Page 57 of Hard to Fake

"I can’t believe you came!" Nova gushes as she runs across the parking garage toward me, her sister, Mari, on her heels.

“What do you mean?” I prompt when she releases me from a hug.

“You haven’t been to a game since finals.”

I’m here because Miles and I are taking pics after, but I was happy I said yes the moment I texted Nova to see if she was going.

It’s been a busy week without much friend time since the café.

My excitement has nothing to do with my fake boyfriend inspiring a very real, very all-star-worthy orgasm, or that I’d like to watch him play in person.

When we get inside the building, it’s energetic chaos.

I forgot how intense the fan base is. BEARFORCE shirts are everywhere, the team’s purple-and-gold colors painted across everything from faces to flags to gear.

We strip off our jackets. Nova’s wearing Clay’s jersey. It’s cute, her pink hair skimming along the purple fabric and brushing the “WADE” in capital letters along the back.

"You're not wearing a jersey," I tell Mari as we walk the private hallways toward the team VIP box.

"Harlan doesn't have one," she says.

“The GM should get a number,” Nova decides as we head into the box.

I’ve watched games from here, and by watched, I mean worked on my phone or flirted with bartenders, with the exception of the finals last year when I genuinely paid a little attention.

Nova and Mari go out front to the seats and I follow.

The arena is packed. The roar of the crowd surges as another wave of Kodiaks fans flow into their rows.

We're there in time for the player announcements, and I watch the starters run out.

It's dark in the stands. No one can see me, so I let my gaze run over Miles. My eyes linger on his body, shown off to perfection in that uniform.

The guy works on his body as a full-time job. I’m simply acknowledging it with my respectful ogling, as his very temporary, very fake, very serious girlfriend.

"There a reason you’re eye-fucking him more than normal?" Nova asks innocently.

"Hmm?" I ask as I sip my wine. “We’re practicing. I’m bringing him to the sorority thing as my date. Fake date.”

My friend grabs my arm, fingers digging into my flesh. “I knew something was up. I leave for a few days and everything is upside down.” She sighs. “This is how it starts.”

“Nothing starts. It’s all for show to help me land this brand deal with Elise.”

"So, you can't picture climbing him like a redwood?"

Heat starts low in my spine. A warmth I can't entirely pin on the excitement from the game has my lips and fingertips humming.

“His gorgeous eyes? That mouth? The messy hair?” Nova says each word as though she’s building a tantalizing fire of reasons, one log at a time.

“You’re married, Mrs. Wade,” I remind her with a laugh.

“I’m just saying. He’s charming, charismatic. I wouldn’t blame you for wondering. And you’ll be with him the entire weekend. Talking. Flirting. Dancing. Tell me there’ll be dancing…”

“This weekend is about the girls,” I say, trying to steer the conversation away from Miles. “Not the guys.”

"Well, he’s watching you too,” she says sweetly.

My head snaps toward the court. His gaze locks on mine, and I feel the air flow from my lungs. He tilts his chin in my direction, and the corners of his lips lift into a little smirk.

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