Pump Fake

by Lila Price

  His expression goes blank. It’s as if he’s put up a wall between us again, and I can’t help but think that every brick Eli uses has his father’s name written all over it. But even though Eli obviously has issues with his overbearing dad, there’s a slight reverence in his tone when he talks about the old man…when I googled him, it said his name is Bo Brennan.

  A tough sounding name for what is apparently a tough-as-nails dad.

  Eli slides me a look, and he must sense the serious turn our conversation has taken, because he reaches over to feather a finger underneath my chin. He grins. “At any rate, virgins take things way too seriously. That’s why I’ve made it a habit to stay away from them.”

  “Good thing I’m not a virgin anymore.”

  “Right.” He lifts an eyebrow. “One more thing. Why the hell did it take you so long to be with a guy?”

  Normally, this is where I would shut down a conversation, but I’m in bed with this man, and I don’t feel pressure to put up a front anymore. Why bother when I’ve been more intimate with him than anyone, ever?

  “There’s just never been time for things like this,” I say. “This sounds lame, but I’ve always been too busy to make the effort. But thanks to our deal, I don’t have to worry about where my family’s next dollar is coming from. I don’t have to work my ass off and fall into bed exhausted at night. I’m…well, free.”

  He’s still watching me, and there’s something in his eyes that could be mistaken for a deep understanding of where I’m coming from. But, in the next moment, he slips his hand under the sheet that’s covering my body. When he brushes his knuckles over my pussy, the hint of friction makes my clit throb. I lower my head into the crook of my arm, anticipating his next move, watching him right back.

  As he insinuates a finger into my slit, I think that maybe this is how every conversation with my so-called fiancé will end, that sex is the only way Eli and I will ever be able to relate to one another.

  And I’m okay with that as I open my legs for him, welcoming him in.

  The first game is a win for the Rustlers, and Eli has a field day at the press conference afterward. He teasingly puts off questions about his “media shy” new fiancé and instead directs attention to his kick-ass play on the field.

  Afterward, at home, he’s a bit sore, but that doesn’t stop him from taking me to bed and celebrating there with another carnally fantastic night. He doesn’t seem to mind that his father watched the game from a different box than mine and refused to meet me. I don’t tell him much about my day and how I spent it in the owner’s box with Randal Preston pretending to like me as he actually ignored me the entire time. Luckily, Lulu was in Cancun.

  All in all, it was a good start to our season: the media adored me, especially when we left the stadium so I could drive Eli home. Flash bulbs were everywhere. Great press followed.

  Later that week, when the team has a practice at their facility where they’ve invited the media, I attend it to play my role. It’s so easy to put on an adoring face as I watch Eli on the field, running drills. He moves so fluidly, rough poetry in motion as he sprints. No one on the team can catch him, and his physical prowess tugs at something deep inside me. I want to feel his cock again. I want his mouth between my legs, his tongue on my clit. I want him everywhere.

  It’s almost a shock to realize that cameras have been snapping away, recording me as I lust after my fiancé. If only they knew that this is all for show and in less than three months there won’t be anything to take pictures of. “Jeli”—the laughingly awful name they’ve already given to us in the press—will be over and done all too soon. No matter how many interviews I manage to survive, such as the one I gave to the local paper the other day, and no matter how many clicks Jeli gets for every blog post, there will be no “there” there.

  But I forget all about that when the players leave the field slathered in grime and sweat. It might be air-conditioned inside the practice dome, but there’s still the primal smell of hard work hanging in the air.

  Eli heads straight for me, keeping me in his intense sights, and he doesn’t stop as the press goes crazy, taking pictures and yelling questions to him. Before I can suck in a breath, he’s dropped his helmet and wrangled me into his arms, dipping me back for a kiss.

  Colors spiral on the backs of my eyelids as I cling to his wet jersey. His whiskers burn my cheeks, and he needs a shower, but who cares? Lust is pumping through me, making me want this kiss to last forever.

  Yet it only seems to last as long as a flash from a camera as he sets me on my feet and looks down at me.

