Fake Shot (Boston Rebels Book 2)

When we walk into the ballroom where the children’s hospital is holding their charity gala, all eyes are on us. Even though I warned her what to expect, Jules still stiffens, drawing her shoulders back and holding her chin high—something I’ve noticed she does when she’s uncomfortable. I squeeze her hand, then lean toward her, running my lips along her hair and whispering, “Relax.”

“Everyone is staring at me,” she says, turning her head and tucking her chin toward her shoulder to speak directly in my ear. “It’s like they all know this is fake and I don’t belong here.”

I’m a bit afraid she’s going to turn around and bolt, because that seems to be her default defense mechanism when she’s scared.

“Jules,” I say, dropping her hand and bringing mine to rest on her lower back while I guide her deeper into the room. My palm and thumb rest on the bare skin of her back, while my fingers splay across the gold fabric of this sexy-as-hell dress where it clings right above the curve of her ass. When she came downstairs in this dress tonight, I almost forgot all about what I told her last night—that nothing can happen between us. I don’t want that to be our reality, but the truth is that I can’t be what she’s looking for, so I don’t want to ruin the tenuous friendship we’re building. “They’re not staring because they think this is fake. They’re staring because when you walk into a room, no one else is even worth looking at.”

She raises her head to meet my eyes, and the look she gives me is nothing but a riot of confusion—like she can’t trust my words and so she’s searching my face to figure out my meaning.

“You seem to have lost the ability to speak,” I tease as I brush my lips across the bridge of her nose. “I didn’t think that was possible.”

“Why would you say that when no one else is even around to hear? You don’t have to sell this whole relationship when it’s just you and me, you know?”

“You wanted to know why people are staring, and I gave you an honest answer.”

Her jaw drops the tiniest bit as she runs her tongue along her top lip, and all I can think about is how she tastes. I want her to kiss me again. I want to experience that kind of possession I felt the last time our bodies came together, before we were so rudely interrupted.

In fact, sometimes it feels like that’s all I can think about now . . . hockey and her. How she smells like her body wash and kissed me like she wanted to own me, the deep sound of her laughter and how I can tell there’s so many things she’s thinking but doesn’t say, the way she can command an entire crew of construction workers and is seemingly completely unaware that what I feel for her is becoming more than just physical.

She’s extraordinary: all the hard, driven parts of her brother, with the softer sentimental side of her sister. And as if I summoned her up in my mind, Audrey strides toward us. The smile she’s wearing is so fake, I worry she’s going to ruin this whole thing—that everyone will see through this. It’s been hard convincing my teammates that this is real, and if they don’t see a united front within the family, no one will buy this for a second longer.

Which is why it surprises me when she stops close to us, takes each of our hands in hers, and says, “I’m so sorry I got you both into this mess.” Audrey seemed to accept this ruse just fine last night in the Family Room, which makes me think that Jules must have said something to her about the bar or our conversation when we got home. It has me wondering how she’s really feeling about how close we came to something happening between us again.

“You didn’t get us into this mess,” Jules assures her sister.

“If I’d been at that dinner, none of this would have happened.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Jules says. “You were where you needed to be. And it’s fine. Colt and I will manage to get along through this ruse, and then everything can go back to how it was.”

I don’t know why I hate that idea so much, but I do. I really fucking hate it. I don’t know when she grew up, or how I hadn’t noticed. But the woman standing in front of me is so much more than just my best friend’s little sister—even if I keep telling her that’s all she is.

I don’t want to go back to how it was, when I teased and tormented her like she was still a kid. No, I want to go back to that alley, where she squeezed her thighs into my waist while she kissed me so thoroughly that I still wake up hard after dreaming about it.

But we can’t go there again.

Audrey’s lips press into a line, and she looks like she’s about to say something when Drew comes up beside her. He slips his arm around her waist, gripping her hip possessively. “What’s wrong?”

The question is addressed to the whole group, but Audrey looks up at him. “Ugh, besides me fucking up my sister’s life? Nothing.”

“Hey,” I say, “if you’re implying that being engaged to me is fucking up her life, I’m insulted.”

All three of them stare back at me.

“What? I’m kind of a catch . . . ask anyone.”

“The only thing I’m likely to catch from you is a venereal disease,” Jules mutters, barely loud enough for the four of us to hear.

Audrey’s eyes widen, and Drew laughs into his beer before tilting it up and taking a sip. That beer looks like just what I need, and getting one gives me an excuse to get out of this foursome, where I feel like everyone is waiting to see how I’m going to fuck this up.

“I’m going to grab a drink,” I say to Jules. “Do you want anything?”

“Just for this to be over as quickly as possible.”

I bite the inside of my cheek because I don’t think she meant to be funny, but it’s a relief that she’s back to giving me shit after a whole day of avoiding me.

