Home Run Fiancé (Faking It Book 2) Read online

  Asher clicks his pen repeatedly, focused on getting the contract just right. “That will take us to the engagement. Where do you want to do that?”

  “Why don’t—”

  “Let’s play it by ear, huh?” I cut off Jake. “Everything’s so scripted right now. Why don’t you surprise me.”

  Jake stiffens. “Look, this isn’t a real engagement.”

  I cut him off again. “Oh, trust me. I’m all too clear on that. But I’m not a professional actress so why don’t you surprise me, so I at least give a believable performance when you ask?”

  “She’s got a good point, man.” Asher finally comes to my defense.

  Jake’s eyes narrow to slits. “Fine. As long as my line about no contact after this is all over is added too.”

  I can’t even stand the guy, but his constant pushing me away is oddly hurtful. It’s like he’s already judged me and nothing I do will change his mind. I don’t want contact with him after this is over, but I don’t like him being the one to tell me that. And his woodsy cologne is irritating this close. I’m taking deep breaths to keep it in my nose, wishing he were nicer and I felt comfortable asking him what cologne he wears.

  “So what did you do to get a bad reputation in the first place?” I’m suddenly curious. He seems far too straitlaced to get into trouble. Getting into fist fights, I could totally see.

  Jake shifts away from me, so imperceptible I’m sure I wouldn’t have noticed except previously, he was pressed up against me from knee to waist. “I’m sure it’s all public knowledge if you look it up.”

  I raise both eyebrows. Wow, touchy. I can’t help but smirk a bit, enjoying poking the bear.

  “Bet the paps never caught you smoking a joint.”

  Jake rears his head back. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Exactly that. You’re wound way too tight to be tokin’.” I chuckle, the mental image of him smoking marijuana so comical I can’t help myself. He probably portions out his daily vitamins in one of those partitioned containers with the day of the week labeled on each box. Probably journals how much weight he pushes in each workout. Knows his baseball stats by heart. I snort just picturing it.

  Jake jumps up from the couch and throws his arms out to the side, clearly affronted by my joke. “Seriously?” He’s not even looking at me any longer, like he and Ash are the only two people still in the room. “You think she’s the answer to my reputation problems? I’m more than a little worried she’ll mouth off to the press and get me even further off track. Is she always like this?”

  I lift my arm in the air and wave. “Hi! I’m still here. In the room. You can even talk to me directly. It’s really cool how that works—”

  “Would you just shut up?” Jake turns and yells at me.

  Well, crap. That shut me up. At least he’s talking to me again, I guess.

  Asher hops up off the couch, putting himself between Jake and me. “Hold up, man. There’s no reason to yell.”

  I sit back on the couch and fold my arms across my chest. I’m not normally a troublemaker, but Jake just seems to push all my buttons. I’m feeling kind of smug watching Jake try to get his anger under control. He spins around and paces the room, running his hands through his hair.

  Then Ash turns to me. “And you, Rhys.” My eyes go wide. “You need to stop whatever this is. I don’t know what the problem is, but if you’re going to go through with this contract, you have to stop provoking Jake. Just get through it and collect your ten grand, okay?”

  I sniff.

  “Please, Rhys?”

  Oh, crud. I can’t say no to Asher begging me for help. He’d literally do anything to help me out and here I am giving his star client a hard time. A tiny wave of guilt rolls through my chest and I know I need to tone it down. I can be the mature one here.

  “I’m sorry, Ash. I’m doing this and I’ll try to keep my mouth shut more often.” I sit forward. “Where’s the pen?”

  Asher hands it to me, looking relieved.

  I sign the contract and hand it back to him.

  He pulls me into a hug. “Thank you,” he whispers.

  That’s the exact memory I’ll be putting on repeat over the next few months to get through this charade. I’m doing it for Asher.

  I feel a heat on my back and tense up. Jake’s right behind me, I can feel it. I don’t know when I became aware of him, like my body has a tracker on his whereabouts at all times, but I’m not particularly happy about it.