  My knees waver, and he holds me up. The cameras go wild for that, too.

  “You okay, babe?” he asks.

  “Are you?”

  He chuckles. The offensive coordinator walks by and barks at him to get in the showers.

  Eli presses his mouth to mine for a quick kiss. “My muscles are gonna be stiff tonight, but after I see you wearing one of those little nighties, that’s not all that’s gonna be stiff.”

  Passion-struck, I just nod. He starts to jog away, giving me one last, sexy look over his padded shoulder before heading toward the press. His PR guy advised me not to interact with them unless it’s during an arranged interview, so I hang back.

  Damn, I wish Eli hadn’t kissed me, because now I’m yearning for him, and I won’t be satisfied until I’m in bed with him again.

  I rub my arms and turn from the media to find a group of football wives inspecting me from their section of the bleachers. When they see that I’ve noticed them, they casually go back to chatting with one another. The only one who acknowledges me is Courtney Dexter, the quarterback’s wife. And that’s pretty much how it’s been—me, the new girl, them, the It crowd.

  I wave back at her, then cradle my arms over my chest, wondering if I should wander over there. It’s not that the significant others are mean girls; it’s just that they don’t seem to think I’ll stick around, and they’re not investing any kind of emotion in me. They obviously don’t trust Eli to have a serious relationship.

  My hackles rise at that. They don’t know him.

  But do I?

  My phone rings, and I motion to Courtney that I’ll come over soon. She’s asked me to meet so we can talk about last-minute fashion details for a charity dinner the night after tomorrow, so that’s a good start to fitting in soon, I hope.

  I answer my cell. “Hello?”

  “Long time no hear, sis.”

  Judging by Ivy’s light tone, this isn’t a bad phone call about Mom. Besides, I dropped by the apartment this morning to spend some quality time with Mom and to check in with Dad about her latest doctor’s appointment. Everyone seems to be on the upswing now that some money has gushed in. Truthfully, Dad’s pride took a hit because he always wanted to provide for everyone, but he’s not so full of ego that he refused the windfall.

  With one more glance at Eli—good God, when the dear Lord created football pants, he had Eli Brennan in mind—I wander down the sidelines.

  “We talked for an hour last night, you brat,” I say to Ivy.

  “Well, this brat is about to inform you that, as of today, you’re not getting along with the football wives. Ah, the things we learn on the Internet.”

  My stomach seems to drop.

  Ivy goes on. “TMZ just scooped everyone else on that piece of news. They say that you’re kind of standoffish, and that you think you’re too good for the rest of them because you’re a big old celebrity now.”

  “What?”

  “Right? Imagine you being stuck up. That would never happen.”

  How can she be so cavalier about this? “Am I stuck up? I mean, do I come off that way to everyone?”

  “Nah. And don’t worry, Jen. My friends and I left a bunch of responses in the comments section of the site defending you. I’ve totes got your back.”

  My heart seems to rise back up, lifted by a cushion of warmth. “Ivy, when’s the last time I told you I love yo
u?”

  “Yeesh, there’s no need to bring on the cheese. You’re my sister, and that’s what we do.” Pause. “But I love you, too.”

  I smile, and I’ll bet she’s doing the same on her end. “How would you like it if I brought over a decadent dinner tonight? I can order from any restaurant that tickles your fancy.”

  “You’ve got some pull in this city all of a sudden.”

  I guess I do. Natalie can personal-assistant her way into getting me just about anything I want. I’m not quite used to that turn of events yet, but I’m warming up to the perks. “Lobster? Steak? Both? Just name it.”

  Ivy pauses again, and a veil of discomfort falls over me. For the slightest of seconds, it’s almost as if she doesn’t know who I am anymore, and I want to tell her that, soon enough, I’ll be her Jen again. When this charade is over, I’ll be the girl we’ve both always known.

  “You know Mom,” she says. “She’s always up for Mexican from that storefront a few blocks away.”

  “Ivy…”

  “Just bring your hunk-a-burnin’ love with you to dinner when things calm down with football, okay? Mom and Dad want to get to know him before you actually get married. That would be the best thing you can give us.”

