“Hi.” He sends me a knowing look. “Well, look at you.”
“Um, hi,” I say in return, tilting my head to the side, trying to figure out if I know him. Considering the social circles my parents moved in, I’ve met a lot of people over the years. Maybe I know this guy?
Or maybe not. He’s sort of—odd. The way he’s staring at me, like he’s trying to figure me out. It’s unsettling.
“You’re Sydney Walker, right?”
“Yes?” I’m dying to say who’s asking, but I remain quiet. I don’t want to be rude. And there’s no need in making this any more uncomfortable than it already is. “Can I help you with anything?”
What’s this guy’s deal anyway?
“Just making sure you’re who I thought you were, and you are. Nice kiss, by the way. Great distraction you’ve got going on, this so-called newfound relationship you’re having with the new kid. Though none of it is for real. We all know the truth about you and Callahan.” He smirks and then strides away, never once looking back. I’m left watching him leave, wondering who the hell he was, and who he might work for.
That asshole was a reporter.
We are so screwed.
“So wait a minute. Some random dude came up to you on the field after I left you and said he doesn’t believe our relationship is real?” I clench my teeth together, my jaw going tight. “Who was he?”
We’re at an Italian restaurant not too far from the stadium, having a late dinner. There are a ton of Niners fans in here, but none of them recognize me so they all leave us alone.
“I don’t know. He didn’t say his name and he was wearing a Niners T-shirt. He could be anybody.” She sighs, the sound so desolate, so sad, I’m tempted to grab her, pull her into my arms and give her a comforting hug.
“What an asshole.” I shake my head, getting more heated up the longer I think about it. “I can’t believe he said that to you.”
“He seemed real pleased when he said it too. Like he knew his words would shock me.” She hesitates before she whispers, “They hurt me too.”
Anger makes my blood run hot. “If I ever find him, I’m gonna kill that bastard.”
“Please. It’s okay. Calm down.” Sydney reaches across the table and touches my forearm, her cool fingers pressing into my skin. Despite my growing rage, I can admit her touch soothes me. “He was probably nobody important. I’m sure we have nothing to worry about.”
Her words aren’t registering. I’m too pissed. “I can’t believe you chose to wait and tell me this until we got to the restaurant. Why didn’t you tell me about that guy when we were still at the stadium? Maybe we could’ve found him,” I say incredulously. “At the very least, you should’ve said something in the car on the way over here.”
“I didn’t want to make a big deal about this. He could’ve been anyone just trying to get a dig in,” she says.
“Well, it worked. Now I want to dig into his face and pulverize it.” I shake my head and grab the glass of beer in front of me, taking a sip. I thought I’d indulge for once tonight, especially since I learned I am officially on the 49ers roster for the season. Talk about having something to celebrate. I was feeling on top of the world until Sydney told me what happened to her with that jerk guy saying what he did.
“I didn’t want to put you in a bad mood. I know how excited you are tonight and I didn’t want to ruin it.” She rubs my arm, her fingers squeezing me tight. “I’m so proud of you.”
Is that really Sydney talking? Or is she putting on a show for everyone else? No one is sitting nearby. We’re in a pretty intimate booth in the far corner of the restaurant, so no one can hear us.
I want to believe she’s proud of me. I need to hear those words tonight. I’ve worked too damn long and hard not to feel good about my newest accomplishment.
“Thanks,” I mutter, taking another sip of my beer. While we still have intensive practice five days a week for hours at a time, we don’t have an official game for another two weeks. If I want to cut loose for the remainder of the weekend, I don’t see how it can hurt.
Sydney sighs and takes her hand away from my arm. I immediately miss her touch. “Listen, don’t even think about that guy tonight. Who cares about all that stuff? We’re doing what we can to help out Drew and Fable, and hopefully reporters will take the bait and eventually leave us alone. If not, then—then I don’t know what we can do to change their minds.”
“If we can’t change their minds, we’ll have to ride out the storm, I guess,” I offer, sending her a look.
