Off the Mark, page 11
“’Course not.”
“Did you though?”
I scoffed, feeling the back of my neck go hot. “Okay, sure. I did ask her out and she did turn me down. But I wouldn’t say big way. More like…so small it was barely noticeable. Though that’s not really the point or worth bringing up or discussing. Ever again.”
“Rowan,” Dean interrupted, “are you and Charlie a thing now? Because if you are, I’ve got a shitload of questions.”
“We’re dating.”
Both of their jaws dropped open.
“But it’s fake,” I added. “I’m pretending to date her to help improve her reputation.”
The silence from Dean and Tabitha stretched on for a few seconds, long enough for me to understand just how fucking bonkers the situation was when I said it out loud.
“Can you, uh…explain more?” Dean finally asked. He looked like I’d just told him I was quitting my job tomorrow to become an astronaut.
I cleared my throat and relaxed into a smile. “Charlie’s here because the motocross championships are being held at the tracks outside the city. It’s a huge-ass convention, a ton of fans and press. She’s one of the favorites to win, especially since the X Games, but she’s in hot water with her sponsor. She’s got a bit of a reputation problem. Has been blowing off some of her events and has lost a lot of races recently.”
He arched a brow. “That’s enough for most of these sponsors to cut you loose. It’s all profit and loss to them.”
When Dean had chosen to leave a successful boxing career because of a head injury, everyone from the fans to the announcers ridiculed him. Five years later, and he still got shit from drunk assholes at bars who thought they could take Dean the Machine in a street fight.
And I’d been playing baseball in some form from the age of ten and knew exactly what it was like to lose the career that meant everything to you.
We understood how it felt to be reduced to nothing but a body. I was a shoulder that made millions for team owners. A throwing arm that sold out seats. A fastball that won championships. And when I got hurt, I was easily discarded.
“Charlie’s this close to getting cut,” I said grimly. “And the timing sucks because she’s trying to get a bunch of money together to help her dad who’s being threatened with eviction. Weird as it sounds, Charlie thinks showing up to these championship events with a new, adoring boyfriend on her arm will help avoid the worst from happening.”
There was another awkwardly long pause. Then Tabitha said, “So you are…?”
“Charlie Maddox’s fake boyfriend for the next three weeks.”
“Oh…my…god.” She clapped her hands. “This is, like, the wildest thing I’ve ever heard, and I’m already here for it.”
Tabitha looked delighted, but Dean wasn’t ready to let me off the hook. “I get why Charlie asked you but what are you getting from this?”
I cracked a grin. “Besides helping out a friend in need?”
He didn’t budge. “Uh-huh.”
I managed a shrug. “With all the transition goin’ on here, the center could also use some extra cash. There’s going to be a lot of rich people at some of these events, so I told her yes on the condition that she introduces me. But listen”—I extended a hand towards them—“one of the conditions was that I got to tell you two what was really going on. That’s…well, that’s the whole scoop.”
It wasn’t, of course. The whole scoop was that I was supposed to be gearing up to fire the guy in front of me by the end of the month.
Dean’s brow stayed furrowed, but he didn’t say anything.
“Are you telling Alice about all of this?” Tabitha asked.
“Not a word. Though I’m giving it seventy-two hours before her friend who works the deli counter at the Acme finds out and tells her while she’s buying cheese. And…” I hesitated, still thinking about our family dinner. How tired and sad she’d looked, sitting in her chair. “I don’t know. It’s August and she’s been pretty down. More than usual this time of year. Maybe this is wishful thinking, but a few weeks of her believing I’ve got a girlfriend might cheer her up. As long as she doesn’t get too attached to the idea.”
Tabitha’s eyes softened. “Well, count me in as a reliable alibi. And I get why you want to help, Rowan. You’ve had plenty of experience with all the complicated aspects of being an athlete. Charlie must trust you.”
Those words had a sweet affection spreading through my chest. The kind that could complicate this fake situation in a very real way.
