Page 7 of Faking Ties

She glances at me before saying, “I despise it with the intensity of a star collapsing into a black hole.”

“That’s…oddly specific?”

She shrugs and takes a sip of her champagne. Her phone buzzes with a message and she spends time replying to whoever it is. She frowns as she types, and it deepens the more she reads whoever is writing her. She keeps glancing at me, and I wonder if I’m the subject of the text. I hope so.

“All good?” I ask.

She sighs and says, “There are already photos of us online. Apparently, they’re not the ones of you helping me on the stairs but mainly from our little confrontation with my ex.” She flashes her phone to me. On it is a grainy picture of my hand on the small of her back. The headline reads that I’m her protector. Huh, now that’s a headline I don’t mind reading about myself. I bet Evren would even approve.

“We already have a ship name,” she says, locking her phone screen.

“And? Is it a good one?”

“Are there ever good ones?” she asks.

“Of course. Bennifer. Speidi, Brangelina?—"

“It’s Stellar.”

“Ohhh, that’s catchy.” She glares at me, and I bump my shoulder gently into hers. “Come on, you’ve got to admit it’s badass and way better than Huntler or Stunter.”

“Fine, I’ll agree it’s not as bad as those. Thank chance you’re not the one responsible for naming couples.” Her lips twitch at her own joke. I have a feeling she totally loves our ship name, even if she won’t admit it.

“But,” she continues, “I really don’t need to be linked to anyone right now, especially with you.” She glances at me briefly. “No offense.”

“None taken,” I say easily. Of course, she wouldn’t want to be linked to me. Football always comes first, and someone like her deserves more. But knowing that doesn’t stop me from being interested in her. I can only give her one night of fun, but it’d be mind-blowing. “If we already have a ship name, I should probably know something about you. Well, something more than how gorgeous you look tonight. What do you do for fun?”

“Regularly crush men’s egos and sneak any form of microfeminism into my daily life that I can. You know, the usual.”

“Sounds interesting,” I say. “Tell me more.”

She tries to fight her smile, but fails. “Are you always so charming?”

“You think I’m charming?” I bat my eyelashes in anexaggerated way, and her smile turns into another husky laugh.

“I take it back. That’s not charming, that’s creepy. Like those dolls who can wink and make you wonder if they’re going to murder you in the middle of the night.”

“What kind of dolls have you encountered?” I tease.

“I think you’re in my seat,” an elderly man says from behind us.

“Are you Arthur?” I ask. He nods and I say, “There was a mix-up with the tables. You’re supposed to sit in Hunter Holt’s seat.”

Arthur frowns, looking between the two of us with a crease between his brows. Stella tries to cover her laugh with a cough but is doing a shit job of going along with this lie. I guess it’s up to me to sell it. I flag down one of the staff members, and when they come over, I say, “Can you please help Arthur to Hunter Holt’s table.”

The staff member expertly guides Arthur away, and Stella gives me a long look. “You’re persistent.”

“I am. Do you have a pen?”

“And where am I supposed to keep said pen?” She waves a hand toward her dress, one that hugs her body to perfection. And now I can’t help but picture her naked.

Swallowing hard, I try to get the image out of my head as I stop another staff member and ask for a pen. When I get it, I take Stella’s name card and write my name below hers with a little star next to it. Shewatches in silence, fiddling with a navy-blue, braided bracelet on her left wrist. Interesting. I didn’t notice it before now since she hid it under her diamond bracelet.

When I finish, I place her card between our plates and say, “There. Now there won’t be any more mix-ups for the rest of the night.”

She huffs and her phone buzzes again. She grumbles under her breath and says, “Sorry, I have to respond.” She types back and forth with someone who’s clearly annoying her. While I wait for her to finish rage-texting whoever she’s talking to, I spot Evren making his way toward me.

“Fuck,” I say. The reminder of why I’m here is like a splash of cold water in the face. Football first, always.

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