitchell?”
I’m going to need another glass of wine for this conversation. I made this mess, and now it’s my job to clean it up, painful as it may be. “I’m a sociology student. I am—was—working on a thesis. My research focused on the correlation between physical appearance and attraction.”
He doesn’t say anything, but I know he’s listening differently, more carefully. His green eyes are sharp. He doesn’t want to miss a single word.
“I was working on my thesis long before I ever met Mitchell. One of the things I did to gather data was dress in frumpy clothes—the persona you’re familiar with. A few weeks after I met Mitchell at Ray’s, he approached me—while I was wearing my old lady clothes, no less—and proposed we enter a fake relationship.”
“Wait.” The small furrow in his brow deepens, causing light to reflect off the metal stud in his eyebrow. “You’re telling me your relationship isn’t real?”
I nod. It sounds horrible out loud.
“I feel like I’m missing something. Walk me through it.”
“At the time, he wanted a way to get his father off his back. You’ve met the guy, right?”
“Unfortunately. He doesn’t have Mitchell’s best interests at heart.”
“That’s what I think too. He suggested a fake relationship to convince his father that by dating me—law student, connections with Apple, head on straight—his father would leave him alone so Mitchell could focus on soccer. I agreed.”
“And you didn’t tell him who you were? That you were the girl from Ray’s?”
I try not to take offense at his clipped tone. He cares about his friend, and if our roles were switched, if Austin told me about some guy lying to Katie behind her back, I’d be furious as well. “Why would I? We didn’t exchange names at Ray’s, and I wasn’t interested in anything at the time. I was too focused on my work to get involved.”
Austin mulls this over, his habit of taking time to reflect making me antsy. Finally, he nods.
“Mitchell offered to pay me for the charade.” Despite Austin’s obvious disapproval, I push forward. He needs to understand my reasoning behind my actions, to see that this situation was never black and white, but shades of gray. “The only reason I said yes in the first place was because I found out earlier that day that I owed a thousand dollars on my tuition. If I didn’t pay it, I wouldn’t be able to graduate. I’d also lose my honors status.”
Austin asks, still skeptical, “You weren’t trying to get into his pants just for his wealth?”
“What? No!” It makes me sick to think of people pursuing Mitchell for his money, even though I know that’s true. Plenty of gold diggers in the world. Maybe I don’t come from money, but I have my pride. I make my own damn way.
“Does Mitchell know you owe the school money?”
“No. He doesn’t know what I’m going to use the money for.”
Austin grows quiet again. The words are harder to come by now. The shame is so great it chokes me. “He also doesn’t know about the study. In the beginning, my intention was to use the fake relationship as a research opportunity.”
A flash of anger flares in Austin’s face. I’ve only met him a handful of times, but something tells me he doesn’t get angry very often. “You can’t just manipulate people’s feelings, Rebecca. It’s not right.”
“I know.” The words are a bit broken, my breath growing uneven as I fight back the pressure building behind my eyes. I can always count on wine to bring my emotions to the surface. “Don’t you think I know that by now?”
I’d like nothing more than to sink into the floor and disappear. No doubt it would make a lot of people’s lives less painful. “But by the time I realized that, it was too late. I started to like Mitchell. Like, I really started to like him. Once I realized how shitty I was being, I spoke to my advisor about changing my thesis. She said it was too late in the semester to do so. I promised I would break it off, but I couldn’t. I liked spending time with him too much to give it up. He was kind to me. He made me laugh.”
The anger extinguishes from Austin’s expression, something softer taking its place. “You fell for him.”
My throat closes. It’s different when you hear what’s in your heart spoken aloud. It’s more real. “Yeah,” I whisper, looking at the table through stinging tears. “I did.”
The music in the bar switches to a sultry tune, sending a new wave of people to the dance floor. Just like Mitchell and I at that chance meeting at Ray’s all those months ago.
“Is he here?” I ask, helpless against the hope beating in my heart.
“No. He said you bailed on the gala. Does that mean you won’t get your money?”
“I didn’t keep up my end of the contract, so yes. But I don’t care about the money. I couldn’t keep lying to him. My thesis is trash now, since I won’t finish it. My advisor probably won’t write me a good recommendation letter anymore. Who knows if the University of Chicago even wants me.”
“Is that your dream school?”
I shrug. It is, and it isn’t. I’ve had my heart set on their graduate program for years, but if it doesn’t work out, if I have to work an extra year to pay back the university so I can reapply, then that’s what I’ll have to do. “I’ll find a way to make it work.”
Austin studies me keenly, and I shrink a little under his gaze. “You know you have to tell him, right? He thinks you broke things off because of something he did.”