“Champagne it is,” I say.

“I don’t even like champagne.”

“I thought it was your favorite?” Audrey calls her out.

When Jules gives her sister a death glare, I pull her back to me, enjoying the way I can feel her breasts pushed up against my chest as I duck my head and whisper, “I knew it was your favorite.” I wait for her surprised inhale of breath, and when I hear it, I turn and head to the bar with a shit-eating grin spread across my face.

Not only am I here with the hottest woman in the room, but she’s a whole lot more affected by me than she’s letting on. I should stop taunting her, leading her down this path that leaves us both sexually frustrated. I should let us go back to what we were before this whole fake engagement situation. I should keep my distance, but I can’t seem to stay away.

I’m waiting at the bar for my beer and Jules’s champagne when McCabe wanders up to me. “Engaged, huh?” He could not possibly sound more skeptical if I’d told him I’d given up sex. “To Flynn’s baby sister?”

“Ew, you don’t need to make it sound sketchy, man.”

He takes a swig of his beer while raising his eyebrows as if to say, It is sketchy. “How old is she?”

“Twenty-five.”

His nearly black eyes focus in on me, and the sharp lines of his cheekbones narrow as his lips press together. “You’ve been sleeping with women all over the country, all season long. And you expect me to believe that you’re getting married? To a twenty-five-year-old?”

“First of all,” I say, “no, I haven’t. I’ve talked to women all over the country all season. I haven’t slept with anyone since well before Jules and I got together.”

“And when was that, exactly?”

“October.” I’ll have to remember to tell Jules that’s when we started our secret relationship so we can keep our story straight.

“So why were you out there pretending to be interested in other women?” He sounds more curious and less skeptical as he leans one elbow against the bar and turns toward me.

“Because we were trying to keep her family from finding out.”

“Keep her brother from finding out, you mean?”

“Yeah.” There’s no way anyone would believe Audrey didn’t know, and I’m glad Jules pointed that out before we tried to sell this whole show.

“How’s he taking this?”

“He’s . . .” I almost say he’s fine with it, but there’s no way that would be believable, especially since he’s not even fine with it knowing that it’s not real. “. . . coming around to the idea.”

“You must really like her if you’re willing to risk your friendship with him,” McCabe says.

“Aren’t you perceptive?”

“You’re basically part of that family. You’ve always treated both those girls like they were your sisters.” His eyes narrow again. “How are you now dating one of them?” He really isn’t giving up on this.

Jameson isn’t McCabe’s agent, but McCabe joined the Rebels a year before Jameson retired, so they played together for a short time. And since Jameson represents nearly a quarter of the players on the team, and is good friends with AJ, he’s always around. McCabe knows him well enough to know how protective he is of Audrey and Jules, and he knows me well enough to know that I’d never jeopardize that friendship.

“Have you seen her?” I say, rolling my eyes as the bartender slides the two drinks I’ve been waiting for toward me.

“Yeah, total smokeshow. But you’re not reckless. I still don’t see you risking your relationship with that whole family just because she’s hot.”

“Obviously, I didn’t go after her just because she’s hot. She’s also brilliant, she doesn’t take any of my shit⁠—”

He coughs out a laugh. “Yeah, she gives as good as she gets when it comes to you.”

It’s true, and anyone who’s spent more than five minutes in our presence knows that. No one else aside from my teammates gives me shit like she does. “She balances me out,” I say, because it’s the type of thing I think you’d say about someone you were going to marry.

“I’m still trying to wrap my mind around you being in love.”

That word is like a cold rope of dread wrapping itself around my chest. In my lifetime, I’ve only told one woman I loved her, and she stabbed me in the back. The wounds may have healed, but the scars are still ugly.

“You’ll get used to it,” I tell him, even though I know that by the time he does, the whole thing will probably be over.

I hate the idea of this ending. I hate the reality that someday I’ll go back to my condo in the Seaport, and Jules won’t be there, or that I’ll go on a date, and it won’t be with her. 

“Speaking of,” he says, and nods toward the end of the bar where Jules is standing, her hands on the edge as she leans forward like she’s trying to get the bartender’s attention. I watch him notice her and head straight over there, like he can’t get to her quickly enough. And watching her from here, I see exactly why—the gold V of her dress shimmers where it dips low between her breasts, and her blond hair hangs in soft waves over her shoulders. Even though I still call her Tink, like I always have, Barbie would be a more apt nickname these days. And tonight, she’s Glamour Barbie. She’s wearing makeup, which she never does, and it highlights the contours of her face, making her look even more spectacular than normal.

As the bartender talks to her, resting his entire forearm on the bar top so he can lean in as close as possible, I clear my throat.