  I close my eyes, then open them. “You’re right. When things calm down, a family dinner is the first thing we’ll do. Promise.”

  “Good.”

  I’ve just lied through my teeth to my own sister, and as she giddily goes on to talk about the cute guy who keeps coming into her restaurant, I do my best not to lose my cool and shout to everyone that I’m a fake, that I can’t even tell my own family what a counterfeit piece of coin I am. Soon enough though, Ivy and I are saying our farewells. I promise I’ll drop in to see my family tomorrow—without Eli. Always without my fiancé.

  After we end the call, I turn around to look at Eli, who’s still entertaining the press. He seems so happy surrounded by all those adoring people. He’s the former first-round, top-seeded draft pick, the player the team brought in last year to change their fortunes, their best hope for the Super Bowl.

  People seem to have forgotten about the black book scandal now that the media has a fresh new Eli story to discuss day after day.

  Everything is going according to plan.

  But when he glances at me and sends me a devastating grin, my heartbeat falters. Pieces of me fall apart, shimmering through me with a heated longing I can’t deny.

  With a shaky sigh, I realize that maybe everything isn’t going exactly how I planned.

  Chapter 14

  For the charity dinner, Natalie personal-assistants the full makeover package for me: everything from the hairstylist who highlights my dirty-blond strands around my face, giving my eyes and skin a bright glow, to the makeup artist who also makes a house call to give me a wholesome yet glamorous look. Even my blush-white evening gown with its tiers of chiffon makes me into a woman I don’t recognize in my own mirror.

  Eli has been restless about getting on the field again, and as I wait in the limo for him, my own pulse thuds. But when he emerges from the house and toward our waiting transport, my heart crazily starts to jump up and down at the mere sight of him in a tux with his normally tousled hair slicked back.

  When he sees me already waiting on the leather seat, he takes a deep, sharp breath and freezes in the limo’s doorway. He fills it up with his wide shoulders, his sheer physical presence.

  “What’s wrong?” I ask, anxiety blossoming in my chest.

  Do I look totally out of place? In spite of my determination to stay away from what’s being said about me on the Internet, I’ve seen some catty comments about how I’m not in Eli’s league. Is that what he’s just now coming around to realizing? Jeez, we’re not going to fool anyone into thinking I belong at a high-class dinner, are we?

  His smile is slow, and with every passing second, my heartbeat pounds louder and louder.

  “The only thing that’s wrong,” he says in a near growl, “is that you’ll need another few hours to get ready after I do to you what I want to do.”

  And here comes that beautifully powerful feeling again—the high of being wanted by such an overwhelmingly hot man. As Eli gets inside the limo, he can’t keep his gaze off of me, and even though there’s nothing I want more than to have him rip off my dress, we won’t go there. Not now. Not until later, in the quiet of his room, where night after night, I share his bed. But I also share his life, and as Eli remains on his side of the limo as if he’s suddenly aware that there are limits to our game, a wave of bizarre discomfort takes over.

  I’m truly not sure where our show stops and real life begins anymore.

  The lines blur even more after we travel the short way to a mansion where a local, very well-off businessman and his wife are hosting tonight’s dinner. At five thousand dollars a plate, the upper crust of Vegas society is raising money for breast cancer, and there’ll be cameras there, as well as more curious gazes.

  Our limo pulls up to the valet, and Eli takes me by the hand. His touch is warm, making my heart flutter, but I know he’s doing this for appearance’s sake.

  “Into the lion’s den,” he says.

  “Is it going to be that bad?”

  “Just the usual press outside. Inside? Let’s say you’ll be wearing that fifty-thousand dollar smile a whole lot.”

  “Then let’s not go inside.”

  We both look at one another, and just as I think he’s taking me seriously—and that I’m taking what I said seriously—the clouds come back into his gaze. His dad still hasn’t deigned to meet me, and earlier, Eli said something about how much he hates the type of dog-and-pony show we’re about to endure, even for a short time before we tell everyone he needs to rest for the upcoming game and go home. As he absently adjusts his collar with one finger, I can tell how much he just wants to let loose, how much it bothers him that he can’t do that these days as an “engaged” man.

