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Bloody hell. I’m having dreams about my fake boyfriend.
“Hey, Roxy. Do you need help with your entry?” Marcie from the accessories department asks when I enter the break room. I’m pretty sure this is the fourth time she’s talked to me. In four years.
“Oh, hi.” I offer a polite grin. “No, I think I’m good. I already know what items I’m going to use.”
Her face falls. “Are you sure? Because I can get you some first-rate stuff. We don’t have as much for men.”
“Thanks, but I’m all right.” My tone is sharp, cutting off the conversation. When Marcie leaves, I roll my eyes at Lina, who witnessed the whole thing while waiting for me inside the break room.
“What’s up with her?” she asks, stirring her latte with a teaspoon.
“Four coworkers have offered their help today,” I muse, pouring hot water into my cup. “This is the third time I’ve entered the contest. No one has ever offered me help before.”
She chuckles, sucking the end of her spoon. “They’re probably expecting a half-nude shoot or something. Come to think of it, can I come?”
I pin her with a glare. “It’s not going to be like that.”
She raises a suggestive eyebrow. “It could be. Just get him naked with a football to cover his masculinity, and we’ll have our bestselling issue yet.”
My cheeks warm as memories of my dream flood to the forefront of my mind, but I shake my head to clear them out.
Her eyes take on a mischievous glint. “Oooh. Looks like we’re not the only ones imagining what’s behind that football.”
“Shut up.” My breathy voice betrays me.
She freezes, her foam-filled cup halfway to her lips. “Wait, do you already know?”
“No!” I blurt as my whole body flushes with heat. “This is a fake relationship, remember,” I add in a whisper.
“The red in your cheeks isn’t fake, honey,” she claps back before taking a sip of her latte.
I rub my face absently, my stomach in knots.
“It’s only natural for your imagination to go there,” she continues. “I wonder why this guy is even single. He doesn’t seem like a jerk, and we’ve already established his body is delicious . . .”
“He doesn’t date. Right now, he’s trying to focus on his career,” I say, the words burning a trail right to my heart.
We’ve only been here five minutes, but it’s already painfully obvious that having lunch at my dad’s was a terrible idea. He and my brother both dressed up for the occasion, the house is spotless, and they even brought the silverware out. You’d think the royal family was coming over.
“So nice to meet you,” Dad says, slapping a hand on Wade’s back as if he was a longtime friend.
“Big fan,” Liam bubbles, his eyes doubling in size as he shakes Wade’s hand.
“I appreciate it. Nice to meet you too,” Wade says with a warm smile. “Thanks for having me over.”
“Our pleasure,” Dad says. Squeezing through the narrow corridor, we take our seats around the dining room table.
We’ve only been sitting for three seconds before the two of them bombard Wade with football questions. I suppose this was to be expected. Hopefully, after they get it out of their system, they’ll mellow out.
But we’re now digging into the main course, and we’re still talking football. Wade is answering politely, but he keeps stealing glances at me, as if wanting me to participate. Like I have anything to contribute.
“Did you know Roxy is entering a competition of her own?” Wade says, turning to me.
At those words, Liam seems to finally remember I’m in the room. He stares at me like he’s never seen me before.
“Of course,” Dad says, fixing his attention on me. “The article you’re writing for work. How’s that going?”
I throw a quick smile at Wade, thankful for the chance to talk about something other than football. “It’s good. Wade will be my cover candidate, so I think I have a solid chance.”
