The Fake Zone: A Fake Dating Sports Romance (Oleander Springs Series Book 3)
The Fake Zone: Chapter 14

Our early arrival is painfully apparent by the emptiness of the room. Thankfully, it allows me to replace Evelyn and Hudson with barely a glance. They’re talking to an older couple, Hudson’s arm secured around Evelyn’s lower back.

Unease floods me for just a second, enough to remind me of the stars outside and the gravitational forces that keep them shining. The constant push of gravity while fusion and convection expand the star, pushing against gravity.

I remember learning about the balance from one of the first therapists Jon and Alex had me meet before my adoption was finalized. She had a wall filled with posters of constellations with words I didn’t know how to read and an office full of toys she’d invited me to play with. The stars caught my attention. In an office—a state—full of new things, I’d realized the sky was the same. It offered me a comfort I didn’t realize I’d needed before I tried to navigate answering her questions to prove I wasn’t too defective or damaged as so many openly discussed about children like me who had been in the foster care beyond the nine-to-twelve-month average and had seen too much.

She noticed my nerves and the way my attention kept straying to those posters, so she explained the delicate balance of a star’s existence and how we sometimes feel that same way—the desire to fall apart and the constant maintenance required to keep ourselves together.

Tonight, that pressure to fall apart is a fraction of what it had been that day. I’ve had years to perfect and polish my shine, and as we stop at coat check, the beads on my dress shimmer as brightly as my smile.

My shoulders, arms, and most of my back are exposed, the air set to cool for a crowd as I follow Grey farther inside, hoping that, like me, he plans to make a direct route to Hudson and Evelyn.

“Meyers.”

We stop as Coach Krueger approaches us, dressed in a dark navy suit, his hand secured around a gorgeous woman with black hair, flawless dark skin, electric red lips, and a stunning gold dress.

Coach Krueger extends his hand to me. “Hi. Mila, right?”

I nod, shaking his hand. I’m surprised he knows who I am but also not. As the acting head coach, he’s spent an exorbitant amount of time with Hudson, drawing up new plays and changing the team dynamics. “Nice to see you.”

He straightens. “This is my girlfriend, Kat.”

“I’m obsessed with your dress,” Kat tells me, shaking my hand.

I grin. “I’m obsessed with yours and your lipstick.”

Her smile grows.

“Vogel’s here,” Coach Krueger says quietly. “He’s got about ten friends here, including Barnhardt, who owns twenty restaurants in the state. He’s been looking for someone to feature in his ads.” He looks sideways as though ensuring no one’s overhearing our conversation. “He’d be a good one to make friends with. Not only would it help the program, but it would be lucrative. He’s a big fan of yours. I hear he likes to golf.”

“How long have you been dating?” Kat asks me as the two continue discussing those in attendance.

My first question and I’m already caught off guard. “It’s pretty new. We’ve known each other for a couple of years, though.”

She smiles. “Phil and I were friends for three years before we began dating. Friends first is always best.”

I want to ask her what her thoughts are on acquaintances that don’t always like each other but paste on another shiny smile. “Are you from the area?”

She shakes her head. “New York. What about you?”

“Local,” I say. I took on the role of native North Carolinian before reaching middle school. “Do you miss the city?”

“I miss the energy, but this place has grown on me.” She clutches Coach Krueger’s arm, staring up at him reverently. He gives her a secret smile that looks a little too forced—a Hollywood smile meant to be genuine. I wonder if it’s because having an audience makes him uneasy or if he’s not nearly as convinced as she is, and that’s why it took them three years to begin dating.

“Mingle. Be sure to say hi to Cathy. She always feels like she’s ignored for being one of the only female boosters. And if you see any of the guys drinking too much, replace me.” Coach Krueger moves his attention to me again and clasps his hand on my shoulder. “Nice seeing you again, Mila.”

Kat waves goodbye.

The party has doubled in size in just a few minutes, and more are streaming inside. I look to see if I recognize anyone before turning to Grey. “Want to replace this Barnhardt guy?”

His blue gaze meets mine, filled with conflict. “I don’t know a damn thing about golf.”

I shrug. “But you know a hell of a lot about football.”

Grey’s eyes dance across the room, searching the crowds. “He’ll be looking for someone to impress him.”

Across from us, I spot Emma with a tall, balding man with a silver beard that I presume is her father. I point them out to Grey. “You should talk to them. I’ll go replace Evelyn.”

Grey curls a hand around my waist, heat seeping into me though a shiver slips down my spine, stopping me. “They’re coming this way.”

