The Fake Zone: A Fake Dating Sports Romance (Oleander Springs Series Book 3)
The Fake Zone: Chapter 6

Sweat drips down my neck, soaking my pads and jersey as the final whistle blows.

Palmer whoops and slings an arm around my shoulders. “We won, baby!”

Adrenaline chases my exhaustion and the pains I’ll feel tomorrow as I laugh and stare at the filled stadium. It’s larger than Bia Stadium, Camden’s home field, and packed with fans from both teams. The flashes of navy blue and gold point out the Camden fans.

I allow myself a solid minute to soak in all the sounds and the posters with our names. I wonder if NFL players feel this same hit of adrenaline and joy when realizing everyone wants to prop them on their shoulders or if the excitement eventually wanes.

I give a final pass before turning off these thoughts and focusing on what needs to happen for us to get into the playoff next year to participate—and win—the biggest game in college football. I stand a chance of making it into the draft without it, but damn, that game would be an insurance policy.

Palmer grips my jersey. “Smile, goddammit. We won!”

I grin.

He shakes his head, laughing before he pulls me into a rough hug.

Nolan sprints toward us, gripping both of us. “We fucking slayed.” He drops his head back, soaking up the energy and sun as I had as his grip tightens, seconds before Hudson and Corey join our circle. The press and interviews will separate us in a few minutes, but for a moment, we’re just celebrating the unthinkable.

“Captain!” Palmer calls out to Hudson.

“We did it,” Hudson says, dazed and proud.

I want to remind him that we have an entirely new mountain—a new beast—to slay that comes in the form of another full year of practices and games, but instead, I clap him on the shoulder. No way would this journey have been half as good without him. He’s my closest friend on the team and at Camden.

“We’re getting fucking wasted tonight!” Lenny, one of our tight ends, yells. Lenny’s a good guy with a good heart, but he’s absolute shit when it comes to making decisions or avoiding peer pressure, and he’s the first to suggest a bad idea.

The media descends before we can confirm our plans, pulling us in separate directions with Hudson forced to remain on the field.

It’s hours before we’re showered, and I’m giving the Orlando stadium a final glance over my shoulder, feeling equal amounts of relief and disappointment that our season is officially over.

I don’t bother asking about the where we’re going. I don’t care. I hop in a Lyft with Hudson and Corey. Nolan and Palmer are in a second car ahead of us.

During the regular season, parties are far and few between with our strict curfew and stricter morning practices. Tonight’s different, not only because we’re in a foreign city in a foreign state, but we have the next two months off from official practices, which has everyone lowering their guard and ready to have a good time.

Instead of pulling up to a bar, we stop in front of a generic nightclub downtown. Inside, music pulses through the darkened space as lights trail over faces and writhing bodies. If I had my choice, we’d be at a bar with pool tables and a dozen TVs following sports and reliving the game, but most of the team is looking to celebrate with a girl tonight and after this win.

A girl with short blue hair smiles invitingly to us, and Hudson pats my shoulder before continuing in the direction of a table, where I catch sight of Evelyn and Katie. I do a quick double glance, noting Hannah and Hadley as well. Mila is the only one missing.

“Want to dance?” the blue-haired woman asks, tugging her bottom lip between her teeth. It’s likely rehearsed, but that doesn’t diminish the effect, regardless of how much it should. I hate dancing. Give me a football, and I don’t care if a million people are watching me, but put on some music and ask me to move, and suddenly I can’t remember what rhythm is or how to move my own limbs.

“How about a drink?” I ask.

She flashes a grin. “Sounds perfect.”

I gaze over faces as we pass through crowds, crossing to the bar on the other end of the club.

The blue-haired woman sets one hand on the bar to reserve her place and looks back at me. She’s wearing a dark dress that drops low between her large breasts and barely has a back, exposing a trail of tattoos down her spine. “What’s your name, handsome?”

I consider not telling her. Names don’t really matter—not here, not tonight. But she flutters her long lashes and tilts her head patiently.

“Grey.”

“Like the color of my dress?”

I nod.

“I’m Courtney. Are you from around here?”

“North Carolina,” I tell her.

Her smile broadens. “I’m local.”

A smile catches my attention at the end of the bar. The reason it garners my attention isn’t attraction but familiarity, I realize, when spotting Mila. Her long blonde hair shimmers in the lights, and her dark pink dress stands out in a sea of black.