She frowns, but she’s still so damn pretty, even when she’s upset. “I hate that our lives are at the mercy of other people. It’s like rude reporters and asshole photographers rule the world.”
“Only if you let them control you,” I say, chuckling under my breath. I like how she called them asshole photographers. Her description is pretty damn accurate.
“Well, I guess I’m letting them control me then. Aren’t you?” She narrows her eyes, her expression challenging.
“Nah.” I wave a hand, trying to act more casual than I feel. “I’m going to do what I want regardless of what any of them say.”
“It’s not like you can do whatever you want right now, you know what I mean? We’re putting on this phony show for the entire world to watch. Don’t you think that’s kind of—weird?”
Looks like someone is analyzing her current situation a little too closely.
“It’s only as weird as you make it,” I reassure her. “Or you can just run with this plan and have fun while it lasts.”
“Is that what you’re doing? Having fun?” she asks, her voice low.
So I lower mine too. “Isn’t that what we were doing in your bedroom earlier? Having a little fun?” I tap the back of her hand with my index finger, but she snatches it away. Aw, she’s blushing. Damn, she’s cute when she does that.
“Stop.”
“Stop what?” I rest a hand on my chest, always Mr. Innocent. It’s a lot more interesting to talk about what’s going on between us than worry over what some jackass reporter is up to. “What exactly am I doing?”
“Bringing up what happened this morning.”
“What happened this morning was not only fun, but also pretty damn hot, you have to admit.” It’s all I’ve been able to think about for the remainder of the day. Even during the game, I thought about Sydney. Her taste, the little whimper that sounded low in her throat when I grabbed her ass, how responsive she was. I swear I was a better player out on that field tonight while thinking about her.
Almost like she spurred me on.
“It was—good.” That’s all she says. Well, and her pink cheeks say a million words too, none of them she’s actually speaking out loud.
“Did you enjoy it?”
Sydney blinks those pretty blue eyes up at me, and I feel like I can see a myriad of emotions sparkling within them. Not a one of them I can decipher either, and that makes me uneasy. “It wasn’t real, right?”
Her question stumps me. No, it wasn’t real. Yet…it was. It felt real. Her tongue was in my mouth. My tongue was in her mouth. We were touching each other. Hell, she was practically grinding on me and gave me an immediate hard on. If that’s not real, I don’t know what is. “What exactly do you mean?”
“What happened between us this morning, I think we just got—caught up in a moment.” She nods, like her explanation makes all the sense in the world. More like she just convinced herself it makes sense. “Yeah, that’s all it was. A total moment we got caught up in.”
She’s repeating herself. Making me wonder if she’s still caught up in a so-called moment.
“What about last night in my truck?” I give in and touch her again. Just drift my fingers along her bare forearm, my fleeting touch making goose flesh dot her skin. Thank Christ the tables are small so I can reach her easily. “What was that?”
“For the cameras.”
Ouch. Sydney’s brutal right now. “And what about earlier
? Right after the game?”
“For the cameras again. This is all for the cameras. Remember our agreement, Wade? We’re putting on one big performance to save my ass from being called the ‘Naughty Nanny’ ever again. And to keep Drew and Fable’s image squeaky clean.” She pulls away from my touch as she slides out of the booth until she’s standing by the end of the table. “I’m going to the restroom.”
Without another word she leaves and I watch her go, fighting the disappointment that wants to wash over me. She’s mad. At me? I sure as hell hope not, but maybe she is. I don’t know what’s going on, but she seems on edge. I’m sure the encounter with that asshole on the field earlier doesn’t help matters. I think all this pretending is starting to get to her head.
I know it’s gotten to both of mine.
Sydney’s quiet the rest of the time we’re at the restaurant. It’s like she’s thrown up an impenetrable wall that I can’t push my way over, no matter what. She’s responsive when she needs to be, answering my questions and keeping up with our polite yet stilted conversation, but otherwise, she’s silent.
Eerily so.