I was afraid of that. The anxiety I feel intensifies. “I know. But I don’t know how.”
“Come to the gala.”
>
“What?” My voice is a borderline shriek, and I tone it down when a few patrons turn to look at me. “I can’t do that. I already said I wouldn’t be able to go.”
“You can’t keep putting this off.”
“But what about my appearance? I’ve been masquerading as two different people.”
“You should go as yourself.”
Myself. The thought is both terrifying and calming. “What if he hates me?” Because he will most definitely hate me, and I’ll have to deal with twice the heartbreak, guilt, and regret.
Austin drums his hand on the table. “The thing is, I’ve honestly never seen Mitchell so happy since you two met. I think if you come clean, he might come around.”
“And if he doesn’t forgive me?”
Austin shrugs. “Then at least you can move on with your life and finally put this lie to rest.”
Chapter 25
mitchell
This gala blows.
And I’m not just saying that because Rebecca’s absent, though that definitely contributes to my dark mood. No, it blows because this gala is everything I despise about my father’s world rolled up into a heap of shit splattered throughout the estate’s pristine marble ballroom. I’ve spent the past two hours drinking at the bar behind a massive indoor plant, ignoring the important business people my father wants me to kiss ass to while simultaneously avoiding my teammates. Everyone’s having a ball but me. Unsurprising—my father knows how to throw a party. There’s an endless supply of beer, wine, and liquor, in addition to three tables piled high with hors d’oeuvres.
I sip my beer and set it down on the polished wood with more force than is necessary. The bartender sends me a worried look. I can’t blame him. I’ve been wondering how it’s possible for my life to go to shit so quickly. I still don’t know why Rebecca changed her mind about the gala, or me. I haven’t spoken to her in five days and I die a little inside as more time passes without seeing her smile, stroking the softness of her skin, hearing those quiet moans in my ear as she trembles beneath me.
“Can I get you anything else, sir?” the bartender asks me as he mixes a fancy cocktail for a dapper old man with a bow tie and a cane.
A new life, I almost say. One where Rebecca and I are together. One where I’m playing professional soccer and she’s cheering me on from the sidelines and my father isn’t trying to insert himself into my business every hour of the day.
But that’ll never be more than a dream, I suppose.
Shaking my head, I turn around to look at the party. “I’m good.”
I have to hand it to my dad. He’s good at what he does. Namely, schmoozing people. The dress is black tie. It smells of arrogance and money, and these people eat it up. I wear my fitted tuxedo, the bow tie all but strangling my neck. My shoes are the best leather money can buy, and yet I’d rather be wearing my beat-up cleats and soccer jersey. The only reason I’m here is for my teammates, many of whom I won’t see after tonight. Next week, we’re graduating. Going our separate ways. I’ll be moving on, while Austin and Casey remain behind for their last semester of school. The distance won’t matter though. They’re my brothers in everything but blood. If they need me, I’ll be there for them.
“Mitchell, how are you?”
I turn toward Burt, the Manchester recruiter. Too late, I realize we planned on talking over my contract tonight. He flew in a flew hours ago and is leaving early tomorrow morning. I had some questions I wanted to go over in person, and he made it happen. We arranged these plans last week, but with the recent fake break-up, I forgot.
“Burt.” I smile and shake the older man’s hand, then gesture him to the stool next to me. He sets a packet of papers on the bar and slides in. “Thanks for taking the time to talk with me.”
“Anything for our new striker.” He nods his thanks as the bartender slips a menu in front of him. “You wanted to discuss the contract.”
“I did.” Our family lawyer looked over it. The contract stated that, following my graduation this month, I was to report to England immediately for training. My contract would be for a year. An entire year on a different continent.
It’s the distance that’s tripping me up. I remember Rebecca mentioning that the University of Chicago was her top choice for graduate school. That’s in the midwest. It’s pathetic that she’s even a part of the equation, considering she dumped my ass, and we weren’t even in a real relationship. Still, if somehow we can manage to work through our issues, I need to consider the potential for a long-distance relationship. I’m looking at three months, six months, a year, three years down the line. Her, me, together.
Burt waits for me to continue. I rub my forehead with a palm. “The terms are reasonable.” A starting salary in the mid six-figures. Excellent health benefits. Paid vacation. Fuck, what’s wrong with me? This is what I’ve always wanted. I think of every minute spent training, conditioning, researching. Tens of thousands of hours and three quarters of my life. I would be the biggest idiot to walk away from this opportunity.