Mila’s gaze slowly drifts to mine, and her disarming smile fades into a look of indifference. We stare at each other, something we’ve never been good at avoiding. If I were closer, she’d likely congratulate me and then say something cunning and sarcastic. It’s how we interact—how we’ve always interacted. Her gaze shifts to the blue-haired woman at my side. Courtney, I remind myself. Mila blinks and then shakes her head.

Mila’s judgment is a cold blade to my chest. I shouldn’t care what she thinks, who she was smiling at, or what she plans to do tonight, but each of those details consumes my thoughts. Mila Atwool has always commanded my full attention.

My molars ache as I grind my teeth. A second later, Evelyn appears beside her. Mila gives me another cursory glance and then whispers something in Evelyn’s ear.

“How long are you staying in Orlando?” Courtney asks, drawing my attention back to her.

“Tonight’s my last night.” She doesn’t need to know we’re staying through Monday.

She runs her fingers up my chest, her eyes dilated with desire.

“There you are.” Mila appears beside me, close enough to touch, though she doesn’t, as if a thin barrier exists between us.

I lower my brow, confusion not even close to describing my feelings.

Mila inclines her head as if instructing me to follow her, and I’m left questioning every hit tonight, suspecting I’m suffering from a concussion.

Her gaze turns sharp when I don’t move.

“Sorry, do you know each other?” Courtney asks.

Mila turns to Courtney. “Please, tell me he didn’t tell you he was a surgeon.” She looks at me, raises a hand to shield her mouth as though she’s going to tell a secret, and says, “He’s not. He’s not even a doctor. And let me tell you, if you’ve ever gone fishing and baited a hook, you know exactly what you’ll replace if he convinces you to follow him into a dark corner. He doesn’t last long enough to take you to bed…”

Courtney’s gaze skitters to mine, and then lower, sawing her jaw to the left.

I had no intention of sleeping with Courtney, but that does little to lessen Mila’s words.

“He also told me he was clean,” Mila continues.

Courtney’s eyes round as she pulls away from me, sinking into the bar and strangers beside her.

“Thankfully, some antibiotics were able to take care of the worst of it, but I—”

I hook an arm around Mila’s waist and drag her away from the bar before she can finish the sentence.

“What in hell are you doing?” I barely get the words out before Mila’s working to disentangle herself from me.

“You’re welcome,” she says.

“Welcome?” Outrage fills my tone.

“I tried to take the subtle route, but you stared at me like I grew a third eyeball in the middle of my forehead.” She stabs a finger there, emphasizing the point.

“That was subtle?” I shake my head, rage the devil on both my shoulders. “You just cockblocked me by saying I gave you an STD!”

She shrugs. “I inclined my head and told you to follow me.”

“I thought something was in your eye.”

Mila scowls. “Then go tell her I’m crazy and hook up with a married woman. I’ll give zero fucks.”

I don’t tell Mila it was only going to be a drink. Instead, I challenge her, working to understand why she’d care. “How do you know she’s married?”

“She and her friend are at the table next to ours, and they tucked their wedding rings into their purses before having a round of shots. I couldn’t hear them, but I had a pretty good idea of her plan when I saw you with her.” She lifts a shoulder. “I tried to get Evelyn to warn you because I knew you’d listen to her, but she stole my drink and walked away.”

My buzz from winning is forgotten as I scrub my fingers across my forehead and consider the easiest and fastest way back to the hotel.

Mila makes an annoyed sound, something between a growl and a sigh. “Don’t let this ruin your night. The only three people who heard our conversation were you, the married chick, and me. Plenty of women here are interested in you.” She extends a hand to the dance floor behind us. “They’re all looking at you, praying that we’re fighting so they can swoop in and mend your heart.” She takes a step back, her matching pink heels laced up her ankles, effectively distracting me from refuting her words. She disappears into a crowd of people on the dance floor.

I head back to the bar, undeterred by the thought Courtney might still be there, and slip into an empty spot.

“What can I get you?” the bartender asks. She’s all business, with a polite and friendly smile to ensure a tip and nothing more.

“What do you have on tap?”

She lists half a dozen beers before I choose one.

I accept the beer and take a long drink, prepared to wipe the past twenty minutes from my memory. But as I take another gulp, the memory of my arm around Mila’s waist, the sweet, floral scent of her perfume, the warmth of her skin, and the shock in her gaze burns every damn thought until she’s all I can think about.