by Amy Daws
“You’ve seen how he’s been behaving recently, Indie. Don’t tell me you turn a blind eye to it.”
“All I see is a man trying to find his way without his brother by his side anymore.”
“Oh stop,” I groan. “He’s not a child.”
“No, listen. Camden and Tanner are twins. Their connection is strong. They shared a womb. They grew up together and now live together. They played football together up until very recently. He’s just adjusting.”
“Shagging half of London is how he adjusts to spending less time with his brother?”
She exhales. “The Harrises are a different type of family. They are very close. Codependent almost. You and I didn’t grow up that way. Every day that I’m with Camden, I learn more and more how reliant he is on his family. Bloody hell, he can hardly wipe his arse without letting one of his siblings know.”
My lip curls. “Gross.”
“Very. But besides all of that, what about your contract at the hospital? This could be an issue for them. You haven’t been there long and you said you’ve been struggling to keep up with Dr. Miller. What if they catch wind of this? You need good press as much as Tanner and your parents do.”
“I hate you,” I moan and drop down onto the sofa beside her, hunched over and pathetic. She’s being reasonable. I hate reasonable. “I’d like to punch you, but your bloody face looks like an angel and I’m afraid it would secure my seat in hell.”
She laughs and shuffles closer to me. “I’m going to say another thing that will make you want to punch me.”
“What?” I side-eye the shit out of her.
“Doing this fake dating thing with Tanner seems like a very Tequila Sunrise sort of opportunity.”
My jaw drops as I flop back to rest my head on the sofa. “Don’t throw Tequila Sunrise in my face, Indie. That’s our thing. Yours and mine. I thought it was sacred.”
“It is sacred!” she exclaims and tucks up beside me, resting her head on my shoulder. “It was only a few months ago that you pushed me into Camden’s arms claiming Tequila Sunrise propaganda. Remember?”
“And you screwed up everything by falling in love with him,” I mumble, missing the friendship we had when we were both single. I’m happy for Indie. I am. But I can slightly sympathise with what Tanner the Slut is going through.
Indie smiles and I can practically feel the twinkle in her eyes. God, she’s so damn happy all the time.
“I’m not telling you to fall in love with him. I’m just telling you to play the part, have some fun, and keep your bloody job.”
I groan in submission, annoyed that I’m going to be helping my family and Testicle Tanner get ahead. I liked living in the dark and openly hating everyone so much better.
“And you know what else I think you should do?” Indie sits up and looks at me with a conspiratorial slant to her gaze. “Figure out a way to mess with Tanner until his balls feel like they’re going to shrivel up and die.”
My brows lift at my scarily vindictive friend, but it’s not a bad idea. If I’m being forced to date London’s sluttiest footballer—a man I loathe—then I’m going to make it my mission in life to torture him while I do.
I WANTED TO GO STRAIGHT back to Belle’s flat after we finished up at Vi’s, but Indie said she was working and Santino said she had already discussed everything with her father. Dread washed over me at that realisation. Belle already hates me for reasons I probably deserve, but being forced to be seen with me for the next month…Now she’ll want me dead, and it sounds like her family is the type to know exactly where to hide a body.
All because she tried to help me out. God, I’m such a prat.
So, instead of trying to smooth things over with Belle, I was forced to have brunch with Santino and brainstorm some of the events we can attend together. Fucking brunch. It’s such a girlie-sounding meal but, bloody hell, it was the only decent thing that’s happened to me in days.
While I ate and listened to Santino go on and on about how I should behave with her in public, I kept thinking about the fact that I wasn’t at the team meeting with Dad and Booker. It was the first time I realised how different my day-to-day life will be for the next month while I’m suspended. It’s going to be even more unusual since I’m required to have some semblance of a girlfriend the entire time.
