Total pages in book: 140
Estimated words: 135539 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 678(@200wpm)___ 542(@250wpm)___ 452(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 135539 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 678(@200wpm)___ 542(@250wpm)___ 452(@300wpm)
“Safer?”
At that, he pauses, freezing as though he’s going over what he just said and regrets it. He eyes me carefully. “Ah, well, if you’re going to give a girl a ring for a fake engagement, it seems safer to do it in public.”
Disappointment is a sucker punch to the chest. This is a fake engagement. August is smart to remember that. I need to be too. With that in mind, I slide the ring on—perfect freaking fit!—and snap the box closed, stowing it in my bag.
“Well, there’s that done.” I reach out, my hand now weighing a thousand pounds, and take a sip of my coffee. Somehow I manage not to look at the gleaming ring on my finger—I’ll do that later—and pretend like it belongs there. Casual-like.
August, however, stares at my hand for a long moment, his expression flummoxed, like maybe he has regrets. But he doesn’t reach out and snatch it back, only copies my movements and drinks his coffee. Casual-like. “After breakfast, I’m meeting with my agent and the team head office to discuss ‘the plan.’ I’ll tell them I found my fiancée.”
It should feel impersonal, like I’m nothing more than a body to fill a job. But it doesn’t stop the weird little thrill that zips through me. I struggle to keep my expression neutral as he continues.
“I’ll most likely announce the engagement during the presser at the away-game this weekend. I have one more away. The next home game will be on the fourth.” His gaze collides with mine, steady and just a bit concerned. “That’s when you start attending and publicly be my girl.”
Oh, hell. Awkward, shy heat invades my cheeks. A blush he clearly sees.
His tone becomes gentle. “Are you ready for this, Penelope?”
I can handle this. I can. “As I’ll ever be, August.”
August
“Just so we’re clear,” Coach Harper says evenly. “You’re engaged?”
I sit back in my seat with a nonchalant air, though inside I’m anything but; I keep seeing that ring on Pen’s finger, and it’s doing weird things to my mind. But appearances matter here in my coach’s office where I’m meeting with the team. “Team” being the highest up people who want to make sure I don’t do another drunken chicken dance and focus on winning for them.
The fact that I’m even here is degrading and surreal. I’m not a clown or a fuckup. Only I have been. So now I’ve got to present myself as a reformed man.
“I am,” I say. “To Penelope Morrow. She’s a childhood friend and we reconnected over the summer.”
“And you were so in love, you decided to party with a bunch of women all over the place at the same time?” Bud Lester, the GM, gives me a “get real” look. “Yeah, sure, that’ll work.”
“Okay.” I lift an idle hand for show. “So we tell them we had a breakup and it sent me over the edge, but now we’re back together.”
Nala, the team’s PR manager, taps a hot-pink nail against the bright blue binder with the team logo emblazoned over it resting in her lap. I know my files are in there, containing everything I’ve probably done since birth. “Could work. Heartbroken, you lashed out with a bit of reckless behavior, but now true love has healed all wounds.”
Inwardly, I roll my eyes and cringe. If anyone buys that . . .
“We can have you announce it at the post-game presser this Sunday,” she says, as expected.
“We’ll need a couple of good shots of the happy couple doing happy things,” her assistant, Troy, adds, furiously tapping away, his phone screen reflected in his gold cat-eye glasses.
Nala’s cool brown eyes pin me with a no-nonsense stare. “I’m assuming this is the girl you were eating with at the Santa Monica Pier?” She turns the binder to show a print of Pen and me smiling goofily at each other.
As I said, she’s got everything in that binder.
“It is.”
“She’s cute.” Troy studies his screen where he now has the picture up. “In a wholesome sort of way. A classic beauty.”
Personally, I think Pen’s fucking hot in an “I want to peel off her shirt every time I see her and press my face between the bounty that are her breasts” way. But I’m not saying that here. And if anyone else says something like that, I’ll probably pop them one. Which wouldn’t be good for my new tame image.
“It’s not the angle I was workshopping,” Nala muses, “but I think this might be better. Childhood sweethearts? What could be cuter?”
I’d said childhood friend, not sweetheart. I’m not even sure anyone who knew me or Pen throughout our childhood will believe that.
“Well . . .” I trail off, not wanting to stop her now that she seems to be going with my pick of Pen.
At my side, my agent, James Perry, crosses one leg over the other in a total Godfather move. “What we need to focus on here is that August’s behavior was an aberration that has passed. As we said before, August is, and always was, a levelheaded team player.”