The Fake Zone: A Fake Dating Sports Romance (Oleander Springs Series Book 3)
The Fake Zone: Chapter 34

“Can we just stay here all day?” I ask, running my hand over Grey’s, mesmerized by how good his skin feels against mine, even like this.

“Sunday, we can,” he tells me, kissing my shoulder. “Cole’s expecting you.” He doesn’t move, though, just as reluctant as I am to leave.

“Are you ready to talk about this?” he asks.

I look at the alarm clock. “Don’t you have a class this afternoon?”

“Forget the class.”

I shake my head. Grey’s been working his ass off for nearly three years. The only time he skips a class is when the team travels for games. There’s no way in hell I’m going to let him start now and prove that dating is a terrible distraction. “We can talk Sunday.”

“Sunday?”

“I’m willing to talk when you give me my break.”

He stares at me a moment, then smirks as he shakes his head.

“What? I’m being reasonable.”

Grey trails kisses up my arm, across my shoulder, and along my jaw. “Keep telling yourself that.” He gives me one last hard kiss and then stands, moving to his closet. Naked Grey jumps in the standings, passing both sweatpants Grey and tux Grey to become my official favorite.

I tell him as much as I pull clean clothes from my suitcase and slip into the bathroom to take the world’s fastest shower with my hair bundled on my head to save time.

When I get out, Grey’s ready to go.

“Do you want to shower?” I ask.

He shakes his head, eyes dark with amusement. “I want to smell you on me all damn day.”

My blush runs all the way to the roots of my hair, and he grins, sensing it.

Once we get in his truck, Grey passes me a bottled coffee from his bag, and my heart does a ridiculous spin.

“How do our schedules align this semester?”

“Tuesdays and Thursdays are terrible,” I tell him.

I study his schedule again, realizing he has a class this morning that I overlooked. “How are you going to be in two places at once? You have a class that starts in an hour.”

“I won’t be able to stay at the gym. Cole will drive you back into town.”

I quickly shake my head. “We’re taking this too far. If you guys decide I can’t walk alone, live alone, or drive alone—I’ll go crazy. Literally.”

Grey releases a heavy breath. “I know.” An entire conversation is tagged to those two little words as we pull up to the gym.

“I’m safe driving myself. I’ll take different routes, change my time, and pay attention. And I want to walk to classes alone. I’ll stay with other people, avoid dark areas, but I need this.”

Grey doesn’t look even a little surprised or angry, like he was expecting my response. “I want you to text me when you leave and arrive.”

“Deal,” I say without hesitation.

I can tell he’s not happy with the situation, but he accepts it.

The skies are blooming with soft pastels, resembling an oil painting as we cross the parking lot.

“Hey,” Cole says, turning as the bells announce our arrival. He’s shirtless, his torso covered with a sheen of sweat that draws my attention. I get distracted by the multitude of tattoos covering much of his skin. When my gaze meets his, his smile confirms he caught me looking.

“So you’re mine for the next two hours.” Cole moves to grab the gauze.

Grey moves forward, taking the roll from Cole. “Where’s Dustin?”

Cole flashes a triumphant smile.

Grey ignores him, hanging the gauze again. “Did you get the picture I sent?” he asks, glancing at Cole.

Cole nods. “I sent it to everyone. That guy won’t get within ten miles without me knowing.”

“Julian?” I ask.

Grey nods, his gaze lifting to mine.

“We aren’t allowed to do that,” I tell them. “It’s actually illegal. Jon got in trouble for harassment when he distributed his photo last year.”

“Fuck that,” Cole snaps.

I turn to Grey, hoping he’ll be more reasonable. “If he were to press charges, it would impact your eligibility. We can share it among close friends but can’t post it on the internet or give it to others.”

“Make this make sense,” Cole says. “He’s acting like a crazy ass motherfucker, and still

has us by the balls?”

It’s my turn to release a mirthless laugh. “If you think this is a joke, you should see how skeletal and scarce the laws to protect children are.”

Grey’s gaze shifts to mine, a silent question visible there as it is each time I mention my past. It’s not intrusive, and no more attentive than he is any time I speak, just that edge of a question that sits there.

Abe steps forward, appearing from the back room I’d changed in last night with Dustin at his side.

“Political bullshit doesn’t have a place in the gym,” Abe says.

