“Sounds like a lopsided deal now.”
“Is it really, if you can get Maliyah back?”
He tilted his head at my challenge, sitting back in his chair and crossing his ankle over the opposite knee. He had to back all the way up from under the table to do so. “Touché. What else?”
I sat back, tapping a finger against my chin as I tried to recall all the fake-dating tropes I’d read. The truth was I read about a book a day, so they all blurred together after a while. But one thing I knew about pretending to date someone was that you absolutely needed rules, or things got messy.
“No PDA,” I finally said.
Clay made a buzzer sound, the noise so loud a few students at the tables around us looked over their shoulders. “Impossible. No one who’s actually dating avoids PDA.”
“Fine.” I made a face. “Then we need a safe word.”
“A safe word?” Clay chuckled. “Do you think I’m going to be tying you up, Kitten?”
Something wicked gleamed in his eyes, like he’d just thought about what that would entail, and once again, he leaned his large frame over the tiny table.
“I mean, that can be arranged,” he added with a smirk. “If you’d like.”
The way my lips parted at the invitation, how my heart skipped a beat before galloping a little quicker than before, was not okay. Fortunately, I covered it pretty well as I rolled my eyes.
At least, I hoped I did.
“I just mean that if you do something I’m uncomfortable with, I want a way to tell you.”
“Why don’t we just go through what is okay?” he suggested.
I tilted my head, considering, and then nodded.
“Holding hands?”
“Of course.”
“Kiss on the cheek, forehead, etcetera?”
My cheeks warmed. “Yes.”
Clay arched a brow. “Kiss on the mouth?”
Again, my heart was beating out of rhythm, but I tucked my hair behind my ear, lifting my coffee mug to my lips for a sip of the foam that had gone cold. “I suppose it would be weird if we didn’t.” I snapped my fingers, pinning him with a glare. “But no tongue.”
“No tongue?” Clay sucked his teeth. “Who’s going to be envious of a peck on the lips? Certainly not your boy Shawn over there, I can promise you that.”
I grunted, and like a bucket of ice water being thrown over me, I realized how incredibly stupid the whole premise was. I didn’t live in a freaking book — I lived in real life, where there was no plausible way any of this would turn out in our favor.
“This is absurd,” I said. “It’s not going to work. And it’s weird and desperate, and we should just forget the whole thing.”
I started gathering up my things, but Clay reached out, his hand folding over my wrist so softly it surprised me given the mass of that calloused hand.
I stilled, swallowing as my eyes crawled the length of his toned arm, finding him watching me with a deep sincerity. It unnerved me, that gaze, how steady and yet somehow… terrifying it was. I wondered if this was what his opponents felt on the field, fear spiking the hairs on the back of their necks.
“Meow.”
I cracked a laugh. “Meow?”
“If I go too far, if you’re uncomfortable and want me to back off, just meow.”
“Oh, my God.”
“But you won’t have to,” he added quickly. “Regardless of all the research you’ve done on me and what you think you know, I’m a gentleman.” He sat back, finally removing his hand from where it held my wrist, and I didn’t realize I wasn’t breathing properly until him removing his hold on me brought a sharp inhale through my lips. “And I want to make Maliyah want me back, not you fall in love with me.”
I snorted. “Trust me, no worries there.”
“Okay, so,” Clay said, sitting up and counting on each finger. “I behave on camera, guide you through all the steps to get Mr. Emo Guitar Guy to fall for you, and you play along as my fake girlfriend to make Maliyah jealous.”
“And if I meow—”
Clay smirked. “Now I kind of want to make you uncomfortable just to hear it.”
“Don’t,” I warned.
“Fine. If you meow, I back off.”
I nodded, considering all the terms. “One more thing,” I said, clearing my throat as I picked at the paper frills stuck in the spiral of my notebook from tearing pages out of it. “What if things get… messy.”
“Meaning?”
I scratched the back of my neck on a shrug. “I’ve seen enough movies and read enough books to know that sometimes, these things can get… complicated.” My eyes found his. “What if one of us wants out?”
“You can’t just back out,” he said, frowning. “That would be breaking the deal.”
“But what if…”
I couldn’t say it, not with my pulse hammering so loud in my ears it was like a whole drum line in there.
Clay smirked. “So you are worried about falling in love with me.”
My face fell flat. “Ugh, thank you for reminding me how impossible that is.”
A barrel laugh left his chest as he extended his hand over the table. “If at any point you want out, just say so. I’m not holding you hostage. But,” he said, taking his hand back when I went to grab it. “Don’t quit on me just because you feel like it. I’m committing to the cause. Are you?”
“Trust me — if helping you get Maliyah back means I don’t have to deal with another disaster like yesterday, I’ll do whatever it takes.”
A satisfied smile curled on his lips, his hand back in place. “Then we’ve got a deal, Kitten.”
I slid my palm into his, a hard steady shake sealing the ridiculous plan.
And up on the stage, Shawn Stetson watched us with a curious look on that beautiful face of his.
A week and a half later, I snuck Clay into my office, peeking down the hall to make sure no players or staff saw us. Not that it would matter — I could easily play it off as media prep — but something about the real reason we were alone together convinced me I wouldn’t be able to sell the lie.
I clicked the door closed as softly as I could once he was inside, turning toward him with a relieved exhale that no one saw.
“Why are you acting like we’re about to hijack a bank?”
“Honestly? That sounds less scary than why we’re actually here,” I admitted.
Clay smirked, folding his arms over his massive chest as he took a step toward me. He was still in his practice jersey and padded pants, both of which were stained and damp and clinging to him. The closer he got, the more I smelled him — and I wished I was disgusted by the mix of sweat and dirt and grass and something like teakwood, but the cocktail was like his own brand of pheromones, and I had to actively work to keep my eyes trained on his cocky face instead of trailing the length of all his glorious muscles.
“It’s just a little kiss practice.”
“Do you hear how ridiculous that sounds?”
He chuckled. “We haven’t had time to talk much since we made the deal. I think it makes sense to go through the plan.”