  He takes the contract out of Asher’s hand and leans down to sign it on the coffee table. A quick scribble later and we’re locked in.

  “Okay. It’s done.”

  The butterflies take flight in my stomach. For better or worse, I’m in this farce of an engagement whether I like it or not.

  Jake holds his arms out from his sides, an annoying smile on his face. “Where’s the hug for your boyfriend?”

  I roll my eyes and act like I’m coming in for the hug. Right before his arms can close around me, I give his rock-hard chest a push and walk away.

  “Ohhhh…burn, man.” Asher laughs and smacks Jake on the back.

  I hustle to grab my purse, discreetly rubbing my hand against my dress, trying to wipe away the feel of him from my skin. His heat, his muscles, the velvety soft feel of his T-shirt; his masculinity is potent and I intend to steer clear of it. I’ll pretend for the cameras, but when they’re not around, I need to keep my distance.

  This relationship won’t be a touchdown, complete with celebration and butt-slapping. It’ll be a simple free throw or whatever they call it, easily forgotten and quick to move on from.

  “Rhys.” His voice, the simple rumble a clear command my body listens to, rings out across the apartment.

  I stop walking, but don’t turn around. Closing my eyes, I hope he’ll just let me leave. He’s near me again, that damn body heat like a furnace.

  “Thank you for doing this.” His simple whispered thanks sounds so heartfelt I spin around, needing to verify with his expression. His eyes are a deep brown, no hint of a smirk. We stand there, two strangers about to embark on an intimate journey, all for show.

  His hand extends between us. I look down and see the callouses that line his palm. They’re hands that could hurt me so easily and yet I feel no fear. He may irritate me to no end, but on a deeper level I trust him.

  I place my hand in his for the second time tonight.

  And we shake on it.

  5

  Jake

  Pacing my condo has become my new habit the last two weeks. I’m anxious to get going on my plan to roll out my relationship with Rhys, but she’s been busy getting dresses and crap like that. Asher told me he set her up with someone at a little boutique in Beverly Hills so she could get all the outfits she’d need when she went out with me. I’m sure that cost me a pretty penny, but I don’t care. Nothing’s too expensive for getting that contract with the Sliders.

  You know, if we ever go on those dates, get engaged, and spruce up my reputation. The clock is ticking and our first date, happening in T-minus thirty minutes, is long overdue.

  Mama called last night, her voice sounding weaker than I’ve ever heard it. I nearly panicked and booked a red-eye to go see her, but Damon, my little brother, finally talked me out of it around midnight. He swears he has everything handled, but I can hear the fatigue in his voice just the same. The guy should be focused on finishing up college, not caring for our mama by himself. Yeah, sure, I hired some of the best nurses Texas has to offer to help carry the load, but I should be there in person.

  My phone rings and brings me out of my black cloud of contemplation.

  “Hey, Asher.” He better not be calling to tell me Rhys has bailed on our plans tonight.

  “Rhys just texted she’s on her way to your place.”

  Relief courses through me. It’s just a matter of time before everything falls into place. I can’t stand waiting around without actually doing something to fix my situation.

  “Okay, great. Thanks for letting me know.” I’m about to hang up when he cuts in, a sharpness to his voice that’s highly unusual for Asher.

  “Listen, she’s my sister so I have to say this. You be good to her. You treat her like you would your own sister. And you better keep your hands to yourself. We clear?”

  I smile despite the thinly veiled threat; glad he can’t see my humor through the phone. “I hear you and let me assure you. You have nothing to worry about. I’ll be on my best behavior. Promise.”

  I hear him blow out a deep breath and then he’s all business. “Reservations are for seven thirty. I’ll tip off the paparazzi around seven.”

  “Sounds good. Thank you, Asher.”

  I hang up and pull on a sports coat over my button-down shirt, wanting to look like a card-carrying adult for this date. Taking another look at myself in the mirror, I’m surprised by the nerves I feel. I’m usually only this level nervous right before a game. The doorbell rings and I push the anxious feelings aside. Now’s not the time to choke. My whole future rides on these dates going well.

