Blind Side: A Fake Dating Sports Romance (Red Zone Rivals)
Blind Side: A Fake Dating Sports Romance: Chapter 21

The week dragged by like dead weight in quicksand, each day seeming to last longer than the one before it.

Even though I felt like I’d extended an olive branch and cleared the awkward air between me and Clay after the whole sorry I walked out on you naked, here are some flowers debacle, he was still acting weird. Or maybe he was just focused on the upcoming game against the number two seed in our conference. Or maybe he was spending all his time with Maliyah. I had no way of knowing, because other than him stopping by my apartment on Sunday, I hadn’t heard from him.

I didn’t know what we were doing, didn’t know if we were just letting the fake thing between us slowly fizzle out, or if we were unintentionally planting seeds for our fake breakup. Riley asked me about what was going on halfway through the week, but I just shrugged, told her things were fine and tried to seal the lie with a convincing smile.

Meanwhile, Shawn had been blowing up my phone, texting me first thing in the morning and well into the night. He texted me funny memes, interesting news articles, songs that he wanted to know if I’d heard before, and even pictures of him throughout various sections of his day. The only time his name wasn’t on my phone screen was when he was in class or at a gig, and I marveled at how I’d gone from being invisible to him, to feeling like I was the center of his attention.

And I liked it.

I liked that he was thinking of me, and that he was making an effort to let me know that he was. I liked that he called me things like beautiful and said good morning, gorgeous every single day.

Still, something was off, something deep inside me that I couldn’t put my finger on — not directly, anyway.

I was in a book funk, unable to read more than a page or two before I’d huff and close the book, shelving it in an attempt to try another one. Even my tried and true favorites to re-read weren’t doing the trick, and so I spent whatever time I wasn’t in class or at the stadium lying on my bed and staring up at my ceiling.

I talked to my sisters and brothers on a group sibling video call, listening to them catch me up on their lives as I was silent as usual. Only Laura asked me how my job was, one time, and after a short but satisfying answer for them, the conversation shifted back to our brothers’ current business venture.

Eventually, Friday came, and though they weren’t the familiar ones I remembered when I was trying to pick out an outfit for that night Clay took me to see Shawn play downtown, I still had butterflies as I dressed in my joggers and a tank top. I styled my hair to make it look like I hadn’t tried, applying light makeup and throwing on an oversized hoodie before I walked the few blocks to Shawn’s place.

He lived a little off campus just like I did, though his building was newer, with a lobby that had a twenty-four-seven attendant at the desk. She called Shawn when I arrived, getting his approval before letting me into the bank of elevators and pushing the number for his floor.

My stomach twisted as the numbers ticked higher and higher, and then I stepped out into the hallway, immediately seeing Shawn standing in his open doorway at the end of it.

Those strange butterflies fluttered into a tizzy at the sight of him.

He leaned against the frame, arms and ankles crossed casually as he watched me walk every step of the way toward him. He didn’t hide his gaze as it traveled the length of me, and I couldn’t hide the blush that warmed my cheeks at his unyielding stare.

“Hey,” he said easily when I was close, and then he pushed off from where he’d been leaning and wrapped me in a tight hug.

That hug was warm and cozy, like we’d known each other for years, like he was welcoming home a long-time friend he’d missed dreadfully. He smelled of some sort of herb, patchouli, maybe. He offered me a lazy smile when he pulled back, his eyes sort of glossed as he held out a hand to usher me inside.

“I hope you don’t mind takeout,” he said when he shut the door behind us. “I was too exhausted to cook anything.”

I didn’t answer, mostly because I was too busy gaping at the scene that waited for me inside. His dark studio was faintly lit by warm candles, their flickering flames casting shadows on the walls and over the dinner spread in the center of the room. He’d covered a coffee table with a cream silk tablecloth, a dozen roses right in the center along with more candles. Pillows piled up on either side made up the makeshift chairs, and he’d set the table for two, with Italian takeout I recognized from a nearby restaurant offering everything from chicken and pasta to lamb and bruschetta.

Soft music poured over the scene, jazzy and smooth, and my eyes traveled over the dinner spread to take in the minimalist dorm as a whole. A keyboard sat facing the windows, his guitar propped next to it, and his laptop sat open with some sort of music engineering software on the screen. He had one small couch, brown leather like the boots he always wore, and a box spring and mattress on the floor hugged the corner wall.

It was a bedroom, kitchen, living room and music studio all in one, and with the vinyl playing on the Crosley in the corner, and the myriad of posters hanging on the wall, it had an almost grunge-like romantic appeal, like something straight out of a 90’s movie.