If Rebecca is accepted into the University of Chicago, how would we ever make it work? She and I would be living on two different continents. We’d never see each other. Her PhD program would be near five years long. Five years of distance? It would never work.
I shake my head, glum. Why the hell am I even thinking about this? We aren’t dating. It doesn’t matter if I want her. Clearly, she doesn’t want me.
Burt shoots me an uncertain glance, as if sensing my lack of enthusiasm. “Nothing is set in stone, Mitchell.” He considers something. “This is what you want, right?”
That snaps me out of my poor mood. “Yes. I want this. I absolutely want to play professionally.”
“But do you want to play for Manchester?” His tilts his head. His gaze is too keen. “There are other teams, you know. Any team would love to have you. Jaime, the US recruiter, mentioned they want you as well.”
I don’t respond. Playing for Manchester is what I’ve always wanted, but do I still want that? Any professional soccer team would be great. Playing for the US would be just as amazing, and their headquarters is in Chicago. This would be so much easier if I just stopped thinking about Rebecca and started thinking about my own future.
The only problem is, when I think of my future, I see her in it.
“How about this.” Burt pushes the contract my way. It’s covered in sticky notes. “You look over my suggestions. Think on it for a day or two. You can still change your mind if you feel it’s not the right fit for you.”
“Thanks, Burt. I will.”
Soon he’s gone, and I’m left alone at the bar, nursing my third beer of the night. The gala is now in full swing. The women sparkle and sway in their fancy gowns, their heels clicking coldly on the white marble. A string quartet croons to the masses. A few couples slow dance in the center of the room. Crystal glasses clink. Laughter trills. Many of my teammates have their arms around their significant others. It seems like I’m the only one without a date.
After finishing my beer, I head over to my team, deciding I need to man the fuck up. Austin’s talking with a guy I’ve seen at our games a time or two and seems to be enjoying himself. Casey leans against the wall all broody, staring across the room at someone I don’t bother to look at.
At my approach, our center mid-fielder, Dean, grins and passes me his drink. He’s a sophomore who can’t hold his liquor. “You look like you need it.”
Do I ever.
I take a sip. It’s rum and coke. Because I’m a classy bastard.
“Cheer up,” Dean says. “Plenty more fish in the sea.” By now, they all know of the break-up, but not that it was fake. I’d like to keep it that way.
“Your dad was looking for you earlier,” Austin says near my shoulder.
And that’s exactly why I was sitting behind a large, overgrown house plant. I don’t want to talk to my father right now. With my mood, chances are he’d insult me in some way and I’d blow up in his face. Better
to wait until I’ve calmed down.
“Anyway,” continues Dean, unaware of the death glare I send him, “Rebecca wasn’t that good of a looker, was she? I mean, shit, I think my grandma dressed better than her. No offense, but did she even know what she was doing in the sa—”
I grab him by the lapels so quickly he doesn’t know what hits him until he’s jammed against the wall, my nose two inches from his. “If you don’t want to swallow a mouthful of broken teeth,” I spit, “I suggest you shut your mouth.” I feel wild. Unhinged. I thought she was true, thought what we had was real. Why did I ever make that deal with her?
A hand claps onto my shoulder, and I know without turning around it’s Austin. Always looking out for me, that one. “Let’s go outside and get some air.”
With one final shove, I release Dean and follow Austin through the lavish mansion, walking out onto a huge patio that descends to manicured lawns and perfectly rectangular hedges, the shadows deeper because of the lack of moon tonight. There’s all this energy bouncing around inside me, and it wants to turn into something violent and physical.
“Do you want to talk about it?” he asks.
I don’t look at Austin, because I know what I’ll see. I don’t want his pity, damn it. “Nope.”
“All right.”
This is why Austin is one of my best buds. He doesn’t push. He gives me the space I need. And I do need space. I need so much space it’s killing me to be here, smothered by all these people. I want silence to sift through the thoughts and doubts and insecurities crowding my head.
“You don’t have to do this,” I tell him without turning around. “I know you’d rather be talking with that guy than babysitting me.”
“The only person I want to talk with is you.”
I freeze. That’s not Austin’s voice, but one distinctly more feminine and so familiar it makes my head swim.
I turn, and I swear my heart stops. Rebecca is—she’s—
A dream.
She stands flanked by the open French doors, the light from inside haloing her dark curls. Her aquamarine dress clings like a second skin, cinching at the waist and flaring at the hips, where the hem halts just above her knees. Her legs are miles long, her heels a shiny black. I only take a second to peruse her body before my eyes are drawn to her mouth: slick, lush, parted. Gray eyeshadow rims her equally dark eyes.
Playing the Field ebook final draft Page 20