I’ve never had a girlfriend in my life. Truthfully, the only woman I’ve ever really cared for is my sister. Camden and I were three when our mum died from cancer, so Vi practically raised us. The only real memory I have of our mum is her lying in bed a lot. But Vi did everything she could to replace that loss, and I’ve put her on a pedestal for it. She’s kind, compassionate, strong, and has an uncanny way of helping us find our own answers. No other woman I’ve ever met comes close to Vi’s greatness.
Therefore, rather than having a girlfriend, I use women to fulfil my needs, content to live life as a bachelor. There’s never been a woman whom I’ve wanted for more than one night, and I don’t see that changing with Belle Ryan. I’ll just have to find a way to make the most of our situation.
Santino drops me at my flat and says he’ll email me the list of the sightings and events after he works out the particulars with the Ryan family.
I’m grateful Camden isn’t back from his match in Liverpool yet because I can’t stomach facing anymore disappointing looks today. Plus, I have to get ready to fulfil my first marching order.
I’m to take Belle out tonight so that last night doesn’t look like a one-night stand. Santino secured us a reservation at The Barbary in Neal’s Yard, Covent Garden and said there will be plenty of paparazzi there to get a photo of us together.
Together.
I’ve spent the last few months running from commitment, from women, and from the paparazzi. Now I’m dating a girl who hates me and am begging to have my picture taken with her. If I make it through all of this with my balls still intact, I’ll be shocked.
I arrive at Belle and Indie’s flat by seven like Santino instructed. I’ll need to actually get Belle’s mobile number if we’re going to make this a regular thing for the next few weeks. But for now, I’m just grateful she agreed at all.
Indie answers the door all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed wearing a pair of teal glasses. “Tanner! Hey! I was hoping you were Cam. He’s going to be here any minute.”
“He’s back already? He wasn’t at our flat.”
She looks down, red colouring her cheeks. “Yeah, he said he’d come straight here from the airport because he didn’t want to miss you and Belle erm…heading out.”
I roll my eyes. Of course my brother wants a front row seat for the show. The bastard. He’s probably enjoying this spectacle.
“I think it’s sweet,” Indie stammers like she has to defend their actions. “You and Belle will have fun, I just know it.”
Inhaling deeply, I reply, “I’m just looking forward to this all being over.”
“Guess who brought their camera!” Cam’s voice makes me jump as he emerges behind me and throws a matey arm over my shoulders. His tone goes up an octave as he speaks like a doting mummy. “Our little boy is going on his first date!”
“Cam!” Indie peals, ignoring his jabs at me and leaping into his free arm.
“I missed you, Specs.” He moans his pet name to her and, by the looks of their embrace, you’d think he’s returned home from war, not a few days away for a match.
In seconds, she’s cupping his face and her lips are on his. I stare in horror as his free hand moves down to grab her arse. He’s still holding onto me by the shoulders, reflexively tightening his grip ever so slightly.
“Unless this is a subtle way of asking me to join you for a threesome, maybe you can let me go before you start tongue raping your girlfriend,” I groan, sliding out from under his heavy arm and shaking off the disgust coursing through my body over that peculiar encounter.
“I thought threesomes were right up your alley.”
I look over to see Belle stand
ing at the bottom of the staircase with one hand on the railing and the other perched on her hip.
“Not with that duo,” I mumble, trying to erase the odd sensation of my brother’s touch. “With you on the other hand…” I look Belle up and down, appreciating everything she has going on right now. She’s wearing tight brown leather leggings with black pointy toe heels that make her legs go on for days. Her top is a cream flowy number that hides some of my favourite assets of hers. Regardless, she still looks fit as fuck. “…I could entertain the idea.”
“Save the smooth talk. We have to have a real talk. Now.” She eyes Camden and Indie, who have moved their make out session from the doorway to the dining room table. Raising her brows knowingly, she turns and makes her way up the stairs. “They look like they need a minute. Follow me.”
I cock my head to the side and watch her curvy body take the stairs with a power that cannot be ignored. Her inky black ponytail bounces with every step, and I find myself picturing her spread out naked on those steps as I drive myself into her. Being invited up to her bedroom is quite a turn of events.
