Page 2 of The Fake Out

It galled me that he was right. Without shutting off my cell phone and Netflix and selling my car—and eating nothing but ramen for the next two years—I couldn’t afford it. I’d used the eleven thousand dollars I’d saved while living at home with Pop for the last few years to get us locked into the lease. Because I’d loved the place.

And I couldn’t stop myself any longer. I pushed to my feet, grabbed the almost full martini glass, and threw my drink straight into his face.

“What the hell,” he sputtered, swiping at his eyes as the pinkish liquid ran down his pale cheeks.

“I better get my deposit back. And the realtor fees I paid.” I swiped my purse from the table and stomped out, head held high, as the people at the surrounding tables gawked. Oddly enough, I wasn’t at all embarrassed.

I drove home, fueled by a mix of the adrenaline and the desperate need for comfort.

In the driveway, I scanned the under-contract sign in the yard. Although the idea of moving had been scary, my brother and I had pushed for Pop to sell this place.

He’d had a heart attack at the end of February, and since the best cardio rehab in the country was in Boston, my brother, Chris, convinced Pop to make the move. He hadn’t even been in the rehab facility a whole ten weeks before he found a new home. Between all the Boston Revs baseball games he could attend and the time he spent with Chris, his sunshiny girlfriend, and their pet puffin, Pop was as happy as I’d seen him in years.

He deserved retirement and all the happiness that came with it. As a teacher and coach, as well as a single parent for the past twenty-two years, he’d done more than his fair share of struggling through life.

The only issue was that he was closing on the house in a week. On June first, the house I grew up in would have new owners, and I’d be homeless.

I shuffled inside and closed the door behind me. Other than my bedroom and the sofa Pop didn’t want, the house was mostly cleared out. We’d been planning to use Jake’s furniture in the new place.

I took a deep breath and swallowed back the pain ricocheting through me. I should call Mila; she’d eat ice cream with me and tell me I was too good for the jerk. But her gentle sweetness would probably make me cry, and I wanted to be pissed, not sad. Linc would have no problem heading out to a bar to get drunk. But I couldn’t make either call. The I told you Jake was an ass conversation he’d insist on wasn’t one I could stomach right now.

Deep down, I had known it for a while. But I was almost thirty, and at this point, good enough seemed like all I was capable of having. That thought had another shot of anguish ripping through me. No one should settle. My family and friends had been telling me that for years. But so many people, including me, would kill for a man who was fairly good-looking, somewhat successful, and half-decent in bed.

I scanned the shell of a room. Six days to find an affordable apartment in New York. Like that wasn’t an impossible task. I swallowed and closed my eyes. Staying with Linc wasn’t an option. He and his boyfriend were in an adorable studio in Brooklyn with no space for guests. Mila might let me crash for a day or two, but she had two roommates, so that wasn’t a long-term fix.

But fuck my life. There was no way I could find a solution today.

What I could use was a hug. But in this house, even when I wasn’t alone, hugs were few and far between. I couldn’t ask for a better family, but neither Pop nor Chris was the touchy feely type, and like so many times since my mom died, I craved a hug. Not that I’d whine about it.

Nor would I harp on any of this. I was pissed and embarrassed, but what I didn’t feel was the soul-crushing sadness that should come with losing the man that I was supposed to love. That probably said more than I was ready to admit about my relationship with Jake. But it didn’t change the fact that tomorrow morning, I had to go into work and face him—along with the rest of the office—and somehow come to terms with the fact that the very pregnant woman my ex had cheated on me with would now be working in my office daily. After I dealt with all that, I had to find an apartment. Hopefully one without a security deposit, since I couldn’t imagine Jake rushing to give my money back. I had a work bonus coming, but not until I finished my current project a month from now.

But whatever. I wasn’t going to let an asshole ruin my life.

“I’ve got this.” I squared my shoulders and put on my tough-girl mask as I whispered to the empty room.

At the sound of keys jingling in the lock, I set the wooden spoon on the counter and jogged for the door, bumping my shoulder on the archway when I slipped past. As I swung it open, Gianna’s big brown eyes widened and her keys landed with a clink on the gray carpet of the building’s hallway. She blinked twice before her expression morphed into a scowl.

“What are you doing here?” she demanded, like I was the one out of place when in fact she was the one that just left New York to move up to Boston.

Chuckling, I crouched and picked up the keys by the silver baseball bat key ring. “I know.” I tossed them at my roommate’s sister, and after a quick bobble, they were firmly in her palm. “I wonder how I get to live here too.”

Stepping back, I waved her inside.

I shouldn’t play into the nothing in my brain assumption, but correcting people was pointless. Plus, it was true. I had been playing pro baseball for just over a year and I still hadn’t gotten used to my new status. It was wild to me that I lived in a two-thousand-square-foot apartment with a stellar view of Boston Harbor, a doorman, and people who carted our shit around. It seemed more like a fleeting dream than my reality, and I wasn’t sure that would ever change.

“I thought you’d be out with the team, bar hopping or whatever.” Again, her snippy tone seemed to imply that I wasn’t allowed in my own apartment.

“Nah. Come in.” I nodded at the guy in the maroon coat standing behind her in the hall. “If you leave it all here,” I said to him, tipping my chin at the three bags, two enormous suitcases, one box, and the weird narrow, flat bag, “I’ll get it.”

“I can do it.” Gianna crossed her arms under her ample tits, the move pushing them up into the scoop of the purple sweater.

I forced my eyes up to her face, which was set in a glare, her attention firmly fixed on me.

For the life of me, I had no idea why I loved that glare so much. Clearly, I was a glutton for punishment. From the moment I met the woman, the daggers she shot my way had settled firmly in my stomach, making my body come alive. But I’d worked hard to ignore the sensation, even though I wasn’t normally a man who overlooked the possibility of pleasure. What I was, though, was loyal, and she was my best friend’s sister and she was spoken for. Even if Chris and their pop kept calling the guy she was with a shitty human being, it was her choice, not theirs. I’d never met the dude, so I had no room to judge, and I couldn’t imagine she didn’t care about him, because a woman as strong-willed, talented, and sexy as Gianna could have her pick of guys.

“I’m sure you can carry all your bags alone”—I smiled again when she looked like she might snarl at me—“but I hate being a dick. And if I left you to lug around all your shit into the apartment alone, that’s exactly what I would be.” I shrugged. “I know it’s selfish and assholey of me, but you’ll just have to take one for the team and let me be a gentleman.”

She blinked those big brown eyes flocked by the longest lashes I’d ever seen twice. “Uh…”

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