  I barely get my hand on the doorknob when Rhys begins to pound on the door.

  Swinging it open, I give her a swarmy smile. “Eager for our date, gorgeous?”

  And thank goodness the smirk is already in place, otherwise my jaw would have hit the floor at the vision that stands on my doorstep. Rhys is wearing a shimmery silver maxi dress that cinches her tiny waist with crisscrossed leather straps like something straight out of ancient Greece. Her hair’s curled and just the front pieces are pulled back in some elaborate design that women do and men can never figure out. She must have some killer heels on because she’s much taller than the last time I saw her.

  The young girl with the flower
s in her hair and fresh face devoid of makeup is gone. In her place stands a woman I don’t quite recognize.

  She rolls her eyes and I finally see someone familiar. It’s oddly comforting.

  “Pretty sure we agreed to Rhys, not silly nicknames.” She tilts her head. “Though you are getting up there in age. Perhaps you forgot our terms?”

  That little minx. “Twenty-eight is hardly ‘up there’ and I remember you asked me not to call you nicknames. But I never agreed to it.”

  I let that sink in, enjoying the fire that lights in those brown eyes. The eyebrow reacts next, arching higher on her forehead with her disapproval.

  “Ready to go, old man?”

  Guess she’s okay with nicknames.

  Pulling my keys out of my pocket, I lock my door and stand close to her, purposely looking down at her in case she’s wondering who has the upper hand here.

  “Ready if you are, sweetheart.”

  I grab her hand and tug her after me, walking slower than normal so she doesn’t have issues keeping up in her stilettos. She’s gorgeous. I’m proud to have her by my side out for this date. But I almost miss the girl that stood up to me at Asher’s house, spitting fire while looking so innocent and naive. She roughly tugs her hand out of mine and I bite my lip to hide my smile.

  When we reach my Escalade, I make sure she gets into the passenger’s side safely before shutting her door and rounding the hood to the driver’s side. I slide in, but not without letting out a quiet groan. Now that we’re back to Spring Training, our trainers have been pushing us hard, trying to get us ready for the season. My muscles feel it and while the round-the-clock soreness is a pain—literally—I know I’m getting stronger and that makes me happy. Stronger and faster means I’m a better trade for the Sliders to pick up.

  “I was just teasing you about the old-man status, but now that you’re groaning getting into the car, I guess it applies.”

  I glance over to Rhys, her face lit up with an impish smile. I’m discovering rather quickly I’ll have to stay on my toes around her. She seems super personable like Asher, but she has a much sharper bite.

  “I use my body for a living, so yes, I’m sore quite often. I’ll try to keep my groaning to a minimum.” I start the car and pull into traffic. “Hey, do I smell okay?”

  She leans closer and sniffs, her cheeks turning pink. “Um, yeah, why?”

  I grin out the windshield as I maneuver through LA traffic. “Just making sure you can’t pick up on the Bengay I had to use.”

  She scoffs and backhands my bicep, her many bracelets jangling with the movement. “Oh, shut up.”

  “Hurt your hand?”

  I see her shake her head in my peripheral vision. “That ego…” But she says it with a small smile.

  We discuss music the rest of the way to The Ivy, finally finding a radio station we can both compromise on. I pull up to the valet and turn to her before I open my door.

  “You ready for this?”

  Her smile is shaky, and I don’t miss the way she takes a deep breath. “You bet.”

  I like her enthusiasm.

  I pop open my door and immediately a couple flashes hit my eyes. Asher did his job well, which doesn’t surprise me. The valet attendant takes my keys and I hustle over to Rhys’s side of the car. I open her door and she takes my hand to slide out like she’s used to exiting a vehicle to the flash of cameras.

  We both have smiles plastered to our face and I just hope they look natural to everyone else. I tug her into my side and then into the restaurant quickly, like we don’t want our picture taken. Once inside, the paparazzi can’t bother us and the hostess seats us quickly.

  I pull out her chair and ignore the glances from other tables. It’s like the Who’s Who of Hollywood and, quite frankly, I don’t care about any of that. I’m only here to be seen to set the stage for my trade to Texas.