“Wow,” I breathed, taking it all in.

“I hope it’s not too much,” Shawn said, scrubbing a hand back through his shaggy hair. “I like candles.”

“It’s beautiful,” I assured him, even with my voice thick in my throat. I took his lead then, taking a seat on the pillows opposite the side of the table he’d sat on.

“Wine?” he asked, tilting the bottle toward my glass before I’d even answered. “It’s Moscato. I haven’t really developed a taste for anything deeper.”

I chuckled. “Well, since you’re nineteen, I guess I’ll let it slide.”

“Twenty,” he corrected after filling our glasses, then he held his up. “To you, Giana,” he said, his eyes sparkling in the candlelight. “And to the music that fills our souls.”

I smiled, clinking my glass against his before I took a sip. The wine was almost too sweet, tasting more like grape juice than like anything that had alcohol in it. But I liked the bubbles dancing on my tongue as I looked around.

“I’ve missed you at my shows,” Shawn said, plating a pesto pasta onto his dish before passing the container to me.

“I’m surprised you ever realized I was there in the first place.”

“Why would that surprise you?” he asked genuinely. “Look at you.”

I arched a brow, looking down at my sloppy, large sweatshirt and joggers. “Yeah. A total babe.”

Shawn laughed. “You are. And you’re unique. You stand out in a way I’ve never seen any other girl do.”

Something about that wrinkled my nose — mostly because I absolutely loathed the you’re not like other girls line. It felt divisive and like more of an insult to womanhood than a compliment to me.

“You never seemed to notice before that night I saw you downtown,” I commented.

“I noticed every time.”

His words came swiftly, and he paused where he was plating a chicken cutlet.

“I saw you at the café all last year, watched as you sang along to every song — even my originals.”

I flushed.

“I watched you drink the same coffee order, some sort of large espresso foamy thing,” he added with a laugh. “Every evening when I was there. And I always wondered if you’d ever stick around, or come up and say hi, but you never did.”

I balked, unable to believe that he ever paid attention to me, but even more so that he was waiting for me to make a move. “You could have been the one to come break that barrier, you know,” I told him.

“Maybe,” he agreed. “But every time my set ended, you would bolt. And when I had intermission, you would pick up your book.” He leveled his gaze with mine. “Do you know how intimidating it is to approach a girl when she’s reading a book? That’s like trying to pet a cat’s belly. It might work out great, but more than likely you’ll get claws to the face for assuming they wanted anything to do with you.”

The laugh that shot out of me surprised me, and the snort that followed brought a wide grin to Shawn’s face.

“Fair enough,” I said through my laughter, and then I sipped the sweet wine before taking my first bite of pasta.

“Can I ask you something?” Shawn inquired.

I nodded, and he paused a long moment with his fork hovering over his plate before he finally spoke again.

“Why are you dating Clay Johnson?”

I froze, a painful chill washing over me for more reasons than I could keep up with. The sound of Clay’s name, the memory of what had happened between us, the reminder that I wasn’t dating him — not really — all hit me at once.

I swallowed. “Why does it matter?”

“Because I can’t figure it out,” Shawn answered honestly. “Not for the life of me. You know, I thought he was cool, but then I’ve watched the way he’s treated you. That night in the club when he was basically molesting you for everyone to see? And then at The Pit, when he took that body shot off another girl?”

Fake. All of it was fake.

“She didn’t mean anything to him,” I whispered.

“Well, do you?”

I frowned, looking up to replace Shawn watching me like I was a poor, pathetic girl who didn’t realize I was being abused.

But he didn’t know what happened when no one was looking.

“You deserve to be happy, Giana,” Shawn said. “And you deserve a man who treats you like the princess you are.”

I couldn’t hide my face twisting at that.

Princess? Ew.

I somehow smiled through it, though. “Well, thank you,” I said. “And thank you for this. It’s… honestly? The most romantic thing anyone has ever done for me.”

Shawn sat up straighter, shoulders square. “Good. I’m happy to have that title.”

The conversation was easy after that. Fortunately, Shawn dropped anything related to Clay and focused on getting to know me, on telling me more about him. I smiled as I listened to him tell me about growing up in a van with his hippy parents, how he’d been to more music festivals at the age of ten than most people went to in their entire lives. And he leaned over the table, completely enraptured as I told him about my siblings, and my love for smutty books.