I take the stairs two at a time and catch up to her just as she enters her room. I cross my arms over my chest and prop myself against the doorframe, shooting her a lascivious smirk. “Maybe this arrangement won’t be so bad after all. Let’s get naked and talk about our fears.”
The look she gives me reminds me of smelling a carton of rotten milk. “If you think I asked you up here to fuck, you’re more delusional than I thought.” Her tone is visceral and her dark eyes are alight with a touch of rage. “I brought you up here because I need to say something and I don’t want Indie to hear.”
Deflated, I step in and close the door. Her room smells like fruit and flowers and perfume and all things girlie. I have a strange desire to roll around in it and coat it all over me. And then I realise that I’m a bloke and having those thoughts is really unmanly.
I touch my balls.
“Look. You fucked me up the arse without lube with this mess we’re in, Tanner Harris. So let’s get a few things straight.”
Her choice of words has me staring at her arse as she paces in front of her bed. The large window at the head of her bed has no curtains and I immediately wonder why the fuck she doesn’t have blinds in her bedroom.
“I’m aware,” I reply and she eyes me harshly. Like a dog being commanded, I sit down on the cream button-tufted chair beside her dresser.
“I hate this. I hate every bit of this arrangement. I barely speak to my father, let alone see him. Then today he was in my flat, barking orders at me like I’m one of his fucking secretaries.” She stops pacing and stares me down. “No one tells me what to do.”
“Then why did you agree to this?” I ask, my curiosity piqued.
“Because I have a job. A real fucking job. I don’t just kick a ball around on a pitch. I need this fellowship to go well because this is the specialty I want to end up in. I cannot afford this scandal. So you need to make this look good, Tanner Harris. You need to make us look like the King and Queen themselves. If I go into work tomorrow and face my attending, who is a world-renowned surgeon, and she looks at me as if I’m a slut who sleeps around, I will find a way to drug you, shave your head, drag your body to a tattoo shop, and have them mark you for life with something so horrid, so ghastly, so incredibly humiliating, you won’t be able to get your willy up for years!”
A gust of air flies out of my mouth. “How did you get that all said in one breath?” I’m panting with fear.
“Because, I’m Jesus,” she states, her face revealing nothing but icy, dark, dangerous promise.
I swallow hard and give my balls a touch again. Thank fuck they are still there.
“Well, Messiah, I promise I won’t let you down.”
The cab ride is silent as Tanner and I ride toward Covent Garden. I glance over at him beside me as he stares out the window. He looks a bit like a whipped puppy. Don’t get me wrong, he’s a hot little hound dog. His blonde hair is tied up into a messy man bun, some strands falling out around his face. His beard looks a bit more trim than it did last night. I assume he cleaned it up since they lost their match yesterday and his superstition of never cutting his hair during a winning streak is no longer relevant.
My eyes trail down to the small hole on the right leg of his faded jeans. It’s not an artfully designed hole either. It’s the type of hole a careless teenager gets from hopping a fence. Seeing the blonde fuzz on his kneecap up close and personal makes him seem so much more human and…normal, rather than a famous footballer.
Then I remember there’s nothing normal about Tanner Harris. He’s a manwhore with no regard for other people’s feelings. He probably got that hole in his jeans hopping a fence to flee from another Harris Ho’s bedroom. He might be used to girls falling at his feet and taking whatever scraps he throws at them, but that won’t be me. I made that mistake once; I won’t make it again. This arrangement is strictly business.
Sure, I may have spent some extra time on my appearance, carefully lining my dark eyes to within an inch of their life. But my eyes are one of my best features. They’re large and almond-shaped, and when made-up right, I feel unstoppable.
And let’s face it, I liked Indie’s idea of making Tanner miserable. He rejected me once, so I crave the pleasure of returning the kindness.