A glance confirms Emma and her father are heading straight toward us.

“Greyson,” someone says with a nod as they pass.

“Maybe I should call you Greyson,” I muse.

His eyes glitter with humor. “You can call me whatever you want.”

The words shouldn’t sound like an innuendo, but paired with the intensity of his gaze, they send heat flushing down my neck.

“In that case,” I say, “I might need to get a little more creative with my nicknames.”

“I thought we were retracting the claws for tonight?”

“Claws? That was my teeth.” I snap my jaws together. “Good luck impressing Kemp,” I say, sending him a wink as I turn. Before I can move, Grey’s hand constricts, reeling me in with so much gentleness it defies the firmness of his hold. His gaze tangles with mine.

“How far are you willing to take this?” he asks, stepping closer, his chest brushing mine. He moves his hand from my waist to my shoulder and trails his fingers to my elbow, leaving a trail of goose bumps.

His gaze shifts, acknowledging my response to him. His fingers caress my forearm, the back of my hand, and my fingers. His touch is intimate, so gentle it leaves me restless, wanting—needing—more. More pressure, more touching, more.

His eyes track across my face, attempting to read me as though I’m asking a cryptic question, and then Grey tilts his head and slides his hand around to my lower back, pulling me closer. My stomach becomes weightless and my thoughts fuzzy as I realize he intends to kiss me.

My heart falls to somewhere near my knees again, or maybe it’s in my throat, and that’s why I can’t breathe as I stare at him, realizing how badly I want him to kiss me and how conflicting that desire is.

Humor dances in his sapphire eyes, reveling in my confusion or maybe my shock as I race to recall the steps of kissing. It’s been months since I kissed anyone. I’m trying to remember the moves like a dance, calling on every movie and scene when Grey closes the space between us and presses his lips against mine. His mouth is warm and surprisingly tender, lacking the force I was expecting that might prove this is familiar to both of us. Instead, he kisses me slowly, his hand gathering me closer as he explores my mouth, my reactions, me.

Restlessness rolls through my veins like a tank engine, contracting every muscle, making me fight the impulse to gather his jacket in my fists, lean into him, slacken my jaw, and deepen the kiss. I force myself to remain still, my heart thumping painfully in my chest as my breathing grows heavier.

His lips open fractionally, and his fingers press more firmly against me, two of his fingers against the swell of my backside. My nerves are carried away by desire and instinct as I part my lips, the scent of cedar and sandalwood fresh in my nose. His tongue sweeps over mine, the taste of him filling my mouth as temptation crackles through every nerve ending, desperate to feel and taste more of him, feel the warmth and strength of his body against mine.

The reminder that we shouldn’t be doing this, that I’ll regret this, is a raindrop, the ripples teasing my senses and keeping me from arching against him and threading my fingers into his hair as I want to. The ripples continue and grow. Consciousness and sense prompt me to take a step back, kiss him a final time, and end things.

Grey misses the cue, his other hand coming to my jaw, skimming the pad of his thumb across the expanse of my cheek, gentle and sweet while his hand at my back presses even harder, inviting me to stay under this tide. Reason doesn’t stand a fighting chance, and I slip deeper into the kiss, into Grey. He kisses me fuller, no longer an exploration but a crusade, pummeling my mouth and making my muscles feel both tight and loose.

I grasp his waist, convinced I need the support to remain upright. The cool crispness of his shirt and the hard expanse of Grey slowly warming under my fingers has me thinking of bed sheets as I hold on to him tighter.

He makes a sound then, something deep in his throat, a growl or maybe a groan, that has an ache pulsing between my legs. I want to forget the ripples that warn against the thoughts racing through my mind that are becoming filthy, consisting of clawing every piece of clothes from his body and feeling him against all of me, inside of me, stretching me, consuming me until I lose that balance that keeps me together.

I’m slipping, the balance shrinking. I recall how stars that run out of fuel become either a neutron star or a black hole, bending and destroying everything around them—and realize with absolute certainty that I’d do the same, namely to those closest to me.

The ripples become waves that have me slowly releasing Grey’s jacket and leaning back.

Grey’s hand slips from my face, and without his mouth and body against me, the room feels cold. Goose bumps dance across my flesh, rejecting every inch I move away from him.

The sight of Grey’s dilated pupils and slightly labored breathing has confusion twisting with something in my gut that makes it difficult to breathe or look away.

“Greyson,” a man says as he swaggers closer, wearing a grey suit and a scowl. “Nice to see you.”