Before I knew it, dinner was done, and we moved over to the small sofa. For a long time we continued talking, but then Shawn flicked through his Netflix and turned on a documentary that I, miraculously, hadn’t seen yet. He said he knew I’d love it, if I loved nerding out about space.

And I did.

We sank back into the leather cushions, Shawn offering one of his blankets to me and covering up with another. But as the documentary went on, I felt him moving closer and closer, the distance between us narrowing until his arm was somehow around the back of the couch and thus me, too.

My heart hammered in my ears, and I was acutely aware of every breath he took, every centimeter his arm traveled until it was resting around me. I couldn’t pay attention to anything, least of all the monotone man listing out how infinite the galaxy was.

My galaxy was currently revolving around Shawn Stetson.

I dared to look at him, and he angled his face toward me, his eyes searching mine in the low light from the candles and television. He reached out, sweeping my hair behind one ear, though it was a tentative, unsure touch.

“You’ve smiled so much tonight,” he commented.

He cued another one with that. “It’s been a great night.”

“You should smile like this all the time. You should have a boyfriend who makes you happy, Giana.”

I swallowed, and without warning, tears glossed my eyes.

Shawn moved in, closing the space between us as his eyes flicked to my lips. “Let me be the one to make you happy,” he whispered.

And then, he kissed me.

A little flash of excitement and desire shot through me at the first contact, and I sucked in a breath, meeting his gentle kiss with one of equal measure.

But in the next moment, I felt…

Weird.

He smelled wrong, tasted wrong. His lips were too soft, his hands too weak where they held me. He didn’t possess me, didn’t wrap me up in all that he was with that kiss. I didn’t feel anything, other than curious over what the difference was.

Maybe I just wasn’t focused.

I mentally dragged my full attention to him, kissing him with more earnest. That made him groan, and I smiled in victory as he pressed into me a little harder, leaning me back until my head hit the arm of his couch and he settled in on top of me.

He was hard.

I felt it against my thigh, but again, I couldn’t focus on anything other than that it didn’t feel right.

Stop comparing to Clay, I warned myself, wrapping my arms around Shawn’s neck and pulling him in for a deeper kiss.

I wanted this. I wanted Shawn. He had been my obsession all last year. I’d dreamed of this, of what it would be like to have him want me, to have him kiss me and hold me.

But now that I had it…

I tried and tried to make my brain shut off, to chase away every comparison that flew at me. But it was useless. Every kiss was lacking, cold and awkward compared to the heated ones I’d shared with Clay. Every touch was wrong, every roll of his hips against me made me wince in pain more than writhe in need.

Emotion strangled my throat as I tried with desperate kisses to feel something, anything, other than a longing sadness for what I’d lost. But it was useless.

I didn’t want Shawn.

I didn’t want anyone who wasn’t Clay.

I sniffed against a sob, pressing my hands into Shawn’s chest and stopping him before he could trail kisses down my neck. “Shawn, wait.”

“We’ve both waited long enough,” he rasped, kissing my fingertips. “I’ve got you, Giana. You’re safe with me.”

I almost rolled my eyes at how hard he missed the point.

“I should go.”

But Shawn kept kissing, trying to lower himself down my body before I abruptly shoved his chest until he was off me.

“I have a boyfriend.”

That sobered him, and he sat back on his heels, chest heaving and eyes wild as he tried to calm himself. I could see his erection straining through his sweatpants, but he nodded, running a hand back through his hair before giving me more space.

“Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, I… I’m sorry.”

I reached out to touch his hand. “Don’t be. I… I wanted you to kiss me.”

He smiled at that.

“But,” I added quickly. “I’m not yours to kiss.”

It was easier than telling him that once he had kissed me, I hadn’t liked it.

He frowned, but nodded. “I understand.”

A moment of awkward silence passed between us before I stood, swiping my phone off the table and tucking it in the pocket of my hoodie. “I’ll text you,” I promised.

And then before he could say anything else, I left.

I was numb as I walked the few blocks back to my place, unable to even shiver against the cool fog that had settled over the city. Groups of students laughing and going out for the night stumbled past me like I was invisible, and that was exactly how I felt.

How I’d always felt.

It was a pathetic sentiment, one that wasn’t warranted after having a very hot, very desired musician practically throw himself at me. I should have felt honored, should have been reveling in how badly he wanted me, in how he would have taken me if I’d only let him.

But the fact remained that he wasn’t who I wanted to want me.

To Clay, I was just a tool, a ploy in his plot to get Maliyah back. And I couldn’t even be mad at him, because I’d jumped headfirst into his offer to help me get Shawn because Clay wasn’t even on my radar then. Shawn was all I’d wanted, all I’d fantasized about.

