Safe Bet
Page 24
“I don’t mind doing it. Spending time with Wade Knox and pretending he’s my boyfriend won’t be a hardship.” Ha, maybe I shouldn’t have confessed that.
But hey, I’m being totally honest. It won’t be difficult, pretending to be Wade’s girlfriend. He’s nice, he’s attractive, he’s a total catch.
“Right?” She holds up her hand, palm out, and I give her a high five. “I think you two are going to be a very convincing couple,” Fable says with a big smile.
From her mouth to God’s ears, I swear.
“Ready to do this?” I ask Sydney as she steps out onto the front porch, shutting the door behind her.
She offers me a nervous smile, running a hand over her blonde hair. How do I know that smile is nervous? Her lips quiver at the corners, I swear. “Ready as I’ll ever be,” she murmurs.
I take her hand and lead her over to my truck, hitting the keyless remote to unlock the passenger side door. I got ready for our first “date” in the locker room after a particularly intense practice. Once I showered and changed into black pants and a white button down shirt with the sleeves rolled up, I drove over to Drew and Fable’s house to pick Sydney up. I’m taking her to a restaurant Fable recommended would be a good one to be seen at. Meaning the paparazzi hang around this specific restaurant all the time.
“You don’t have to hold my hand,” she says as we come to a stop by the passenger side of my truck.
I let go of said hand to open the door for her. “I’m in practice mode. We need to get used to it. Besides, photographers have been hanging around here lately, right?” I watch as she climbs into my truck. She’s wearing a dark blue dress that somehow covers a lot of her, yet shows off plenty of skin too. While I’ve always believed I was a tit man, I can admit I definitely admire her long, sleek legs.
“Right. They might be lurking outside the gate at this very moment,” she says as she pulls the door shut before I can say anything else.
Huh. Seems that someone is more nervous than I thought.
When I pull out of the gate, I notice a single nondescript car parked across the street, and a single guy sitting behind the steering wheel. I’m guessing he’s a photographer.
Good. We’ll put on a show. Give them what they want.
We drive into the city, making small talk as I navigate our way to the restaurant. Considering it’s a Friday night, the traffic is heavy, the streets backed up as we slow to a crawl the closer we get to downtown. The fading sunlight flashes within the truck’s cab as we drive, every once in a while, enveloping Sydney in a golden glow. I keep stealing glances in her direction, reminding myself this is only one night, and that everything we’re about to embark on, is fake. She feels nothing for me. I’m supposed to feel nothing for her.
Nothing.
Nothing.
Nothing.
We finally arrive at the restaurant fifteen minutes later than the reservation time I made, and I hope like hell we didn’t lose our table. I leave my keys with the valet and escort Sydney into the restaurant, clutching her hand once more as we walk inside. She curls her fingers tightly around mine and I glance down, noticing how my hand completely engulfs hers. She’s actually pretty tiny. And I’m the complete opposite of that.
“Does this feel weird or what?” Sydney asks after the hostess seats us at our table in the middle of the restaurant.
I glance up from the giant menu the hostess handed us. “Does what feel weird?”
“The two of us. Together.” She sends me a pointed look. “Can I confess something?”
“Absolutely.” I sit up straighter, my attention focused only on her.
“You’re not my usual type.” Her gaze drops to the table, her cheeks turning the faintest shade of pink.
The shy act is something I’m not usually attracted to. I like my women bold. I like it when they know what they want. But then again, Sydney isn’t my woman. She’s not even someone I’m interested in making my woman. I’m pretending to be interested to help some friends out. That’s it. I need to remember that.
“You’re not my type either,” I admit.
Her head jerks up, her wide gaze meeting mine. She looks offended, which is hilarious because she’s the one who started this conversation. “What’s your type then?”
“You really want to discuss this before dinner?”
Sydney nods. “Oh, I definitely want to discuss this before dinner.”
Great. I was ravenous not thirty seconds ago, and now my appetite is evaporating. “We’re pretending, so why does it matter what my type is?”
“It matters. We need to act like we’re attracted to each other, right? So what type of girl are you attracted to?”
How am I supposed to describe my ideal girl and not sound like a complete jackass?
“How about this,” she starts when I still haven’t said anything. “I prefer soulful types. Guys who like music so much they want to write it. My past boyfriends have been tall, thin, and they like to play guitar. Oh, and they usually have a piercing or two.”
“Who says I don’t have a piercing or two?”
Her mouth falls open, those cheeks turning even pinker. She looks shocked. Good. “Do you?”
I shrug. “You’ll never know, will you? Since this is all fake?”