  “I think that went well,” I whisper to her once we’re sipping on water and perusing the menu.

  Her face is flushed, but otherwise, she looks no worse for wear. Some women take to celebrity like fish to water. Rhys doesn’t strike me as a woman that cares one way or the other about the attention. But I’ve been known to get it wrong before.

  “Easy peasy.” She smiles as she skims the menu. “What’s good here?”

  I set my menu down and lean closer, catching her hand and holding it there on the table for all to see. “Everything.”

  Her gaze darts to our hands and then to my face and then back to her menu. “O-oh. Well then, I guess I’ll go with the rack of lamb. Can’t tell you the last time I had lamb.”

  I nod, not really caring what she orders. If she wanted a cheeseburger, I’d say go for it.

  “So, tell me about these bracelets.” I release her hand just long enough to finger the silver bracelets that run up her entire forearm. “Do you set off metal detectors with them?”

  She looks at me much like my second-grade teacher, Mrs. Wilkerson, did when I thought I was being funny. “I know you’re more into athletics and dirty uniforms, but some of us like to keep up with fashion.”

  I put my hand on my chest. “Who, me? I’m all about fashion. Have you seen the suits we wear for press conferences? I have a tailor on call keeping me in the very latest of fashion.”

  She giggles and I see a bit more of the young girl from two weeks ago. “Oh, your tailor, huh? If you didn’t have him or her dressing you, what would you wear?”

  I think about it and decide to be truthful, even though I’ll be proving her point with my answer. “Probably old jeans and a T-shirt. Or maybe my gray sweatpants and socks.” I shrug. “You just can’t beat that comfort.”

  Her smile grows, taking her from beautiful to straight-up angelic. The candlelight is playing tricks on me, making this business dinner appear more romantic than I anticipated. Doesn’t help that she’s wittier than I expected too. I’ve never been the type of guy to fall for a woman on looks alone. I like women who make me think, keep me guessing, and challenge me in many respects. Rhys is turning out to be far more like my exact “type” than I thought. Which is bad. Very bad.

  “Fashion and comfort are rarely said in the same sentence. I hear you though. When I’m not feeling it, I like to lounge around in a big hoodie sweatshirt I’ve had for years. It’s so soft it feels like I’m walking around with a blanket on me. And have you ever felt the inside of a pair of Uggs?” Her eyes widened. “It’s like walking around in slippers all day. They’re awesome!”

  Our waiter interrupts our discourse on clothing, which is probably a good thing as I was just about to ask if I could see her in her Uggs and sweatshirt. That kind of thing isn’t part of our contract. Three dates, a ring, get transferred to Texas. That’s it.

  By the time our dinner is served, grilled fish and broccoli for me, a huge rack of lamb and risotto for Rhys, we’ve shared the usual first-date stuff. Her favorite color is purple, she can’t say no to pizza, and her car, a VW Bug, may be a little old, but she loves it.

  “Okay, here’s a big one. Do you like sports?”

  She chews her bite and then answers, looking a bit sheepish. “Um, no. Not really. Sports have never been my thing. Plus it seems so weird to be cheering on grown men playing with a ball.”

  I grab my chest dramatically. “Woman. It takes years of dedicated practice to hone a skill like throwing or hitting a ball. A level of skill like that is an art form. Playing games has been part of civilization as far back as the earliest crude paintings on the side of a cave wall. Competition is a healthy part of a functioning society.”

  Rhys cringes. “Wow. Sorry to tear your heart out like that. And thank you for the impassioned speech, but I just don’t care for sports. Simple as that.”

  There’s just something so wrong with her not liking sports. I can’t let it go.

  “Have you ever been to a baseball game? Sat in the stands? Watched the players up close. Felt the energy in the stadium. Cheered together with thousands of fans?”

  She shakes her head slowly. “Can’t say I have.”

  I nod, mind made up. “Third date. You, me, and a baseball game, followed by dinner. I can’t let you go through life without catching one live game. Whaddya say?”