Page 35 of The Worst Pucking Deal

Without a word, Lucia obeys, her movements stiff as she settles into the car. As I start the engine and pull out of the parking lot, I glance at her, noticing the tension in her posture and the distant look in her eyes.

“Want to go to your place?” I offer, trying to extend an olive branch.

Lucia’s response is blunt and distant. “No.”

I feel a growl building in my chest, frustration bubbling to the surface. “Fine,” I snap, irritated by her refusal. “Where then?”

She doesn’t answer, and the silence stretches between us like a chasm. I grip the steering wheel tightly, feeling the tension thickening in the air. It’s clear she’s playing games, but for the life of me, I can’t figure out why. And here I was at least somewhat worried about her. Yeah, fuck that shit.

“Where then?” I repeat, my tone sharp with annoyance.

“Somewhere neutral,” Lucia finally responds, her voice clipped.

I grit my teeth, trying to contain my frustration. “Like where?”

“The cafe downtown,” she says, her voice devoid of emotion.

Shaking my head, I bark, “I’m not fucking discussing this in public. Pick a place, Lucia. Your place or mine. Those are the options.” She can’t be stupid enough to think attracting attention is a good idea when we’re literally going to make up lies.

Lucia’s expression tightens, but she doesn’t protest. “Fine. Your place then.”

I catch the hint of discomfort in her voice, but I’m not in the mood to deal with her shit right now. We need to get this done, and I offered to go to her place.

We arrive at my apartment building, and I lead Lucia up to my place in silence. The tension between us is thick, and I can practically feel her reluctance with each step we take. It’s almost amusing. The feisty woman who seduced me with a blowjob just the other night is nowhere to be found. I’ve changed my mind because that’s not amusing, it’s disappointing.

As we enter my apartment, I gesture for her to take a seat while I grab us some drinks. Lucia sits stiffly on the couch, her arms folded tightly across her chest. I hand her a glass of water, and she takes it with a nod of thanks, but her eyes remain guarded.

I clear my throat, breaking the awkward silence. “So, let’s get down to it. We need to work out the details of our story for tomorrow’s interview.”

Lucia nods, her gaze focused on her drink. “Right.”

I take a seat opposite her, eyeing her expectantly. She’s the fucking PR wiz, so she should be the one to come up with something. “Got more for me than one-word answers?” I ask, annoyed she isn’t participating more.

She exhales slowly. “How about we say we bonded last season during some away games? You know, spending time together on the road, getting to know each other better.”

I nod slowly. “That could work. But that was last year, and this is now.”

Lucia rolls her eyes. “I know that,” she snaps. It feels like a win that she’s finally showing some real emotion instead of that robotic shit. “It still had to begin somewhere, and that’s as good a place to start as any.”

Instead of answering her, I wave my hand in the air, silently telling her to go on.

“Since I was working on your account and was at a few ad shoots with you, we can say we went out for dinner after one of the shoots—”

“Where?” I interject.

“At O’Jackie’s,” she volleys, making me shake my head.

“Jackie won’t lie for us. So that would be too easy to unravel.”

Lucia puts the glass down, hard. “What do you suggest then, Sawyer? Tell me your brilliant plan.”

I flash her my teeth in a smile. “Easy. You invited me home, and I said yes, which fits my image. And after dinner we—”

“No,” she holds her hand up. “We didn’t sleep together.”

“Of course we did,” I say. “No one is going to believe we didn’t.”

A smile grazes her lips. “And no one is going to believe you treated me like one of your puck bunnies. There has to be something setting me apart from your never-ending parade of willing pussy.”

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