“Normally, I’d say I hope she’s worth it.” Kenzie says with a smile. “Instead, I hope you can be worth her … and I’m not talking about KK.”
“That all?” I ask, standing. “Because next on my agenda is getting abused by your man and we both know he hates to be kept waiting.”
“Dyl, you’ll be fine.” To my surprise, Kenzie walks me to the door and gives me a quick hug. “I’ll make sure both women know it’s not a date.”
Cooper’s words are still ringing in my ears six hours later when I arrive at Kylee’s favorite Asian fusion restaurant for my fake date. The list of all the reasons my captain isn’t happy with me could toilet paper a Christmas tree, but I held my nerve. Never admit, never surrender. He suspects there’s a woman but agreed the locker room banter will go back to football and physical characteristics rather than terms that can and will be used against me by lawyers.
At least I had time to submit the last assignment for the semester. Not enough to claim #lifegoals, but I’ll take#onestepforward without going two or three backward these days.
Kylee arrives at the restaurant with apaparazzi-ready smileand calls greetings to camera-wielding terrorists by name.Fan-fucking-tastic, I think. Guess they’ll be looking for her good side and not give a crap about me.
“Oh my God, Dylan!” she squeals, throwing her arms around me like we’ve known each other for years instead of exactly five fucking minutes.
I tolerate the hug for exactly one second before stepping back, forcing a smile that probably looks more like a grimace.
Cameras flash. Questions are shouted.
Kylee loops her arm through mine, pressing her body against me like she belongs there. “So excited for our first date!” she chirps to the nearest camera. “We have instant chemistry, don’t we, babe?”
I grit my teeth. “Yeah. Instant.”
DYLAN FLESKI AND KYLEE KING – RUGBY’S BAD BOY AND SYDNEY’S IT GIRL?
IS AUSTRALIA’S FAVORITE BACHELOR NO MORE? ONE WILD NIGHT WITH KYLIE KING CHANGES EVERYTHING
KYLEE: “DYLAN IS THE SWEETEST MAN I’VE MET … BUT HAVE YOU SEEN HIS ABS? DEFINE THIRST TRAP WITHOUT SAYING THIRST TRAP WITH ONE PICTURE
I slam my phone down, my jaw aching from how hard I’m clenching it.
To be fair, Kylie gave me good press. I was a gentleman, and didn’t act like a jealous asshole when she wanted to party with her friends. I picked up the tab, and she hopes to see me again as friends. It’s the other gutter press who are talking up bullshitrumors of sex in a toilet stall and faking an injury so I can whisk her away this weekend instead of pulling on my jersey.
Utter. Fucking. Bullshit. Does anyone read and believe this rubbish?
My first instinct is to text Emma, assure her that the only woman I want to whisk anywhere, is her. I want to remind Emma of the whole fake dating crap and that I offered to organize her to be my fake date.
But I told her to delete my number. I told her to delete any trace of knowing me.
I want to protect her, but doesn’t protecting her mean telling her the truth? That if she cares about me, she needs to believe Kylee and I did have an instant connection—as friends. I’m not her type and our mutual rejection became a bonding joke, but asfriends.
Should I do it? Temptation is a cruel beast. I kept Emma’s number in the same way I kept each one of her origami dragons. I told myself I wouldn’t use it.
But I can’t let this sit. I grab my phone and send a text, hoping she only deleted me without blocking my number.
Me: It’s not real. You know that, right?
Me: Please talk to me.
Me: Say something. Anything.
No reply.
And I know I’ve lost her.
I go through the motions, study for an exam, head to training, study some more and get ready for the afternoon eating machine that is my brother.
“Hey, welcome home,” I call out when the front door slams shut. “Pizza’s in the oven and ginger beers are in the fridge.” See, I know the best way of getting Squid to talk is having food ready and forbidding he take it to his room. The smell of freshly cooked pizza works every time. “How’s your day?”
Squid opens the oven door and removes the pizza, quickly slicing it into eight. I shake my head at the offered slice. Coach is on my ass for not following the dietian’s advice—not that the club cared about my diet when setting me up on a fake fucking date.