“Thank you, Tab,” I said earnestly. “I know it’s a lot to ask, pretending and all.”
“Except it’s really not.” She picked up her phone and work bag, glancing at the wall clock. “I would do anything to help Alice. And if the bonus is helping out the center and a friend in need, how could a girl possibly say no?” She placed a hand on the top of Dean’s head, gave it a quick scratch. “I need to go meet with Bianca, but we’ll swing by after, fill you in on our marketing plan.”
She spun around to leave, but Dean snatched her wrist. Pulled her in for a kiss that had her blushing. When she finally left, his expression shifted, from devotion to disbelief.
I crossed my arms over my chest, prepared for an interrogation. “What do you think about all of this? You haven’t said much, big guy.”
He chewed the last of his donut thoughtfully. Took his time. I was used to his pauses, the deliberate way he chose his words. But the coiling in my gut was because he was making me nervous.
“I’ve got no problem being your alibi on this. And strange as it sounds, I know why she came up with the idea,” he said. “The media likes all that romance shit, plus you’re a former athlete, a local, they’ll latch onto it. But I’m more worried about you pretending to be the boyfriend of a woman you legitimately like. That’s the problem I see, not the lying part.”
“I do like Charlie, but you know it’s not like that with us,” I protested. “Sure, I had a thing for her when I was twenty-two. But that was forever ago, and I’m only doing her a favor.”
He bounced his knee up and down. “Are you? Or do you want things to be real between you two?”
“I’m doing her a favor,” I repeated.
Dean nodded deliberately like he didn’t believe a single word out of my mouth. Which was a problem—the next few weeks hinged on my ability to lie.
“People change over time,” he said. “You’ve changed too, even if you can’t see it. The summer that Tabitha came home, you told me to be careful. I’m tellin’ you the same now.”
The reason I’d said that was because he and Tabitha were having sex. And that was clearly off the table with Charlie.
But I knew where he was coming from. Knew it and appreciated it.
I held up my hands in defeat. “You’re right. I’ll be careful, I promise. It for sure has the potential of becoming a little sticky.”
His expression turned rueful. “Sticky’s a decent word for it.” Then he cocked his head. “Are you sure you’re okay? I know the summer’s tough. And it feels like everything went from I’m the new ED to we’re running out of money to I’m a fake boyfriend now super fast. If you’re overwhelmed or something, you can always talk to me.”
And for a single second, I almost blurted out the truth about the funding nightmare we found ourselves in. But I didn’t. Couldn’t. Dean had been through so much since his early retirement, had struggled with the listlessness we all felt once we were sent back out on our own. No coach, no team, no fans.
Over the past two years, between Tabitha and this job, it felt like Dean was finally himself again.
He had done way too much for me—his family had done way too much—for me to cut him loose. Again.
“I’m okay, but I appreciate you saying something. It is weird, that’s for sure. And I wanted to tell you because I’ll need someone I can confide in about it. Even get some advice on how to do the whole boyfriend thing. I trust you, Dean. More than anyone else.”
This answer seemed to satisfy him. He tossed our food garbage and gave me a nod by the door. “Benny’s tonight?”
“To watch the Phillies smoke the Padres? Hell yeah.”
He paused, halfway out the door. “In terms of the boyfriend thing, you know more than you think. At least you always seemed like the expert on that stuff. I always felt like the amateur.” He smiled sheepishly. “Sometimes still do, though Tabitha swears otherwise.”
I forced an easy grin. “Yeah, you’re right. Don’t know why I’m doubting my skill set when I didn’t use to before.”
“You’re fake dating a woman that you once had a thing for. That’s confusing and would have a lot of people second-guessing themselves.”
Then he left, leaving the door open, and I released a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding.
You’ve changed too, even if you can’t see it.
I didn’t think that I had. I still felt like the guy who never stayed the night—so much so that when Charlie needed a friend to fake a commitment, she knew I was the one to call.
