Faked: A bad boy sports romance Page 2

  Because if they didn't, my part-time hours bartending would not cut it as income.

  That should've told Scotty how serious I was about this because I hated coming back to Seattle.

  The drive from Vancouver down to the Emerald City was as familiar as the back of my hand, which is why I hated making it. The kind of drives that I loved making were the ones where I was a hairpin curve away from the next mountain vista. Not knowing what might happen next was what made it exciting, made my blood pump and my brain hum with bottled-up energy.

  That was not the case when I drove from my home base by Whistler and Blackcomb Mountains back down to where my dad and Adele lived with my half-brother Finn. No matter what the circumstances were, I avoided going home like the plague.

  "You gonna go home while you're there?"

  I snorted. "Gotta stay somewhere."

  "Did you warn them?" he asked dryly.

  "Nope." There was a certain level of glee in my voice that had Scotty chuckling despite himself. "Can't wait to see Adele's face when she warns me for the thousandth time not to corrupt her angel while I'm home."

  "She doesn't do that anymore," Scotty said. "Quit making shit up."

  He was right, but I'd heard my stepmom say something along those lines so many times over the years that it felt like she still said it.

  Finn, don't listen to a word he tells you, look at where his choices have gotten him.

  Sometimes, I heard it on a loop in my head even though it was close to seven years since she'd said it. She'd leaned down and said that to my just turned fourteen-year-old half-brother as I finished packing my bags to move out. My parting piece of advice had been not to do every single damn thing that they told him to do because otherwise, he'd end up miserable.

  "She sure as hell thinks it, though," I pointed out. "The second my years of teen attitude ended with me in handcuffs, she wrote me off for good."

  Scotty harrumphed on the other end of the phone. "Yeah, well ... without those cuffs, you never would have ended up with me, so consider yourself lucky."

  I grinned. "I do, old man."

  "You still haven't thanked me for not pressing charges, you ungrateful little shit."

  Destruction of private property (which turned out to be Scotty's house) hadn't been my finest moment. But the spray paint on my hands and my skateboard had been pretty damning evidence when the cops caught up with me a few blocks away from the scene of the crime, so to speak.

  But it had led me to Scotty, who'd seen my skateboarding skills in the neighborhood and offered to train me, teach me how to snowboard, if I was interested in working off my debt to society. Lucky for him, and me, I had.

  "Scotty, love of my life, what would I do without you? When are you coming home again?"

  “Next week.” He snorted. "And that is a sad commentary on your love life, which I know doesn't suffer."

  I scratched the side of my face. "Actually, I think I've been in a rut. No one catches my interest these days."

  "Bauer’s having a dry spell?" he gasped.

  I flipped off my phone even though he couldn't see. "Very funny, old man."

  "I think so." He cleared his throat. "First, I only say that because I know you're not as much of a manwhore as you like to pretend to be, and second, don't change the subject from Burton."

  "What do you want me to say? I think it's a good idea to go talk to them, and you disagree."

  "Just take a couple of days and cool off, Bauer. You're a hothead and say stupid shit when you're mad. Give it some time. You'd be amazed what you could accomplish if you just calm your ass down and try being nice to people instead. Schmooze instead of bulldoze."

  "I'm hanging up now."

  "Bauer," he warned.

  I punched the button with a sigh, cranking up the volume on my music.

  The Bluetooth in my Jeep interrupted almost immediately.

  "Fricken Scotty," I said under my breath.

  My thumb punched angrily at the button to answer the call. "Scotty, I'm not discussing this."

  "Bauer?" a different voice responded.

  I blinked down at the screen. Shit. Not Scotty. The caller ID proclaimed it loud and clear as my little brother.

  Golden Boy, as I'd stored him in my phone.

  "Finnegan," I greeted as formally as possible.

  "I heard about your sponsor." He coughed. "Since you never answer texts, I figured I'd call and see if you'd answer."

  My forehead creased at the sound of his voice. "You sound awful."

  "I feel awful."