Grey steps closer to me, his jaw strained as he places a hand on my hip and leans closer. “Why don’t you go get some cake,” he says.

The man looks at me below thick, bushy brows. “Is this your girlfriend?” he asks, lowering his gaze over me with shrewd, appraising eyes.

“This is Mila Atwool,” Grey says. “Mila, this is George Silva.”

I’m still suffering whiplash, or something similar, the heat and ice of Grey a confounding culmination of emotions. “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” I say.

Mr. Silva frowns, turning his attention to Grey. “After this last season, I bet you can’t keep them away. Can you?” He takes a drink of the amber liquid in the tumbler he holds in one hand.

Grey’s fingers constrict on my waist as he grins, and I suddenly want to reduce our titles from acquaintance to enemies. “Actually, I’m still trying to win her over.”

Mr. Silva appears taken aback for a beat.

I’m stunned into silence.

Fake. Fake. Fake.

The word repeats in my head like a mantra as the taste of Grey lies heavy on my tongue, contradictory to my mental chant.

Grey clears his throat, inclining his head toward the buffet and encouraging me to go as his hand relaxes and falls to his side.

Mr. Silva’s gaze focuses on the spot Grey was touching me, and then he studies my face before his smile turns calculating and borderline skeevy. “Well, young man, you had quite the season. I hope the rumors are true and you will stick around for a final season. By next year, you’ll be beating women off with a stick. There’s a long list of worthy women who will be more than impressed with you. May I recommend you not waste time on unrequited conquests?” His gaze shifts to mine for a second before he moves past us.

I’m immune to the strange insults and praises that the team receives. Maybe it’s a product of Alex working in Hollywood and his indifference toward seeing his name across the movie screen, instead introducing himself as Jon’s husband or my father as though both are more significant. However, a ghost could appear before me, and I’d likely feel less shocked than I do now, reeling from kissing Grey and his words.

“That…” Grey says. “He’s such a fucking asshole. I’m sorry.” He shakes his head, his jaw gritted.

I blink, trying to recall the conversation and if I’m the one who should be offended or Grey. Who was he insulting? I’m stuck in a haze.

“You guys look like you could use these,” Nolan appears with Hadley. She’s wearing a gorgeous royal blue dress that looks like it was designed for her. Nolan passes Grey and me each a beer, and I ignore that I don’t like the taste of beer or that I’m not twenty-one and drink half the glass in a single gulp.

“Was that Silva I saw talking to you?” Nolan asks.

I wince, hoping that’s all he saw as I debate who might have witnessed me making out with Grey. I wonder if he’s feeling the same sharp edge of panic.

Grey takes a drink. “I didn’t even see him coming.”

Nolan grimaces.

Hadley moves closer to me. “Gents, we’re going to check out the buffet. We’ll be back.” She weaves her arm with mine and leads me halfway across the room before I realize I’m moving.

If I weren’t drowning in my thoughts, I’d be appreciating the beauty of the buffet that’s split in two with canapes on one side and desserts on the other, artfully decorated with foliage and tiny fake flames that flicker warmly.

Hadley grabs two plates, forcing one into my hands. “Are you okay?” Her voice is soft, barely a whisper so as not to draw attention from anyone nearby.

I nod. “Yeah. No. I’m fine. I’m just…” I blink too fast, trying to recall the conversation again. “He was saying I wasn’t worthy of Grey, but the joke’s on him because I’m just here as Grey’s friend.”

Hadley gives me a consoling look. “I’m sorry.” She searches the crowd that has gotten significantly fuller since we arrived, the floor nearly filled with guys in suits and women in gowns. “Nolan warned me about Silva before we arrived and pointed him out, so I’d avoid him. He sounds like the scum that grows on scum.”

“The program would definitely benefit from a little more estrogen,” I say.

She grins. “Everything in this world would benefit from more women’s influence.”

I move to grab something that looks cheesy and delicious, and Hadley follows me.

“What do you think that is?” I ask, pointing at one of the dishes.

Hadley takes one and discreetly lowers her nose to smell it. “Brie and thyme, I think.” She examines it a little closer. “They should have added some cranberry. It would have been a good balance.” Hadley loves food and cooking, and everything I’ve tried has been delicious.

I follow her, listening to her analyze each dish and make best guesses about what each is, only taking a couple because my stomach is full of butterflies.

“You and Grey make a cute couple,” Hadley muses as we peruse the dessert side, where she becomes picky, and I want to try everything.

“I’m only here to keep him safe from one of the booster’s daughters.”