Was I the problem in these situations? Or was I just not built to fall in love the way that Dean and Tabitha had?
Or the way my grandparents had.
And my parents.
I went to stand over the chaos on Elaine’s desk, trying to get a visual for the day ahead: meetings, calls, grant reports. My attention snagged on the card from the mystery donor this morning and I turned it over, expecting to see one of our usual supporters.
Instead, the typed message read: I hope this helps a little. We used to get boxes like this growing up when we didn’t have a lot of money. - CM
I was dialing Charlie’s number before I could overthink it. She picked up on the second ring, voice breathy and slightly muffled.
“Yeah?” she said.
“Did you send a bunch of South Philly seniors giant boxes of breakfast food this morning?” I asked, still smiling down at the card.
There was a pause, then, “Rowan? Oh, hey—sorry about that. The music’s loud out here, and there’s a bunch of us scrubbing our gear, me included. Gimme a sec.”
There were scraping sounds, the low bass of rock music, Charlie calling something out away from the phone. When she next came on, it was much quieter.
“I’ve been power washing my dirty-ass bike, so I’m soaked through and covered in grease,” she said lightly. “If you want a visual of what your smokin’ hot blond of a girlfriend looks like right now.”
I whistled low. “Are there people nearby, listening in?”
“Uh-huh,” she said distractedly. “No, but I miss you more…babe.”
“I’m gonna give you so much shit about this later, Maddox.”
“Being away from you is like torture—okay, the coast is clear. I casually let it slip this morning while having breakfast with some of the other riders that I had a new boyfriend. And now I feel like everyone’s watching me like a hawk.” She paused. “And don’t think for a second I’m going to sit back and take it from you, O’Callaghan.”
“But I miss you more, babe.”
She made a little growl of frustration that I liked way too much. “Forty-eight hours of fake dating and our relationship is already on the rocks.”
I leaned against the edge of the desk. “Can’t say I’m surprised, given our combined lack of experience in this area. You’re not supposed to annoy the hell out of your girlfriend on day two?”
“Someone should write a manual. How to pretend to date your friend when you don’t know what you’re doing.”
The playfulness in her voice was contagious.
“But, shit-talking aside, I was about to call you anyway to see if you wanted to meet for coffee tomorrow morning? We should nail down details on all the public events I’m attending where I’d like to parade you around,” she said. “And the bonus is that it’s likely we’ll bump into fans and riders. Everyone’s been going to this big market across the street—”
“Reading Terminal?” I asked.
“Yeah, that’s it. Do you know it?”
“You can’t grow up here and not know it,” I said. “But I don’t come uptown for just any girl. If I’m hauling up Broad Street for Reading Terminal, I’m takin’ you to a local’s spot inside. Best scrapple in the city.”
She hummed in approval. “My favorite, how’d you remember?”
I held my tongue. Because I remember everything about you was too sincere this early in the morning.
“Any girlfriend I had would love scrapple, fake or not,” I said instead. “Should I meet you in the lobby tomorrow morning?”
“It’s a date,” she said.
A heady anticipation zipped up my spine, so strongly that Dean’s warning followed in its path: You told me to be careful. I’m tellin’ you the same now.
“I have to get back to cleaning the grease off my chain, but what were you asking me earlier?”
I swallowed hard. “Right. I almost forgot. Did you send a bunch of food donations to the center this morning?”
“Oh yeah, did they make it there all right?” she asked brightly. “Also, was that okay that I did that? I didn’t even think—”
“It was perfect,” I said quickly. “Came right when I needed extra food for some hungry neighbors.” I walked over to stand by the window, flicking the edge of the card with my thumb. “Charlie…it meant a lot. To more than just me, especially since you’ve only been here once. It was generous of you, is what I’m trying to say.”
