Faked: A bad boy sports romance Read online

  Faked

  Karla Sorensen

  © 2020- Karla Sorensen

  All Rights Reserved

  Cover Designer-Najla Qamber Design www.najlaqamberdesigns.com

  Interior Design- Indie Girl Promotions

  Editor- Jenny Sims, Editing4Indies

  Proofreading- Janice Owen, JO’s Book Addiction Proofreading

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without written permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. The author acknowledges the trademark status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  Also by Karla Sorensen

  About the Author

  To Fiona Cole,

  Without her willingness to listen to my ranty voice messages about fictional people,

  this book would have turned out very, very differently.

  #dreamteam

  Chapter One

  Claire

  I didn't always have a crush on Finn Davis. There were about ten minutes there, back in seventh grade when he showed up, that he really pissed me off.

  Not because of anything he did, per se. Because he's always been the same guy. Quiet and observant when he was in public, a knife-sharp sense of humor and playful personality when he was with people who knew him the best. No, Finn was the recipient of my thirteen-year-old rage for those ten minutes because he was the reason I hated being a twin for the first time in my life.

  Lia and I were identical. Teachers and fellow students often confused us if they didn't know us well.

  On that day in seventh grade, when the principal brought Finn into our classroom, Lia and I met him at the same time. But there was something about her, some energy buzzing at an undetectable level, that drew his attention and made him feel comfortable.

  They'd been best friends ever since.

  And I hated that I looked like her—exactly like her—and was still different enough that the sweet, shy new boy in class, the one with a cute smile and long legs, didn't look twice at me.

  I didn't think about that day much anymore. It was eight years ago, and Finn was such a fixture in our family that my crush had lessened to a low-lying simmer. Barely detectable unless you held your hand directly over the heat.

  But then I opened stupid Facebook. And saw a picture of him in his stupid “I'm going to be a doctor someday and don't I look good in blue” scrubs, and I felt my heart die all the deaths from how cute he looked.

  So now I couldn't stop thinking about the day he appeared.

  Couldn't stop thinking about him.

  Which is why I avoided my sister by locking myself in my room to study. I was so afraid that after all the years of locking up the butterflies that wanted to flutter through my veins at the sight of him, she'd take one look at me and know.

  It worked, too, for a while.

  When I felt my fingers burn with the urge to pull up the picture again to stare at his smile, at his dimples, and pretend I'd be a great doctor's wife someday, I pulled up the one thing on social media guaranteed to stop any sort of heart flutters.

  I searched for social media updates from our mother, Brooke, which was even more pathetic than my crush on Finn.

  Crossing my arms on the surface of my desk, I dropped my forehead down, banging it a couple of times for good measure.

  That was how I was sitting when my bedroom door burst open.

  "What's your problem?" Lia asked.

  "Nothing." I kept my head right where it was.

  Lia leaned over me, dumped her shit on my desk, and pulled my laptop out from underneath my forearm so she could see it. Honestly, nothing was sacred when you lived with your twin.

  Except my crush on her best friend.

  "Oh," she said meaningfully.

  "What?"

  "Did your neck break? Are you incapable of moving?"

  "I'm comfortable."

  She chomped on something loudly. Carrots. Or celery. When she swallowed, she spoke again. "Cyberstalking Brooke again?"

  Instead of answering, because I didn't particularly want to lie, I grunted.

  "Didn't we decide she was in India?"

  With a sigh, I stared at the wood grain on my desk and tried not to think too hard about how easily we could discuss the fact that the woman who gave birth to us was Lord knows where in the world, and we didn't even really care anymore that we didn't know where.

  The sound of a clicking mouse preceded a thoughtful hum from my twin sister. "Nope, someone tagged her in ... huh, a concert in Germany. She's on the move, I guess."

  "Oh, good."

  Lia sighed loudly. "Have fun with that." With two patronizing pats on the back, she left me alone again.

  When I heard cupboards slamming in our postage-stamp-size kitchen, I lifted my head.

  "Chicken shit," I whispered to myself. Like she'd somehow be able to see my “picture of Finn in scrubs” feelings stamped on my face.

  This was what happened when my feelings couldn't be muted by my brain. They were louder than I wanted, and I hid them less successfully.

  Turning my laptop back to me, I drummed my fingers along the edge, trying to decide what to work on next.

  The paper for my Early Childhood Intervention Strategies class was in desperate need of revisions, but even one of my last classes before I graduated with my Bachelor’s in Developmental Psychology wasn't enough of a distraction.

  But I knew what was, which was why it’d been my default in the first place.