  "Let's talk about you being sick then because I don't need to rehash losing my sponsor."

  He sighed. "What happened?"

  I shifted in my seat. "You saw the video, right?"

  "I saw what was posted on Twitter, yeah."

  "Well, then you know what happened."

  Even to my own ears, I sounded like a grumpy asshole. It made it so much harder when Finn was being nice to me because then I actually felt bad. Adele treated me like trash because that was how she'd seen me for years, so I felt no guilt being rude to her. If anything, it brought me great joy to rile her up. But being mean to Finn was like ... punching a puppy for no reason. Anyone with a soul couldn't really stomach the thought of it.

  "No, I saw the video clip," he said, pausing only to cough again, "but I know that's not always all of it."

  Saint Finn. He sounded like Influenza's poster child of Yuck, and he was calling to check on his asshole brother.

  I rubbed my forehead. "I wasn't the only one under the influence, and believe me, he did something to instigate my rant."

  "Yeah, you used some combinations of the F word that I've never heard before."

  "And Adele says you'll never learn anything from me," I pointed out.

  He sniffled noisily, clearly not amused by my attempt at a joke.

  "I'll be fine, Finn," I told him. "I'm on my way to Burton now. I'm going to try to fix it."

  He was quiet. "You're on your way here?"

  "Shit," I mouthed. "Yeah. I suppose I could've warned you before I showed up at the house later."

  "They won't be home anyway."

  "Why not?" I checked my blind spot and moved lanes.

  "They've got a big fundraiser to attend tonight for some tennis player's charity."

  My mind flipped through the mental Rolodex. "Ah, sure. I heard about that. One of my buddies was supposed to go with his agent, but he had to work."

  When he hacked through the speaker again, I grimaced.

  "I was supposed to go," he said. "But I need to call Lia and cancel."

  "Why were you two going? That's not your usual scene."

  "To help Mom and Dad. They still haven't secured the funding for the expansion they want. I guess the guy they really want to meet will be there because it's so sports-focused. Thought Lia's connection to football would help them."

  Ahh. Of course, Finn and his intrepid best friend would be chipping in for the cause.

  My mind started racing, almost so quickly that I could hardly keep up with my own thoughts.

  Sports-focused. Athletes and philanthropists, agents and corporate sponsors, all in one room.

  There might even be someone from Burton there.

  "Just how sick are you?" I asked.

  "Sick. If I didn't have a fever, I might try to tough it out, but there's no way I can go." He sighed. "Mom and Dad will be upset because there's no way Lia will go with them on her own."

  Listening to him think of others first, I had to admit once again that Finn, on his own, wasn't a complete shit.

  A little square, maybe. And Mr. 4.0 Everything definitely had me beat in the brains department, where I excelled was more of a physical nature. Which is why he was in the middle of getting his medical degree that would have him working ninety plus hours a week someday, and I was a semi-professional snowboarder who just lost his main sponsor.

  I couldn't do math for shit, but I didn't need to. If any one of my frustrated teachers over the years could point me to a single time in my twenty-six years when I'd needed algebra, I'd eat my favorite Libtech snowboard one bite at a time.

  But I didn't hold that against Finn. It wasn't his fault that his mom came from a crap marriage, into the connubial bliss they found themselves in with each other, and the fruit of that union (him) was thereby all good and perfect things. My dad had been a sad, widowed, single father before he met Adele, so he viewed Finn in pretty much the same way my stepmom did.

  Finn coughed again, the sound so disgusting that I winced like he'd just sprayed his germs over my face.

  "You better not need me to come take care of you," I told him.

  "No," he groaned. "But I thought about asking Mom for some of her chicken soup."

  "And you think that'll help?" I asked under my breath.

  Not quietly enough, though, because he sighed.

  "Bauer," he chided. I couldn't blame him. If someone spoke ill of my mom, they'd get an elbow to the throat. God rest her soul. I didn't even really remember my mother, but I'd still punch someone if they bad-mouthed her.

