The Fake Zone: A Fake Dating Sports Romance (Oleander Springs Series Book 3)

I sip my iced coffee and stare down at the football field. The crowd is already loud, filled with banners and colorful shirts to represent their chosen teams though the bowl game isn’t scheduled to start for another thirty minutes.

I wish Hudson could experience this part of the game and see how devoted and excited so many are to watch him play.

Pride blossoms in my chest, knowing how hard he’s worked to get here today, and I’m grateful I can be here to watch.

Evelyn’s gaze flicks to the row in front of us, and then back to me as she leans closer. “A guy one row down keeps staring at you.”

Curiosity gets the better of me—as it usually does. A group of guys sit in front of us, and for a second I think I’ll have to show my hand and ask Evelyn which one she was referring to when a guy with dark curly hair and green eyes gives me a second and then third glance before a wide grin covers his face. He’s cute. Heart palpitations cute, and I’d bet money he knows it.

I stare at him a few extra seconds—long enough to let him know I’ve noticed him—before turning my gaze to the field.

Anticipation thrums in my veins as possibilities take flight in my thoughts. This is where my father’s career as a producer for popular romance movies becomes my greatest weakness—and fault. I’m waiting for the meet-cute, already imagining what story I’ll be sharing at our wedding, our ten-year anniversary, our twentieth anniversary. Will he have the jumbotron confess his interest in me? Or will he ask the stranger beside me to trade him seats because he needs to know my name? And will it be today or later when he leans in close and whispers something sweet and poetic in my ear—his voice a perfect, gravelly baritone—telling me of his intentions to sweep me off my feet with romance and the promise of toe-curling ecstasy?

“I’m going to get something to drink. Do you want anything?” I ask, needing to move before my hopes can sweep me off my feet.

Evelyn’s brow tangles with thoughts. “The game’s going to start any minute.”

I shake my head. “They’ll drag this out as long as they can. This is the perfect time to go because everyone is rushing back to their seats, making the lines shorter.”

Evelyn glances at the field and then at me before reaching for her purse.

“You don’t have to come,” I tell her.

Her only reply is to stand and tuck her purse over one shoulder. “I need some snacks.” She leads the way, apologizing to everyone we pass as they move and fold their legs in the impossibly narrow aisles. Multiple times a guy slows to stare at her. A few note me a step behind, and don’t try to hide their fantasies as their bright gazes jog between us.

“Is your seat next to mine?” a guy with shaggy brown hair asks me, hooking his hand around my shoulder to gain my attention.

I glance from his heavily chewed and bloodied nailbeds, where his fingers brutishly dig into my flesh, to his muddy brown eyes, bright with innuendos. This is definitely not the meet-cute situation I’ve overthought too many times, and the pleasure he’s considering right now certainly doesn’t include my own as his gaze falls to my chest.

I brush his hand away and keep moving without a reply.

“You can sit on my lap,” he calls to my back.

“Less tempting than measles,” I tell him.

One of his friends howls out a laugh, and another mocks him ruthlessly as Evelyn turns around to ensure I’m okay. A third friend looks from me to Evelyn, cruel sarcasm sizing us up.

I set a hand on Evelyn’s back and urge her forward. I hate feeling like I’m running from someone and loathe that he might realize how bothered I am. Guys who are loud and aggressive are equally as creepy as the quiet ones who stare too long.

“Are you all right?” Evelyn asks as we hit the center aisle, pausing as someone moves past us carrying a tray filled with beer.

I nod.

“What did he say to you?”

“Nothing. He was just trying to flirt with my boobs.”

Her gaze hardens. “He seemed like a perv.”

“Probably because he is one.”

With a smirk, Evelyn climbs the stairs that take us to the concessions.

We order frozen lemonades and a bucket of seasoned potato wedges that smell flavorful and spicy.

“Let’s go this way,” Evelyn nods in the opposite direction from where we came, requiring us to walk in front of even more people to reach our seats. Pride wants me to square my shoulders and object. I hate the idea of cowering or backing down to a jerk, but I hesitate a second too long before making my claim, and Evelyn hooks her arm with mine and leads me to the opposite stairs.

Just as we slide into our seats, the announcer yells Camden’s name, and we’re instantly back on our feet, unwanted attention from strange guys and warm potato wedges forgotten as we cheer. The energy is palpable, a buzz that feels stronger than any alcohol or adrenaline I’ve experienced. Pride swells again in my chest as Hudson’s name is announced. Hudson and his younger brother Griffin are like family—compensation or maybe an assurance from the universe not to seal myself away from others. They and Evelyn helped pave the path that led straight to my heart, where the three have lived ever since. Hudson has dreamed of this moment—being the starting quarterback and playing in a big game like this—his entire life.

I wrap my arm around Evelyn’s shoulders and squeeze her close.

As more names are announced, the weight of a heavy stare draws my gaze to the row in front of us where the guy Evelyn had pointed out earlier is looking at me rather than the field. Those faint wings of hope brush against my stomach, opening the gates for hope and an epic meet-cute to slink back into my thoughts.

“Sorry, we’re late!” Hadley Foster says, appearing on my other side with Hannah Owens and Katie Payne. The three are roommates and close friends who have begun spending more time with Evelyn and me. We had a Friendsgiving, formed a book club, and have a shared group text.

“Getting a ride was next to impossible.” Hadley pulls off her coat, her cheeks flushed.