We arrive at a restaurant called The Barbary. It’s a brand new North African cuisine hot spot located in the alley of Neal’s Yard. This area is packed full of trendy pubs, so it’s always brimming with patrons. Crowds of people stand outside on the cobblestone alley with glasses of beer in hand, enjoying the mild autumn weather. Music pours out of several establishments as we make our way through the boisterous crowd.
Tanner puts a hesitant hand on the small of my back as he ushers me through the door and around a huge queue of people waiting to dine. This is one of those cosy, counter-dining type of restaurants. It has a large U-shaped bar that surrounds the open kitchen where the staff works. The chefs aren’t putting on a show, though. They’re just sending out gorgeously plated food, which is a show in and of itself. There’s a lot of bare brick, neon signs, reclaimed floor tiles, and a big, coffered terracotta wall. Overall, it’s got great energy, all the way down to the charcoal smoky air from the clay oven. There’s something magical about being amongst Londoners lusting after the latest craze. Even the customers queuing seem to be happy.
The hostess smiles way too brightly at Tanner as she grabs menus and instructs us to follow her. We’re seated immediately at the very end of the counter in front of the large storefront window. It’s the best spot in the house, showcasing the energy of the restaurant inside and the buzz of excitement outside. Display lights from the alley stream in, casting our seats in a riot of colours. It’s kind of awesome.
The hostess gives Tanner one final brazen look and leaves us at last.
“This isn’t so bad,” Tanner says, dropping down on the outside stool and turning to face me. He spreads his long legs out wide so he’s practically straddling my seat.
I shift nervously, crossing my legs to make myself as small and closed off as possible. I sit up straight, though, not wanting to seem intimidated by all his…manliness near me.
“I know people who have been trying to get in here for weeks.”
“Sometimes it pays to be a Harris.” The side of his mouth curves up, which forces me to look away immediately.
Back when Tanner and I first met and we were in the friendly, flirting stage of our newfound friendship, I used to catch myself staring at his mouth. It always had a smirk to it that was an indescribably attractive contrast to the serious smoulder in his eyes. Tonight, that contrast annoys me.
“You’ve probably never eaten a proper meal with a girl, have you?”
I can feel his smile. “This would actually be a first. Aren’t you lucky.”
“Oh yes, I’ve hit the jackpot indeed,” I murmur as I peruse the menu even though I’ll let the w
aitress pick out my food.
“What do you like?” Tanner asks.
“I like most things.”
I can feel his knowing, steely blue eyes on me as he interprets that in a blatantly sexual way.
“But not all,” I add with a flat note to my voice, cutting my eyes at him in challenge.
He lets out a soft huff of a laugh. “You seem to enjoy chocolate a bit more than most.”
“Sweets are different. I’m very particular about those. Dark chocolate is a religion.”
He puts the menu down and eyes me with appreciation. “So you love dark chocolate. What else do you love, Ryan?”
I close my eyes and do my best to ignore the way he says Ryan. I don’t know why it irks me that he refers to me by my last name. Perhaps it’s because I can’t stand my family and the bullshit title they like to flaunt with it. Or perhaps it’s because it’s Tanner and most things he does irk me.
The waitress stops at our end of the counter to take our drink order. I have her pick a glass of red for me and Tanner gets a beer. As soon as the drinks are placed in front of us, I almost regret not ordering a bottle. He slips off his grey jacket and is wearing a simple T-shirt, his veiny, inked arms on full display now. I can practically feel the warmth of the blood in his veins. His scent and the smell of food are overwhelming all the parts of my body.
“So, Ryan, let’s have some Tanner Harris Deep Talk right now. How do you foresee this going?” he asks as he closes his menu and takes a long drink of his dark beer.
“You tell me,” I reply. “I’m curious to hear whose clever idea this was. My father didn’t really have a chance to say.”
He cringes. “It was mine, actually.”
“Yours?” I shake my head in disbelief.
“That so hard to believe?”
“That you would come up with the idea to fake date me in order to help save our reputations? Yes, that’s incredibly hard to believe, Tanner.”
He looks offended. “Why is that?”