  "Sorry." I shifted in my seat, the tires on the highway eating up the distance between the place I called home and the place I came from. It might have been only a few hours on the road, but they were a universe apart from each other for how differently I felt about them.

  "Speaking of Mom, I better call her next," Finn said.

  "Just ... hang on a second." I tapped my fingers on the steering wheel as I weighed the idiocy of what I was about to suggest. "Maybe I can help."

  "You?"

  Since I never offered to help our parents, I couldn't even be annoyed at how shocked he sounded.

  "What if I went in your place?"

  Finn was qu
iet. "Why would you even offer?"

  For a moment, I contemplated telling him I wanted to help. Telling him it was for our parents, but he'd never believe it.

  "Maybe I can find someone of my own to schmooze. A new sponsor."

  "I don't know, Bauer," he hedged. "I can't imagine them going for it."

  "So don't tell them."

  "I have to tell Lia," he interjected, voice sounding stronger than it had the entire conversation.

  "No, you actually don't."

  "I won't lie to her."

  "You're a terrible liar, so I wouldn't suggest lying," I told him. "Listen, Finnegan, if Lia won't go alone with our parents, she sure as hell won't go with me, right?"

  "Not a chance."

  Lia was as much a product of Adele's brainwashing as Finn was after years at our house hearing about the juvenile delinquent who got in trouble with the law and ran away from home at the age of eighteen.

  "And you're saying that they want Lia there to impress some guy?"

  Finn was quiet again. "Yeah. I guess he's a big Washington fan. They thought maybe meeting Logan Ward's little sister would ... I don't know, give them some way to introduce themselves."

  I rolled my eyes because it sounded like Adele's idea. But if it gave me an in to that ballroom, I just might have a chance. "Makes sense."

  "So you want me to," he paused, "just let them think it's me coming, but you'll show up instead?"

  "Yup." Imagining Adele's face when I walked in, I couldn't stop my grin. "I swear, I won't even hang out at the table except to eat. They'll hardly see me while they're off pimping out your best friend to the rich old man."

  "That isn't what they're doing, Bauer," he said wearily.

  "Mmkay."

  "I don't know."

  "Finn, think about it. This helps everyone. It helps our parents, and it helps the center," I said helpfully as if he didn't know why they were there. "Lia will forgive you because she'll hardly have to deal with me."

  "You know she'll flip out when she sees you," Finn said. "Imagine the F words you used in the video coming back in your direction."

  "I will prepare myself as much as possible," I answered gravely. "It's not the first time a woman has cussed me out."

  "Just ... be nice, okay? This is a big deal for our parents."

  Don't screw it up. I heard the message loud and clear, straight from the mouth of the Golden Boy.

  "Finnegan, I wouldn't dream of being anything other than a perfect angel."

  Chapter Three

  Claire

  "Absolutely friggin not."

  Lia slumped back on her bed. "It's what I would've worn."

  I pointed at the dress clutched in her evil hands. "That's half the amount of fabric I want covering my body."

  My sister sat back up, just as her eye roll completed a full rotation. "It's floor-length."

  Frantically, my hand waved somewhere in the vicinity of my sternum. "Yes, and there's a slit the size of Minnesota and a V that makes my belly button feel preemptively cold."

  Lia grinned. "I know. You'll look smokin’. Maybe the guy who they want money from has a thing for twentysomething brunettes."

  Oh, she was so, so unbelievably funny.

  "I'm kidding." She sighed since I was giving her my best Mt. Rushmore impression.

  "Well, let's not kid about sexualizing a philanthropic financial exchange because, current social climate aside, that's a horrible, prostitute-y idea, and I wouldn't go for it in a million years."

  Lia nodded seriously. "Noted. Neither would I."

  I looked back at the dress. The thought of wearing that in public—and not just the kind of public where other people with eyes could see me, but with Finn in public—made my skin feel two sizes too small for my body. Like it was shrink-wrapping my skeleton to protect me from the pretty pale-yellow satin. Couldn't I just go to the black-tie event in my jeans and Chucks? My faded Washington Wolves long-sleeve tee with my last name on the back?