  Searching the internet for glimpses of your mother brought about strange emotional reactions. Unless you'd experienced those reactions, it was hard to put them into words. Occasionally, we'd get a postcard from her with an updated address, or a caption-less picture would show up on the usually quiet Facebook account she still had access to. Those tiny snippets were the only way my sisters and I knew where Brooke was currently spending her days.

  Not that we ever sent postcards back.

  Or reached out to her.

  She'd lost that privilege years ago.

  Even though I knew it wouldn't actually make me feel better or even distract me much from Finn, I found myself scrolling down her page.

  My heart and my head warred mightily when I studied the last few pictures she'd posted. I wasn't furious at the thought of her; it was hard to be when we had such a happy life in her absence. But I didn't feel nothing either.

  Sometimes, I wanted to punch her.

  Sometimes, I wanted to hug her. Most of all, I w
anted to sit across from Brooke Ashley Huntington-Ward and pick apart her brain. That was the most desperate feeling of them all, fighting for first place in my head. I wanted to understand why, and it drove me abso-friggin-lutely batshit crazy that I might never have that understanding.

  As I scrolled through, counting five pictures posted in the past three years, my twin sister's phone lit up on the desk next to me where it was charging. My eyes cut to the screen, a force of habit because it was often a group text from one of our other sisters or Paige.

  It wasn't from any of them, though. What appeared was a text from Finn, and like I'd trained my body to do it, my heart sped up at the sight of his stupid name.

  Finn: Lia, PLEASE, I'll owe you a million favors if you help me out.

  "I'll help you," I mumbled miserably. It didn't even matter what he needed help with. I'd do it.

  But I didn't close my eyes because picturing my twin sister's best friend was another thing that made my head and heart war mightily. And every single time, my head won.

  Leave him alone.

  It would be too weird.

  He doesn't even look at you that way.

  Those were all the things I told myself when my crush on Finn flared out of control. And it had helped for years. It had helped all day.

  "Text from Finn," I yelled.

  "What does he want?" Lia called from the kitchen.

  I swallowed heavily as I read the text again. "Help. He'll owe you a million favors."

  Lia groaned. "He could offer two million, and I still wouldn't be able to do it."

  "What does he need your help with?"

  "Some fancy-pants dinner and award ceremony on Friday night. He needs a plus one, and since he refuses to find himself a date, his mom practically demanded that I go with. I think she actually put my name on the guest list because she assumed I wouldn't say no."

  My heart clenched with unwelcome jealousy. "It's just dinner. Why not go?"

  "I can't. There's this amazing guest lecture that same evening, and I am not missing it. I've wanted to hear her speak for years." She waved her hand. "He thinks I'm just being stubborn, but this is about my education."

  "Of course, it is," I muttered.

  Lia was physically incapable of admitting when she was being stubborn, which was about ninety-two percent of her existence.

  The sound of her footsteps approached my doorway, quick and loud. Determined. Those were determined Lia steps, and it made me nervous. "Wait," she said.

  I spun my chair to face her. "What?"

  Don't say it, don't say it, don't say it, a frantic voice chanted in my head. Because I knew.

  A devious smile spread over her face.

  "No," I said instantly. Twin telepathy, y'all. It was a real thing.

  "Oh, yes." She rubbed her hands together. "We haven't done a twin swap in years, Claire. Come on, won't it be fun?"

  While my head tried desperately to wrap around the idea of pretending to be my sister for the first time since high school, it was a faint whisper compared to what my heart was doing.

  That particular organ buried in my chest was roaring and thrashing, screaming at me to do this one thing that would grant me my greatest unfulfilled wish.

  Time with Finn.

  "I can't," I told her. "I hate lying. Not only do I hate it but I'm also terrible at it."

  Lia clasped her hands in front of her. "Please."

  "I know you love school, Lee, but it's one lecture. How much more English Lit does one need to be lectured on?"

  She gave me a look because even though our majors were sun and moon different, we both loved school with equal intensity. Sometimes, I worried that the youngest Ward sisters would forever be enrolled in college because we just loved learning.

  Our brother, Logan, often said if anything put him into debt, it would be the multiple doctorates he feared the two of us would acquire and never use for anything.

  "It's not just a lecture." She put on her pleading face. "It's Catherine Atwood from Oxford."

  "Am I supposed to know who that is?"

  Lia shrugged helplessly. "No, but ugh, she's like ... everything. She's a freaking rock star to anyone who's ever studied the Brontë sisters. Her dissertation on Religion, Gender, and Authority in the novels of Charlotte Brontë is basically my bible."