“Political?” I ask, smiling like I’m in a pageant. “That’s such a nice and convenient label to put on shit we don’t want to address, isn’t it?”

“Oh, please. Preach to us. Let us hear how your marginalized ass has had it so damn bad.” Abe crosses his arms over his broad chest.

Grey shifts subtly at my side. “Enough.”

“No. No. She wants to enlighten us.” He lifts an arm. “Enlighten us.”

“But you know everything, right?” I taunt him.

Abe takes another step, eyes glacial as he stares me down. “If you—”

“I said enough,” Grey says, stepping forward.

Cole grips his brother’s shoulder. “Abe’s heading to work.”

Abe’s gaze remains locked on mine, tight as a Pitbull’s jaws. I ignore him, knowing that avoiding his gaze will anger him further. If he wants a pissing contest, he’s met his match.

“Are we going to have a problem?” Grey asks, squaring up with Abe.

My sails lose their wind. These guys have been best friends long before I knew Grey—his own version of Hudson, Evelyn, and Griffin, and the idea of harming that has my pride rescinding.

“No,” I say, shaking my head as I take a step back. “I’m here to learn. I’ll keep my thoughts to myself.”

I know Abe thinks he’s won, and while that burns something deeper than my pride, I’d do it again in a second to preserve this relationship for them.

Dustin raises his eyebrows, looking at me as though I’ve grown a nipple in the middle of my forehead.

“When did my gym become a place to fuck around?” Mackey asks, stepping out of the office, carrying two large boxes that he shoves into Abe’s arms. “Get this shit out of here.” He

turns to Cole. “Your ass is supposed to be on the bags.” His gaze turns to me. “And you’ve been here for five minutes and haven’t warmed up yet.” He turns to Grey last. “And what are you doing besides distracting everyone?”

No one responds.

Mackey claps twice. “Get moving before I kick all of your asses.”

“I’d like to see you try, old man,” Cole says, picking up his gloves.

“We’d hogtie you and hang you by your fucking ankles,” Abe says. “Give that back of yours a break.” He moves toward the door.

Cole laughs. “Your own personal inversion table. We’ll even give you a good view.” He moves to the heavy bag.

Mackey gives each of them a hard stare and then cocks his head. “Come on. Let’s look at the schedule.” He and Dustin head for his office.

“Is jump roping all I’m supposed to do?” I whisper to Grey.

His gaze is filled with uncertainty and reluctance as he looks at me, and I know he’s debating staying or taking me back with him.

“You need to go,” I remind him. “I’ll be fine. I’ll text you as soon as I get back.”

“I’m calling Corey. He’ll come and get you.”

I want to object on principle alone. Wasting another person’s time makes me feel supremely uneasy, but riding with Corey would be a hundred times more comfortable. “Tomorrow, I’m driving myself,” I remind him.

“If you need anything, call me. I’ll leave my phone on.”

“I just need to know what a warmup constitutes.”

“Stretch and then jump rope.”

I nod, feeling a similar note of hesitancy for him leaving. I bury the thought. “I’ll text you later.”

Grey nods, releasing a shallow sigh before turning toward the door. I move to the back wall, shedding my sweatshirt before I grab a jump rope and begin.

“Ready?” Dustin asks twenty minutes later when I walk with purpose back toward the ring.

I nod.

“Let’s get you taped. We’ll do more punching and then work on kicking.” He points at an old metal folding chair. “Sit backward on the chair, and rest your forearms over the back.”

I do. Dustin wraps his hands around my forearm and begins massaging, catching me off guard.

Dustin’s gaze jumps to mine, feeling me tense. “Boxers hurt their hands and wrists due to impact,” he explains. “Or you can get carpal tunnel and other issues. Massaging helps. We all do it.” He proceeds to point out which joints and muscles can flare up and cause the most issues, turning my hands so palms face up. “This is…” He points at my wrist, and his words catch, staring at the same scar Grey’s mom had noticed. His gaze bounces to my opposite arm, replaceing a series of scars at my wrist. His gaze lifts to mine. “These are old.”

I can’t tell if it’s a question or not, so I nod. “I got them when I was seven.”

“Do they impair your mobility?”

I shake my head.

As though challenging my confirmation, he moves and bends my wrist and each of my fingers before resuming the quick massage, his gaze tracking each of the scars. Though he doesn’t ask about them, I feel his curiosity.

“Let’s go.”