She snaps her mouth shut, struggling to regain her composure. “Shouldn’t I know if you have piercings or not? Since I’m your supposed girlfriend?”
But hey, I’m being totally honest. It won’t be difficult, pretending to be Wade’s girlfriend. He’s nice, he’s attractive, he’s a total catch.
“Right?” She holds up her hand, palm out, and I give her a high five. “I think you two are going to be a very convincing couple,” Fable says with a big smile.
From her mouth to God’s ears, I swear.
“Ready to do this?” I ask Sydney as she steps out onto the front porch, shutting the door behind her.
She offers me a nervous smile, running a hand over her blonde hair. How do I know that smile is nervous? Her lips quiver at the corners, I swear. “Ready as I’ll ever be,” she murmurs.
I take her hand and lead her over to my truck, hitting the keyless remote to unlock the passenger side door. I got ready for our first “date” in the locker room after a particularly intense practice. Once I showered and changed into black pants and a white button down shirt with the sleeves rolled up, I drove over to Drew and Fable’s house to pick Sydney up. I’m taking her to a restaurant Fable recommended would be a good one to be seen at. Meaning the paparazzi hang around this specific restaurant all the time.
“You don’t have to hold my hand,” she says as we come to a stop by the passenger side of my truck.
I let go of said hand to open the door for her. “I’m in practice mode. We need to get used to it. Besides, photographers have been hanging around here lately, right?” I watch as she climbs into my truck. She’s wearing a dark blue dress that somehow covers a lot of her, yet shows off plenty of skin too. While I’ve always believed I was a tit man, I can admit I definitely admire her long, sleek legs.
“Right. They might be lurking outside the gate at this very moment,” she says as she pulls the door shut before I can say anything else.
Huh. Seems that someone is more nervous than I thought.
When I pull out of the gate, I notice a single nondescript car parked across the street, and a single guy sitting behind the steering wheel. I’m guessing he’s a photographer.
Good. We’ll put on a show. Give them what they want.
We drive into the city, making small talk as I navigate our way to the restaurant. Considering it’s a Friday night, the traffic is heavy, the streets backed up as we slow to a crawl the closer we get to downtown. The fading sunlight flashes within the truck’s cab as we drive, every once in a while, enveloping Sydney in a golden glow. I keep stealing glances in her direction, reminding myself this is only one night, and that everything we’re about to embark on, is fake. She feels nothing for me. I’m supposed to feel nothing for her.
Nothing.
Nothing.
Nothing.
We finally arrive at the restaurant fifteen minutes later than the reservation time I made, and I hope like hell we didn’t lose our table. I leave my keys with the valet and escort Sydney into the restaurant, clutching her hand once more as we walk inside. She curls her fingers tightly around mine and I glance down, noticing how my hand completely engulfs hers. She’s actually pretty tiny. And I’m the complete opposite of that.
“Does this feel weird or what?” Sydney asks after the hostess seats us at our table in the middle of the restaurant.
I glance up from the giant menu the hostess handed us. “Does what feel weird?”
“The two of us. Together.” She sends me a pointed look. “Can I confess something?”
“Absolutely.” I sit up straighter, my attention focused only on her.
“You’re not my usual type.” Her gaze drops to the table, her cheeks turning the faintest shade of pink.
The shy act is something I’m not usually attracted to. I like my women bold. I like it when they know what they want. But then again, Sydney isn’t my woman. She’s not even someone I’m interested in making my woman. I’m pretending to be interested to help some friends out. That’s it. I need to remember that.
“You’re not my type either,” I admit.
Her head jerks up, her wide gaze meeting mine. She looks offended, which is hilarious because she’s the one who started this conversation. “What’s your type then?”
“You really want to discuss this before dinner?”
Sydney nods. “Oh, I definitely want to discuss this before dinner.”
Great. I was ravenous not thirty seconds ago, and now my appetite is evaporating. “We’re pretending, so why does it matter what my type is?”
“It matters. We need to act like we’re attracted to each other, right? So what type of girl are you attracted to?”
How am I supposed to describe my ideal girl and not sound like a complete jackass?
“How about this,” she starts when I still haven’t said anything. “I prefer soulful types. Guys who like music so much they want to write it. My past boyfriends have been tall, thin, and they like to play guitar. Oh, and they usually have a piercing or two.”
“Who says I don’t have a piercing or two?”
Her mouth falls open, those cheeks turning even pinker. She looks shocked. Good. “Do you?”
I shrug. “You’ll never know, will you? Since this is all fake?”
She snaps her mouth shut, struggling to regain her composure. “Shouldn’t I know if you have piercings or not? Since I’m your supposed girlfriend?”