  I rolled my eyes. "Only mildly sacrilegious, but okay. Why do I have to pretend to be you? Why can't you just tell Finn you can't go?"

  Lia ignored my questions. "She's from Oxford, C. She rarely does guest lectures, and she's in the States for the first time in years, and she's here at UDub." Her eyes widened. "It was meant to be."

  "Lia," I prompted.

  From the set of her jaw, she knew exactly how little all that extra information would sway me. She blew out a hard breath. "His parents want to impress some richy rich dude so they can get money for their community center, and they think I'll help."

  "How exactly?"

  Her arms waved around. "He's a Washington fan. Logan. All that. I guess one Ward is as good as any other."

  Oh, great. My favorite feeling in the entire world was when it didn't actually matter who I was as an individual because I was being lumped into a crowd. Of course, when your brother was a Hall of Fame football player turned coach, it kinda came with the territory.

  Lia's eyes lit.

  Mine narrowed.

  "Their community center," she said quietly, "where they help all those kids every year."

  I tsked. "You don't need to resort to guilt-tripping me by using my major."

  "Really? Because I haven't heard you say yes." She assumed a praying position, hands folded together over her chest. "C, please. Finn would never agree to lie to his parents. Think of how many kids this will help if they get this money."

  No, Finn wouldn't lie to his parents. It was one thing I'd always liked about him. We both sucked at lying.

  But he'd also think it was weird if I attended with him. He'd only feel comfortable if his best friend were on his arm.

  My brain spun visions of accompanying him into a beautifully decorated ballroom with my hand resting on his tuxedo-clad forearm.

  "He'll know," I argued weakly.

  But my heart ... it muted that argument so fast, my head spun around in place.

  Lia blew a raspberry through her lips. "Nah, he won't. You know how to be me, Claire. It's one dinner. Then I'm off the hook to see Catherine Atwood, and his mom gets off his back, they get all the money, and everyone is happy."

  One dinner with Finn. One night to soak up his attention instead of playing the third wheel between him and my sister.

  Not a third wheel like on a date. They'd never even hinted that they wanted to cross that line, which was the only reason I was even considering this insanity. Because for one night, I wanted to know what it felt like to have his eyes on me. To wear a pretty dress and spend the evening by his side.

  "One dinner," I said again.

  She bounced excitedly in the doorway. "You'll do it? Seriously?"

  I could do this. One night. One meal. Maybe we'd dance. And if he realized I wasn't Lia, I could prepare a very convincing argument ahead of time about why he should enjoy the evening with me.

  My head settled, swirling with all the thoughts of how I needed to prepare and the things I needed to learn to feel ready.

  Their handshake, some weird combination of bumped fists and hand slaps and a few snaps. Inside jokes.

  Panic welled up because the thought of trying to harness Lia's energy—that thing that made her her—felt impossible.

  I had three days to get over that.

  So I began muting every argument that sprang into my head. Slapping the words away one by one until my brain was silent of objections.

  "I'll do it."

  Chapter Two

  Bauer

  "You got fired, Bauer. You won't be able to talk them out of it."

  My trainer, Scotty, knew me well enough that saying that kind of shit to me w
ould only make me that much more determined to do it. Like he'd waved a red flag in front of a snorting bull.

  "Listen, I had a great relationship with Burton before the ... situation."

  "The situation?" he hooted. "You’re talking about when you got caught on camera, drunk—"

  "I was not drunk," I interrupted. "I'd had three beers and was having a good time with my friends, but I was not drunk."

  "Whatever. You got caught on camera cussing out Burton's favorite athlete; the gold medalist snowboarder who's been with them forever, and everyone loves and adores." He was quiet, probably waiting for me to argue. He'd known me since I was a punk-ass seventeen-year-old, and I pretty much always had an argument. But because it was Scotty, I stayed quiet. "And you are not a gold medalist who everyone loves and adores. You are a few good competitions away from qualifying for the Olympic team, but that doesn't mean shit in the grand scheme of things."

  I winced. None of that was wrong.

  But, in my defense, the other guy had been drunk, and the camera didn't catch the part where he was standing behind my friend Cassidy making some pretty rude-ass gestures about her figure. So who looks like the asshole on Twitter?

  Me.

  My main sponsor, the one making it possible for me to keep competing, dumped my ass before I could so much as blink.

  They apologized, of course. Told me it had been great working with me for the past couple of years. Just ... not enough.

  Not enough to risk the brand, where the rest of the sponsored athletes have a harmonious working relationship.

  The exact wording of the voicemail on my phone was burned into my brain. So me being me, I'd decided to hop my ass into the car and head down to their offices in Seattle to try to convince them to keep me around.