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?”