Page 10 of False Start
Gia
I wokeup in my own bed the next morning, my body humming with delightful aches from my time with Weston, my fake boyfriend and knight in shining armor.
As we’d dressed after a third round of mutual orgasms, he’d asked for my number, but I wanted our perfect night to remain just that. Perfect. No complications. No strings. He was kind enough to organize an Uber, and I left him at the door with a goodbye kiss and a thanks for the memories.
I’d never felt better about myself after a sexual encounter. Maybe Pete had been wrong, after all. Weston had been highly complimentary of my skills and, even though I would have loved to try giving him a blow job, I felt like I’d aced the one-night stand.
Go me!
The buzzing of my cell distracted me from my self-congratulations. Where had I left it when I got home? I checked through my bed covers first, then my charging station beside the bed. Nothing. But I did find the earring I’d misplaced the week before. I thought its pair might have been in the bathroom, soI went in search of it, wondering if my luck had finally turned. These earrings had been a gift from my sister, Duckie, when we were teens. We didn’t always get along — she was Dad’s favorite, and I got stuck with Mom by default — but they reminded me of a time when we weren’t practically strangers.
I paused in the doorway of my bathroom. The counter was bare, which meant I’d put everything in a drawer before I left yesterday. Cursing, I dropped the earring beside the sink and began lining up the products I used every day along the counter. When I pulled out my toothbrush, I took the opportunity to brush my teeth and wondered if I should shower while I was in the bathroom. My stomach growled, and I headed out to the kitchen to find a loaf of bread and a jar of peanut butter left out on the counter.
As I retrieved a knife from the drawer, a buzzing started up from the direction of my sofa.
Wedged in between the cushions, was my cell with ten missed calls. Several were from my mom — they could definitely wait until I’d had a coffee or three — but the most recent couple were from Lydia. Could she already have an answer aboutShifting Sands?
I clicked into her contact and called her back.
“Next time you’re going to cause a media storm, could you give me a heads-up first?” she demanded as soon as the call connected.
“What are you talking about?”
I sat on the edge of the sofa, my muscles sending a pleasant, if inconveniently timed, reminder of how I’d spent most of the night. He’d been so sweet. Kind, considerate, and…
“I’m sending you a link. You went viral last night. The sports pages ran with it this morning.”
“Why do the sports pages care about me?” I asked, clicking into Lydia’s text and finding a video of me and Weston kissing beside the river.
“You’re lucky you’re pretty,” Lydia muttered before taking a deep breath.
“Honey, the man you were spending time with last night. Do you know who he is? Because Denny Hayes was under the impression he was your boyfriend. I let him keep believing that because it’s good for your image, but I know for a fact you’re not seeing anyone.”
I was contractually obliged to let Lydia know almost every aspect of my life. Her job was to craft an employable image for me, and that was difficult to do if she didn’t know everything the public, or potential employers, may need to know.
“His name is Weston. I met him recently and he was kind enough to… help me out with my interview with Denny.”
“Oh honey…” Lydia’s tone was all condescension, and I cringed. I hated it when she spoke to me like this. Like I was a complete imbecile who couldn’t function without her.
I hated even more that sometimes that was true.
“I know who Weston Naylor is. Everyone in Chicago does. Except, apparently, you. He’s the tight end for the Chicago Engines. He’s a big somebody, so at least as fake boyfriends go, you could have chosen a lot worse. I’m going to need you to keep this fake romance going while I negotiate your role onShifting Sands, okay?”
The Chicago Engines. I assumed they were a sports team, but I didn’t want Lydia to call me stupid again, so while she talked me through her plans for public appearances, I put our call on speaker and brought up a search engine. Weston’s name returned pages and pages of results. From statistics, to injury reports, and gossip columns showing pictures of him with apetite brunette, and more recently, blurred photos of him with me.
“Oh my god,” I breathed, scrolling through an article that had been posted two hours before.
Naylor’s new mystery woman healing heart and shoulder days before his return to the gridiron. The photo attached to the article was of us standing together on a street corner. His head was tilted back mid-laugh as I grinned up at him. It looked like it had been taken from the opposite corner, and I racked my brain for any memory of a camera, or even someone paying too close attention to us. But there was nothing, because for the hours I’d spent in Weston’s company, I hadn’t seen anything but him. And that was a terrifying thought.
If Lydia wanted us to keep up the image of a couple in love, I was going to have to find a way to keep my heart separate.
If Weston even agreed to continue the act.
“Gia. Are you even listening to me?”
Nope.
“Of course. Weston is a GWL guy who plays for Chicago, and pretending to date him will be good for my career.”