“Better go get your girl,” McCabe says with a laugh, then tips his beer at me while I grab our drinks and turn to walk toward her.

Despite the mirror that runs the full length of the bar, she doesn’t see me coming. I’d like to imagine she’s only giving the bartender her full attention because she’s trying to be polite, but the way she throws her head back with a laugh has me about ready to punch this guy. Who does he think he is, making my fiancée laugh like that?

Fake fiancée, I hear Jameson’s voice in my head, and I push it away. Tonight, we’re supposed to be selling it like it’s real, and my fiancée would never laugh at anyone else’s jokes. Would she?

The bartender grabs a glass off the shelf behind him and walks a few steps away to fill it with ice, and I transfer her champagne flute to the hand holding my beer so I have a free hand. When I come up behind her, I smooth my thumb along the ridges of her spine, loving the way this dress leaves her back bared to me. Goosebumps erupt along the backs of her arms in response to my touch.

“Is that really necessary?” she asks, her voice husky as she turns to look at me over her shoulder.

I step up behind her, my right thigh pressed firmly against her ass, and set the drinks on the bar before planting my hand next to her so she’s fully boxed in. Even though I told her I wanted her, but that nothing could happen between us, I can’t stop myself from touching her when she’s around.

I lean down and, keeping my voice low, I say, “There’s no chance in hell that my fiancée looks like you do right now and I’m not all over her. So if we want this to appear real, you better be okay with me touching you.”

I press my lips to her hair where it’s tucked behind her ear and feel her sharp intake of breath.

“If you remember, I wasn’t the one who had a problem with you touching me.” The bitterness in her voice catches me off guard.

“Really? Because if I remember correctly, you were the one who slid off my lap when I offered to make you come.” Why am I tormenting myself—and her—like this?

“And then you explained how you didn’t want to want me like that, and said we were never going to talk about it again.” Her saccharine tone couldn’t be more fake, and it shows me just how much this actually bothered her.

“I don’t want to want you, Jules,” I admit. “I’m no good for you. You deserve someone who wants to fall in love, who wants to get married—and that’s not me. I’ll only hurt you.”

“Like I told you last night,” she says, straightening up and thereby forcing me to do the same. Then she turns in the space where she’s sandwiched between the bar and me. “I’m under no illusion that you have feelings for me, or that you ever will. But since we have to sell this”—she trails her finger up my dress shirt and across my pec, then slides her hand into my suit jacket and over my shoulder—“how am I doing?”

I push forward, anchoring her between the bar and my hips. “You’re doing so well.” And then I dip my head and litter kisses along her jaw until my lips meet her earlobe, telling myself it’s all for show. Taking her flesh between my lips, I let my teeth sink into her earlobe gently, then let go, whispering, “You’re doing perfect.”

Her fingers curl into my shoulder, and as she turns her head to look at me, her cheek slides along mine until her lips are only a breath away. Those eyes are a kaleidoscope of colors getting pushed to the edges of her iris by her quickly expanding pupils. Her look is desire and an invitation, but it’s laced with resentment too.

“Now what?” The words fall from her full pink lips so softly she almost sounds lost.

I can feel myself growing hard where I’m pressed up against her stomach, and I clear my throat, reminding myself that we can’t go down this path. It’s too damn easy to forget when I’m around her.

“Now, you don’t flirt with the bartender anymore.”

She rears her head back as my words hit her like a splash of ice water. I didn’t mean for them to come out all vindictive-sounding, but that’s exactly how she took it—I can tell by the knowing look in her eyes, like I just proved her right. The notes of jealousy that I couldn’t hide have clearly made her think that this was all because I didn’t want her talking to the bartender, rather than me legitimately not being able to keep my hands off her.

And even though that’s probably for the best, I don’t like hurting her like that.

From beside us, a throat clears, and I look over to find Drew standing there, looking awkward as hell, like he just interrupted us having sex.

“Audrey sent me over here to remind you that ‘selling this’ doesn’t mean mauling her sister in public.”

“That’s fine,” I say, letting my gaze travel back to Jules where she’s standing, breath ragged. I don’t let myself look down where I know her chest will be heaving too, because if I caught sight of that cleavage from above, I’d have a very physical reaction. I’m already way too close to my erection being impossible to hide. “I’ll save that for when we’re alone.”

“Colt, don’t traumatize Drew,” Jules says, the teasing lilt back in her voice and an insincere smile plastered across her face like she’s certain I don’t mean that. If she only knew the things I’d imagined when we’re alone. She reaches over and grabs her champagne flute and a glass of water I hadn’t even noticed the bartender leave next to us, then drops her voice and tells Drew, “I’ll go reassure Audrey that I’m in entirely safe hands over here. Nothing but a little pissing contest getting the best of my fake fiancé.”