Hadley dates Nolan Payne, Katie’s older brother and one of Hudson’s closest friends on the team. I still question if it’s all too convenient and we’re setting ourselves up for a record fallout if things go awry, but Evelyn swears it’s kismet, knowing and liking Hadley even before she learned of her relationship with Nolan.

Green-eyes distract me once again. His smile tips, becoming broader and more brazen.

If this were a movie my father was producing, the heroine would tear her gaze away and play hard to get, and the hero would rise to the trivial challenge to prove he’s worthy of her time and attention, but my nearly twenty-one years have taught me the male ego is far more fragile than Hollywood portrays. Instead, I respond by giving Green-eyes a half smile, to show I might be interested.

I might be.

I think.

I lower my hopes and expectations, realizing I don’t need—or want—anything serious, nothing that would involve the start of a long-distance relationship that would fizzle out in a few weeks after he realizes I’m horrible at talking on the phone and worse at replying to texts. Still, a single night of bliss that would invite us to sink into pleasure and not look back or carry regrets into the next day is perfect for my current state of mind.

Green-eyes raises his eyebrows as though asking if I permit him to flirt with me.

For fuck’s sake, does he need written instructions?

Evelyn’s laughter draws my attention to where she’s watching Camden’s mascot, a knight in shining armor—how fitting—chasing the opposing team’s squirrel mascot, sword drawn to show how Camden plans to destroy our opponent. She glances at me, recognizing my distraction, and then at Green-eyes. “Maybe you should invite him to go out with us tonight.”

I shrug, not half as interested as I should be—as I want to be. “We’ll see,” I say noncommittally and turn my focus back to the field, not wanting to miss a moment of this game since I know the significance it has to Hudson’s future as well as Evelyn’s and maybe even my own.

I know too much about football. Hudson has always watched games and talked about the sport with as much passion as my father discusses movie scripts and art connoisseurs talk about their favorite artists.

Evelyn gently bumps me with her elbow to gain my attention again. “I’m glad we came.”

I wrap my arm around her shoulders. “You mean you’re glad you stayed?”

Evelyn didn’t grow up in Oleander Springs like Hudson and me. Instead, she spent her summers at her grandma’s, who lived behind Hudson’s house, and returned to New Mexico every autumn. She returned to Oleander Springs eight months ago, at the beginning of May, uncertain if she wanted to attend college at Camden.

While Hudson is like a brother to me, something hits differently with having a girl best friend. She understands and battles the same emotions and expectations. I’ve never been very good at making friends or trusting women, but Evelyn is my rock. My confidante. I’m eternally grateful she decided to stay and become my roommate as we had imagined since childhood.

Evelyn grins as she wraps an arm around my shoulders, squeezing me tightly. “I was referring to the warmer weather and these potato wedges,” she says, grabbing a fry with her free hand and smiling around the bite she takes. “You already know you’re stuck with me.” Her hand tightens around my shoulder as the ball is hiked and the play starts.

I’m licking the last of the frozen lemonade from the spoon when Green-eyes clears his throat. It’s nearly half-time, and though he’s looked back at me a few dozen times, he hasn’t made a single attempt to talk to me.

I play hard to get. I can’t help myself, keeping my eyes trained on the field and making him try a little harder than the subtle gesture to catch my attention.

Camden is up by twelve and currently has possession. They’re huddled at midfield, where Hudson is leaning close to Grey.

“You’re a Camden fan?”

I glance down at him and note a beer cupped in one hand. Evelyn, Hadley, Hannah, Katie, and I are all wearing blue Camden tees, making it clear who we’re cheering for. Still, I know how difficult it can be to start a conversation. While this isn’t as suave as most of the love stories my dad has worked on, in plenty of them the audience sees his side and is aware of all he worked to be there to give them their chance meeting. Maybe Green-eyes wasn’t supposed to be here. Maybe he won tickets that landed him here, right in front of me. Perhaps fate is still at work, and our meet-cute will grow and flourish.

I nod. “What about you?”

“We’re here for California.” Our opposition. He looks like he’s from California, his skin golden with an air of careless optimism that assures me he’s always looking for a good time and doesn’t have a closet filled with enough skeletons.

His whole persona is wholesome and ridiculously attractive. His gaze skirts over my body, his eyes glinting with appreciation before he takes another swallow of his beer. I know he sees exactly what he wants to—what most people see when they look at me—an affluent woman with clothes that emphasize my best features and a carefree smile that hides my messiest and most unforgiving broken pieces.

“Do you have plans for after the game?” he asks.

I glance at Evelyn, catching her slight grin that’s telling me to invite him out with us. “We’re going out to celebrate beating your team.” I flash him the hint of a smile, just enough to tease him.

He laughs good-naturedly, as I knew he would, and runs a hand through his hair. I’m interested in two types of men, and they’re polar opposites. Those who are sweet and innocent, naive and untouched by the harshness of this world, and those who have not only faced but inflicted that harshness. Neither asks questions—one because they don’t know better and the latter because they’re too afraid the questions might be reciprocated.

They’re the only types of guys I date—the only types I’ve ever dated.

Green-eyes snickers and then laughs. He is, without a doubt, the sweet and naive type. A total Ken Doll. “Can we join you?”

“Only if you’re up for having a good time.”

His smile flashes broader. I’m sure if someone were to ask, he’d think he’s wooed me when, in reality, I’m dropping breadcrumbs for him to follow. But we’re only here for two nights, and if everyone else is going to be celebrating and having fun, I sure as hell am, too.