It fucking sucks. There are no other words for it. Granted, I get that she’s upset after what happened with the guy on the field, but I don’t think that’s the only thing bothering her. Something else is going on. Something I think that has to do with…
Me.
It’s probably all this fake crap we’re putting ourselves through. Maybe it really is messing with her head. Sydney and I are compatible in the chemistry department, and maybe that’s a problem for her. It might feel far too real.
I know I’ve experienced that once or twice. I’ve enjoyed it too, despite my knowing how it’s all going to end.
And it will end. I can guarantee that.
After I pay the bill, we leave the restaurant and head back to Drew and Fable’s house so I can drop Sydney off. I crank up the music on the truck radio—anything’s better than the dead silence between us—and tap my fingers against the steering wheel, keeping the beat.
“You’re good at that.” When I look at her weirdly, she explains further. “Keeping rhythm. You’re doing it perfectly.”
I shrug, my gaze focused on the road ahead. If I look at her for too long, I might get distracted. And I don’t need that right now, especially since I’m driving. Thank Christ I didn’t drink much beyond that one beer at dinner. My head is clear. I need to keep it that way. “Once upon a time, I wanted to be a drummer in a band.”
“Why didn’t you become one?”
“Who said I didn’t try?” I slide her a quick glance.
“So you, what? Played drums in the school band?”
“In middle school,” I say with a one-shoulder shrug.
Sydney bursts out laughing. “That doesn’t count. What, you played in the band for two years? Three?”
“Four, if you count the fifth and sixth grade,” I say indignantly, which only makes her laugh harder. “What’s so funny?”
It takes her a few minutes to regain her composure, which in turn pisses me off even more. I can’t even begin to explain why her reaction is upsetting me so much. “I can’t imagine big, badass Wade Knox playing drums for the band in middle school.”
“Well, it’s true. I did play in the school band for four years,” I stress. “Though I don’t know if I’d call me big and bad back then. I was pretty small.”
“Oops, sorry. So you were small, tiny Wade Knox playing the drums for the middle school band,” Sydney says, barely able to contain her laughter.
“I don’t see what the big deal is,” I mutter, shaking my head.
“It’s just…” She waits a moment for her laughter to die before she starts talking again. “I’ve been in middle school band. I know how that works. I’m going to guess you were a terrible player.”
“I was great,” I say, in full on defensive mode. “What instrument did you play?”
“Clarinet.”
Worst instrument ever. “And I’m sure you sucked.”
“Miserably. I didn’t even last beyond sixth grade. Couldn’t take it anymore and I begged my mom to let me quit. So she did.” I can feel Sydney’s gaze on me, but I don’t turn to look her way. “Why did you quit the band?”
“Football. I couldn’t do both, so I had to choose. I chose football.” I scowl at the stretch of road before us. “Didn’t regret that choice either.”
“I’m sure.” She shakes her head, giggling like she’s a little girl in the middle of a laughing fit. “I don’t know why I found that so funny.”
“What, the fact that I was in the school band? I don’t either, considering you were in band too, playing the stupid clarinet.”
“Hey, don’t insult my instrument choice. Lots of people play the clarinet,” she says defensively.
“Badly.”
“Aw, you’re mad, aren’t you? Don’t be mad.” She rests her hand on my knee for a too brief second before removing it. “I was just teasing you about your secret life as a band geek.”
“Uh huh. And what deep dark secret do you have lingering in your murky past?” I ask, desperate to change the subject. Plus it would be nice to gather some ammo to use against her in the future.
“Nothing.” She sits up straight, not even looking in my direction. “I’m squeaky clean. My clarinet years are the only secret I have.”
I stay quiet for a while, enjoying watching her squirm. Because yes, she really is squirming over there in the passenger seat. I’ve barely said anything and I can tell she’s uncomfortable. “Sure, that’s your only secret,” I finally drawl.
“For real.” I glance over to find Sydney glaring at me, her pretty blue eyes narrowed and her expression fiery. “You’re being really rude right now.”