  The valet opens the door, and Eli gets out. He keeps a hold of my hand as camera flashes cut through the evening. We wave as shouts of “Jeli!” fill the air. The press still loves us.

  Once we’re inside, we continue our masquerade. My hand stays in his as I’m introduced to community leaders, casino owners, movers and shakers in the football league as well as the city. I don’t know how to act with these people, but I do my best, and somehow I’m fooling them into thinking that I’m not a fish out of water after all. I can tell as much because they just about have hearts in their eyes as they gaze upon Eli and me. They see a couple who is beating the odds, the sweet girl who is making over the bad boy. I almost believe the story myself until I open my eyes a little wider to discover that I’ve seen this big house before.

  I’ve even cleaned it once.

  Oh God. I want to sink into a hole even before Randal Preston bellies up to Eli to clap him on the shoulder. Then he finds it within his grand self to greet me with a kiss on the hand. This, I didn’t need.

  “The couple of the hour,” the team owner says wryly. But he also has something like relief in his gaze as he sees that his grand plan is working and that Eli is getting great personal press. The team benefits from every bit of that as much as Eli does.

  Just as I’m about to actually feel a bit of optimism, I see someone behind Preston—his daughter Lulu. She’s statuesque in a skin-tight red dress that would seem trashy on some women, but she’s wearing it like she’s a duchess. She spares a glance at me before swanning up to Eli, touching his arm.

  “How about some champagne, honey?” she asks in her baby-waby voice.

  Eli laughs. “The season’s started.”

  Maybe it’s only obvious to me that he’s dying to have a drink, to party down like he’s always done in the murky, forbidden past. Being made over as a Nice Guy is chafing at him.

  Preston pats Eli’s arm again. “There’s my boy. As disciplined as I always knew he could be.” Then he nods at me, as if crediting me with Eli’s improved behavior.
<
br />   An on-air sports personality captures Preston’s attention, and he goes to him. That leaves us with Lulu. Yay.

  “Come on, Eli,” she says, flirting up at him. “Join me for some fresh air in back?”

  He lowers his voice. “Lulu.”

  She turns to me. “You don’t mind if my manly man and I catch up with each other, do ya?”

  To her, I’m still nearly invisible, but at least she’s asking permission to ignore me now.

  Eli slips his hand to the small of my back. “She’s my fiancé. Of course she minds.”

  I shiver deliciously at his touch. He wants me, even if it is an act. Scram, Lulu.

  She glares at me, then at him, a look that could castrate a bull. Then she stomps off, and I look up at Eli.

  “What was that about?” I ask.

  He shrugs.

  “Did you and Lulu ever…?”

  He raises an eyebrow. “I’ve had my failings, Jenna, but shitting where I eat isn’t one of them. Besides, she’s a little…”

  “High maintenance? Too much responsibility?” I purse my lips, then say, “Lord knows you’re not into that.”

  When Eli laughs tightly, I realize that we actually have an inside joke together. What do you know—he’s learned that virgins can be funny.

  His laughter fades, and I look into his eyes, seeing the heat among the cool of his gaze, seeing something else that makes me miss a breath, something I can’t explain. The world stops for a moment. There’s no soft jazz music in the background anymore. There’s no wall between Eli and me.

  There’s a truth that is hiding itself just as surely as the act we’re putting on.

  But then his gaze fogs over yet again, and I’m brought back to reality. The only thing that saves me from sinking into a funk is the feel of a gentle hand on my bare arm, and when I glance over to find Courtney Dexter by my side, I’m back in the thick of the charade again. Meanwhile, Courtney’s husband, Michael the quarterback, saunters to Eli. Michael smiles at me with genuine kindness then speaks to his wide receiver.

  Eli drags his gaze away from me as they depart, and I look away from him, the blood whizzing through my veins, almost in a warning song. I don’t know what just happened between us. I don’t want to know.