She was silent for a moment. “I don’t have to see it more than once to know it’s important to you, Rowan. And, uh…” She cleared her throat. “My dad and I did get donated breakfast boxes that were similar when I was in high school. I can’t even remember where they came from, but they always came right when we needed them too. It’s just a small thing.”
“It was a big thing,” I said firmly. “Thank you.”
I could sense, more than hear, the smile spreading across her face. “Any time. I’ll see you tomorrow in the lobby?”
“Looking forward to it,” I replied, forgetting it was all fake.
Forgetting that a relationship between me and Charlie could never be real.
And goddamn if I didn’t spend the rest of the day with the stupidest grin on my face.
12
CHARLIE
I reached the end of my five-mile run on the treadmill and decreased the speed for a cool down. My heart slammed against my rib cage, and my chest heaved. The giant mirror in front of me reflected my bright red face and shoulders, shining with sweat.
There was a legitimate reason that I’d been here for two hours, grinding my way through a grueling workout. The authorized account was something like I’ve got an important race in two weeks, so I better focus up and hit the gym since I’ve been sucking on the track, big-time.
The unauthorized account was I’m unbelievably horny, and it’s all Rowan’s fault.
Three days had passed since we’d experimentally touched each other at that bar—strictly for fake relationship purposes—and I was deeply concerned about my inability to rein in my body’s reaction.
Seventy-two hours later and there was still this deep, lingering ache that wouldn’t leave me alone.
This was brand-new territory for me, and I desperately hoped it was normal to obsess over the way Rowan had caressed the shell of my ear. Tenderly. But also confidently, like he knew exactly what he was doing.
Like he would know how to caress other parts of my body too.
It was unnerving, the way my knees had weakened at his touch. Those hands gripping my waist, his thick thighs boxing me in, the way his muscles flexed and twitched beneath my fingers.
Weakness was a new sensation for me. Weak knees most of all.
I already knew I couldn’t let it happen again.
The treadmill slowed to a full stop, and I stepped off, my legs trembling from exertion. I dragged a towel over my face and guzzled half my water bottle, feeling a bead of sweat slide between my shoulder blades. Still out of breath, I glanced at my phone in search of distractions from remembering the way Rowan’s lips had tipped up as he’d said I’d happily break the speed limit to get to you.
The thing was, pretend or not, it was a scenario that felt right to me. Because obviously he would, and obviously I’d be waiting, and once inside the house, we wouldn’t even wait to get our clothes off before he’d be hauling me up against the door and—
There was a sharp chirp from my phone—a Google alert for my name—and then I got the distraction I needed.
And wished I hadn’t gone searching for one at all.
It was from the page ESPN had devoted to covering the women’s moto championships, and it was nothing but an opinion article from some staff writer, giving predictions that he clearly believed were “hot takes.”
Halfway down, I found my name in bold: Charlie Maddox has been the rider to watch for the past couple years, and she’s got a string of exciting wins, and a devoted fan base, to back up this claim. But the notorious party girl—daughter of Malcolm Maddox, whose reputation isn’t much better—has been on the receiving end of a string of bad press, made worse by the losses that have hounded her since racing season last year. Sure, Charlie’s style is flashy, and her confidence is fun to watch, but is it just me, or do athletes like this always flare up fast…then burn out quick?
Blood roared in my ears. I wasn’t a masochist on purpose—I steered clear of the places where internet strangers dissected every single thing I did just to find fault in it. And I usually knew better than to read anything without Dempsey reviewing it first.
She surely wouldn’t have sent me this, because the last thing any athlete needed was discovering that the “experts” expected you to fail.
Bettencourt was going to hate this.
“Notorious party girl, my ass,” I muttered, totally pissed. I tossed my towel in the gym laundry basket—more angrily than I meant to—and spotted a few of the riders I’d chatted with yesterday over breakfast. Riley and Quinn were there with other team members and women I hadn’t met yet. They were in the middle of a weight-lifting session with a trainer, but I still raised my hand to wave.