“Hey. I was only teasing.” Damn, she’s sensitive tonight. We’re both a little touchy, I guess. This morning’s kiss was probably a huge mistake. Now we’re both wound up, snapping at each other, and that sucks. We still have a solid five days left of this plan.
How are we going to survive it?
“Fine,” she murmurs after a few minutes of tense silence. “I do have a secret.”
Shock courses through me. “You do?” I was just giving her shit. I didn’t believe she was really hiding something.
“Yeah.” Her voice is soft. “It’s nothing major, I guess. Well, I don’t like talking about it much, especially since it just happened.”
“If you don’t want to tell me, I understand. You don’t have to,” I say, the words rushing out of me. “It’s none of my business. I was just teasing you.”
“No, I want to tell you.”
“You don’t have to, though.”
“But I want to.”
No way do I want her to feel like I’m forcing her to tell me anything. We are on a need-to-know basis right now, and I can tell this is something I don’t need to know. Just because we’re playing at having a relationship doesn’t mean we have to play true confessions. She’s allowed her secrets.
Just like I’m allowed mine.
“Only if you want to tell me,” I say. “Don’t feel obligated.”
“I don’t. It’s really not that big of a deal. There’s no scandalous tale, no secret baby or anything like that,” she says casually.
Meanwhile, my heart just did a double flip. “Secret baby?”
“Right. No babies. So don’t be scared.”
Yeah. The last thing I want to hear about is a secret baby. “What is it then?”
Sydney takes a deep breath and slowly lets it all out, sounding like a deflating tire. “My family is rich.”
I let that sink in for a moment. She says nothing else, just leaves that one statement hanging in the air and I try to wrap my head around it.
“How rich are we talking?”
“Millionaire status.” She pauses. “Millions and millions.”
“Tens of millions?” Because holy shit.
“Hundreds of millions.” Another hesitation.
“They just kicked me out of the house.”
Hundreds of millions? Damn. She’s not just rich. She’s fucking rich.
“Why’d they kick you out?” I’m angry all over again, but this time on her behalf. How could her parents kick her out of their home? They must be mean, heartless creatures who don’t give a shit about their child. Who does that? Such bullshit.
“I lied to them.”
I glance over to see she’s staring at her lap, her gaze seemingly focused on her hand as she picks at the hole in the knee of her jeans.
“What about?”
“I said I was in college when I wasn’t. I never applied to any universities because, at the time, I didn’t care. I didn’t want to go. I believed I didn’t have to go, that my family’s money would take care of me for life. Isn’t that stupid?” She lifts her head, her gaze meeting mine, and I want to immediately tell her that no, it wasn’t stupid.
If she’d gone on to college, we would’ve never met. If she’d gone on to college, she would be somewhere else. And I would’ve been here. Alone.
Without her.
But I say none of that, because I sound crazy.
Even in my own thoughts.
Wade’s not saying much, and his silence makes me want to snatch back the words I just said and shove them into a deep, dark hole. The words that make me sound dumb and irresponsible and so incredibly foolish. That’s me in a nutshell.
And I hate myself for it.
“We all do dumb shit when we’re seventeen, eighteen years old,” he finally says, shooting me a sympathetic glance. “Don’t beat yourself up over it.”
“Kind of hard not to when my stupidity ruined everything,” I say sarcastically. “I was dumb throughout high school. Not really dumb, I guess—more like spoiled. I thought I could get away with everything.”
Oh, and I did. I got away with pretty much everything but murder. Smoking a joint in the girls’ bathroom with my friends in between classes? Did that. TP’ing the principal’s house the weekend before my junior year was finished for the summer? Yep, did that too. I cheated on tests, I stole this one girl’s earrings because I thought they were beautiful and I wanted them. Then I promptly lost them not a week later. Once I got drunk with the basketball team in their locker room after a particularly brutal game and the coach found me stumbling around, close to passing out with all the guys watching me, leering at me. They probably had plans for me.