Page 9 of Relationship Goals

“I’m an unrepentant asshole; I’m not honest.” That’s the truest thing I’ve said to her since the moment I saw her in the conference room.

And everything from this moment forward will be a fucking lie. Can’t say I didn’t warn her.

Maybe fake dating the stunning woman standing in front of me, smiling at me like she sees right through my bullshit, won’t be as horrible as I thought.

Maybe it will be worse.

Fuck it.

“Do you want to go to dinner with me?” I blurt out the question, narrowing my eyes.

She’ll say no. It can’t be that easy to ask out a semi-famous actress.

“Tonight?” I add.

She’s busy, there’s no way she isn’t busy already, and I can tell John and Charles that I tried and was shot down—

“Is that…part of the tour?” Her eyebrows are sky-high, her strange, mismatched eyes, one hazel and one green, full of mischief and delight.

“Fuck no,” I say, jamming my hands in my pockets.Say no, say no—

“Then yes.” Her grin is so infectious I almost smile back before I remember the reason I’m a fucking liar. I need to remember I’m not doing this for her; I’m doing this for me.

For my career.

Not for her grin.

“Yes,” I repeat, slightly stunned and more pissed off than ever.

“Yep,” she agrees, still smiling that Hollywood smile.

I frown at her. “Fine.”

She lets out another laugh, like I’m the most hilarious man in the world.

Abigail Hunt said yes. I’m going to dinner with Abigail Hunt. John and Charles are about to get their way again.

Fuck me.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone so disgruntled after I agreed to go on a date with them.”

I grunt, finally tearing my gaze away from her pretty face and turning.

“Let’s get this over with.” Fuck.

“So we can get ready for dinner?” she asks, and I wince.

When I glance back at her, though, she seems thoroughly amused by my bad attitude, and it pisses me off even more.

“Hey, Wolfe.” Our keeper, one of the few other players I can stand on the team, comes around the corner.

I clear my throat.

“Gold,” I reply, jerking my chin up at him. He runs a hand through his tousled blond hair, grinning in that unselfconscious way he has.

“Want to grab dinner after practice—” His eyes cut to where Abigail stands next to me, and the perfect white smile he’s known for, brand deals galore to his name, grows even wider.

“Is that Abigail Hunt?” he asks, awe clear in his voice.

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