How foolish of me to not remember that when Clay was holding me, when he was touching me, kissing me.

I was an absolute idiot, acting like I was the main character in some stupid romance novel instead of remembering that I was just the weird, nerdy girl trying to fake it.

Trying to fake everything.

I faked that I was confident enough to be a public relations associate, faked that I was Clay’s girlfriend, faked that I didn’t feel anything when he undressed me, when his mouth and hands brought me pleasure I’d never known in my life.

I faked that I didn’t care about him, that I wanted Maliyah to come back into his life, that I wanted to help that happen.

I had been living one giant lie for months.

And now, I had no idea who I was.

I dragged my feet as I rounded the last corner that led to my block, digging in my pocket for my key. I was too busy staring at the sidewalk that I didn’t notice that I wasn’t alone until I was at the edge of my stoop.

And a large pair of white Allbird sneakers came into view.

My heart stopped in my chest at the sight of them, at the dark gray joggers that cuffed at the ankle of legs I could draw blind, I knew them so well now. I clutched my key in my hand as my eyes trailed up those sweats, the NBU Football sweater, and finally, to Clay’s face.

His miserable, tortured face.

I couldn’t speak, couldn’t do anything other than watch where his knee bounced, his clasped hands balancing over it wrung together like he was a man on the edge of breaking. His nose flared, red eyes taking in the length of me like he was looking for something he couldn’t replace even with a magnifying glass.

“How did it go?”

His question surprised me, especially with how slow and achingly it came from his lips. It was barely a croak, like the words had burned his esophagus on the way out.

“Honestly?” I asked on a slow breath. “Awful.”

Clay didn’t show any emotional response to that.

“I mean, he tried,” I clarified. “I… I got what I wanted, I guess. But I just…” I paused, stomach rolling painfully at the truth I wasn’t brave enough to say. “It felt off. It felt… wrong.”

I stared at my shoes, at Clay’s, at his hands that were still white-knuckled.

After a long moment, I managed a swallow, pulling my gaze to meet his. “Why are you here?” I whispered.

I swore I saw a world war raging behind his eyes, heard gunshots and bombs exploding as he battled with whatever was on his mind. It was like he was on the precipice of deciding whether he wanted to say it or keep it inside forever.

And then, he looked at me, Adam’s apple bobbing hard in his throat before he dared to push forward.

“I couldn’t eat,” he started, knee still bouncing. “Couldn’t train, couldn’t sleep, couldn’t do anything other than make myself sick thinking about him touching you.”

My breath caught at the need, at the pure, desperate possession that rolled off his tongue along with those words.

“I tried to pull my head out of my ass, to remind myself that this was what you wanted, what we both have been playing this game for.” Clay shook his head. “But it was useless.”

He dropped his gaze from mine, staring somewhere at the ground between us, instead.

“I have thought of nothing and no one but you since that night on the observatory tower.”

His words were just a whisper, and emotion wrapped its hands around my throat, gripping tight as I held onto every word he said.

“I want you to be happy, Giana,” he continued, voice ragged. “Maybe more than I’ve wanted anything in my life. And if he’s what makes you happy? I’ll leave. Right now.” His gaze snapped to mine. “We can publicly break up and you can have what you want. I will walk away. I will leave you be. I will sincerely, with all my heart, wish nothing but the very best for you as I let you go.”

I struggled with my next breath at the thought, at all of it being over.

Clay stood then, slowly, his eyes never leaving mine as he did.

“But that’s not what I want,” he continued, testing the space between us. “And it hasn’t been for a while now, no matter how I tried to fight it.”

The bitter breeze did nothing to cool my steaming cheeks as Clay took another tentative step toward me, but he didn’t close all the space. He didn’t reach for me, didn’t touch me, didn’t dare take the control he was granting to me.

“I want you,” he declared, and the admission must have pained him as much as it elated me. His brows bent together, nose flaring like he was laying himself down at my feet and handing me a sword, not knowing if I’d ask him to stand again or cut his head off. “I want you,” he repeated on a raspy breath. “And I don’t want to pretend anymore.”

I nearly sobbed when those words danced into the shell of my ear, when I realized every aching rip of my heart was one he’d felt, too.

It was real.

All of it was real.

And the only way I knew how to tell him that was with my hands sliding up his chest, arms wrapping around his neck, and toes pressing against the sidewalk until I could meld my mouth with his.

“I’m yours,” I whispered.

And then I was raked into his arms.