She snickers. “Like a hot bodyguard?”

I beam. “Exactly. And thanks for the compliment. My ego needed that.” I pull in a breath and stop myself from reaching for another mini chocolate something that I know will stick to my hips.

Hadley grins as she looks toward Grey and Nolan. “Are you sure he sees you as just his hot bodyguard?”

I nod. “It’s Grey. He doesn’t date.”

“You did notice that he was contemplating ten ways of tackling Silva when we got there, right? You saw the flexed jaw? The fists?”

I take another pull from the beer because I did, and it’s not the first time or even the second time he’s stood up for me recently.

“I’m sure Grey is like Nolan and hates being here. I think most of them do, except for the disgusting jerks—like Hannah’s ex. The good guys, the ones who recognize Silva and his opinions are absolute shit, are only here out of obligation and the chance to make money. Nolan said they can’t get jobs except in short stints because they have so many practices, even in the off-season, so the sponsorships are the only way most of them can earn money.”

I think of how the coach mentioned things to Grey, realizing he was doing that as a favor. I don’t know the details of Grey’s financial situation, but I know he doesn’t come from money or have much disposable income.

Hadley’s assertion has me seeing the event as one of the hundreds of games of chess I’ve played with Griff.

“Is my being here going to help Grey? Or will it hinder the situation? What will make him stand out and make them like him more?” I’m trusting her more than my comfort levels permit, but her feelings for Nolan and his best interest—which includes the team—make this question an exception.

“They want to know the players and learn about their lives. Not to sound like I’m supporting these archaic and sexist customs, but you look like a model, Mila. You’ll make Grey look good. Like he’s successful and well-rounded in all realms of his life, though this is one of the few nights they actually care about it.” Hadley smiles grimly.

I glance toward Nolan and Grey again, catching Grey’s stern face and Nolan’s easy grin. “Should we bring them something?” I ask.

She nods, and we go through the buffet a second time.

“I have to say, this is quickly becoming a second fear of mine. Talking to strangers who have influence over my boyfriend’s future is way too similar to public speaking,” Hadley confides.

“Spin the conversation,” I tell her. “When a booster talks to you, ask them what their greatest achievement or current goals are. Most of these people eat and breathe business. They want to talk about themselves.”

Hadley’s eyes grow. “That’s genius.” She leans closer. “I have a tube of red lipstick in my purse. If we replace out what Silva drives, we can leave a warning to others…” she whispers.

I replace myself smiling without thought, feeling that same niggling feeling that says I want to like her—want to trust her.

It seemed too convenient for a friendship to form between us when I was introduced to her a few months ago. I know how fleeting and shallow most relationships on the team are, but Hadley defies those perceptions, and Nolan has changed in ways I never expected. He went from being one of the most flirtatious guys on the team to not even noticing other women. I’m rooting for them.

Nolan and Grey are where we left them, only now, Palmer has joined them along with his date, a girl with dark hair, a slender nose, and pink pouty lips.

Grey’s eyes meet mine as I pass him the plate of canapes and desserts. I see appreciation and a hint of question that I avoid by turning my attention to Palmer, who’s surveying my plate. He grins as he lifts his gaze to my face.

“Hey, Mila. Hey, Hadley,” he says, looking between us. “You two look beautiful as always.” Zack Palmer is a couple of inches taller than me—when he’s standing straight and has shoes on—with curly blond hair and a friendly smile that he wears like my favorite accessory. And like a golden retriever, he’s loyal, filled with energy, and makes it his mission to ensure everyone feels included and happy. He’s a flirt with enough confidence for three people, but he’s also one of the sincerest and most genuine people I’ve ever known. “This is Scarlett. Scarlett, this is Grey’s date, Mila, and Nolan’s girlfriend, Hadley.”

I juggle my food and glass again to shake her hand. “Nice to meet you.”

Her smile is warm, and she doesn’t look even a little nervous, though I know this is their first date. I wish I could borrow her confidence for the rest of the night.

“I see Carrie,” Nolan says quietly, tracking someone in the crowd. “I need to go talk to her. Remind her how fucking awesome our last couple of games were.”

Hadley gives me a meaningful look. “Red lipstick,” she whispers.

I grin before they disappear.

“And there’s Barker,” Palmer says. “Good luck with Linus. We’ll catch you cats later.” He winks at me, not making a single joke about my reason for being here. Apparently, Grey was right.

“Did I mention I owe you?” Grey asks as a man in a rich suit sets his gaze on us from a few yards away.

“Don’t worry. I’ll remember.”