  Okay, fine, it was on there from Logan's playing days, but it was still my name too.

  Lia, though physically more athletic than I was (how was that for some twin bullshit?), dressed like a well-groomed human being more often than I did. Her wardrobe contained things like beautiful gowns, in case we had to attend a charity event like the one in ... oh, four hours, I realized miserably.

  For the past few days, my sister has spent time drilling me on things that she would know. As if I didn't already have all facets of Finn's life memorized.

  His favorite food was grilled ham and cheese and tomato soup even though she regularly hassled him for eating like a six-year-old.

  His favorite athlete was Tiger Woods—rain, shine, infidelity … whatever. In Finn's mind, his resilience and drive overcame any personal issues.

  She even quizzed me on silly things that would literally never possibly come up around a civilized dinner table. Like Finn's most embarrassing moment, how on the day he lost his virginity to Cassie McMahon at the age of seventeen, he ripped the condom with his bare hands taking it out of the package.

  Something I absolutely didn't know before and could've lived the rest of my life without knowing because I remembered Cassie McMahon and her long, gorgeous blond hair. Her curvy, hourglass figure and luscious lips. If that was Finn's type, I was freaking screwed.

  I glanced down at my body, which I considered on the happy side of average in all things.

  Average height, I didn't tower over anyone, except maybe our eight-year-old nephew, Emmett.

  Fairly average brown hair, if you asked me, though I always felt like Lia's managed to look glossier than mine.

  Basic blue eyes.

  A nose, some lips, and some cheekbones that were maybe a bit better than average, gifted to us from Brooke.

  Everything about my package, so to speak, felt ill at ease with the slippery material of the dress, and the way it would skim down my body. It was the kind of dress that had people staring, I realized. Lia was never bothered by that. My twin didn’t seek out that attention, but she wasn’t uncomfortable with it like I was.

  I walked over to the bed and ignored Lia's speculative gaze. My fingers reached out and snagged the hanger, lifting it so that the dress flowed down in one fluid column of silk.

  "I never wear yellow," I heard myself say.

  Lia bit down on a triumphant smile, and I ignored that too.

  One night. I would have one night, my chance to experience quality time with the guy I'd been crushing on for years, even if he did think I was my sister. We would eat an overpriced meal that would most likely taste like cardboard and listen to actual adults talk about important things. And maybe, just maybe, I'd take a chance and tell Finn that it was me and how I felt.

  Wearing a yellow silk dress that made me look far more than average.

  The thought was there and gone before I could stop it.

  "There it is," Lia whispered. "You're gonna look killer, little sister."

  I gave her a dry look. "By two minutes."

  "Still counts." She booped my nose. "Go try it on. I need to leave for my seminar in fifteen minutes, and I want to see how it looks before I go."

  As she left me alone in my bedroom, I felt a pang of nerves brighter than the ones I'd been carrying around for the past few days as we led up to this insane plan. It wasn't that I worried about the dress not fitting. Even if Lia managed to look a bit more polished, we were the same size and had the same coloring.

  I could mimic her hairstyle, put on my makeup like she did (she went heavier on the lipstick than I ever dared), and even adopt some of her mannerisms without thinking twice. But it was the quiet moments that I feared most. The times during dinner when Finn might look over at me, expecting to see his best friend and share a look over something they both found stupid or overbearing. What would my face look like at those moments?

  Like my oldest sister, Molly, I wore my emotions on my face. Except with Finn. I'd learned to hide them under the mountain of sisterly respect, the undefinable twin bond that had always been more important than how much I loved Finn's smile, and the way he muttered jokes under his breath when he thought no one was listening. The quick way he thought and the way he was able to handle Lia when she was at her most stubborn.

  Nothing between them was romantic, I knew that. They'd been friends for too long. But maybe I'd be able to start something with him, if he got the chance, a real chance, to get to know me as more than Lia's sister.