Page 21 of Scoring Eden

“That sounded worse than I meant.”

“So you weren’t in some kind of hostage situation and forced up the aisle at gunpoint?”

Her lips twitch. She looks down at her hands then back up to me with a small shake of her head. “No.”

“Care to tell me what happened?”

“Not really.”

I lean against her desk, crossing one leg over the other, feigning calm confidence when, really, I’m still kind of fucked up over her admission and the things I overheard when I walked in. “Hey now. I thought we were in a serious, committed relationship.”

She shudders. Shudders. As if being in a relationship with me is an idea so repulsive she can’t help but have a visceral physical reaction.

I’d be lying if I said it didn’t chip at my ego.

Eden rakes her hands down her face and groans. “I fucked up.”

My brow lifts. “How’s that?”

“I just lied to my ex-husband about dating a fucking MLS player to stop him from filing for custody of my son. If he didn’t see straight through it immediately—because, let’s face it, why would a top-level athlete ever want to date me?—he’ll know the next time he sees Macon, and then he’ll have even more ammunition to use against me.”

She’s talking so fast her face is turning red from lack of breath. And yet, she keeps going.

“What was I thinking? That I could just tell him I’m dating you and he’d accept it? That he wouldn’t start asking questions when he never sees you with me again? Or when you’re pictured with yet another woman leaving some hotel, because Christ, Alex, that is an extraordinarily common occurrence for you. Shit. Shit. Shit. What the fuck have I done?”

I have her face in my hands before I’ve even realized I’ve moved, smoothing my thumbs back and forth over her cheeks in slow, gentle strokes. “Breathe,” I whisper.

Panicked eyes stare back at me, her chest rising and falling with the same erratic speed as before.

“Look. Follow me.” I suck in a deep breath then release it slowly, repeating the process until she begins to mirror it. “That’s it. Keep doing that.”

We stay like that for a while, breathing in silence and trapped in some mystifying stare-off that has wings fluttering in my stomach. Weird. I haven’t felt that sensation since I was in high school and asked the head cheerleader to prom.

That was the night I lost my virginity. But I guess that isn’t important right now.

Finally, Eden’s skin returns to its normal shade, and the panic begins to leak from her gaze. She shakes my hands off her face, a wave of awkwardness washing over her as she sits back in her seat and clears her throat.

“Thanks.”

I shrug. “No problem. My therapist taught me how to do that.”

Her head tilts. “You have a therapist?”

“Yep. My friend hooked me up with her because he seems to think I have unresolved issues.”

A completely unfounded opinion, I might add. Yes, I reacted badly to discovering Leo’s relationship with my sister. And sure, I may have punched him in the face after realizing I’d overheard him defiling her when I’d shown up at his apartment—I’d even congratulated him on doing a good job, back when I thought he was in there with a different woman—but unresolved issues I have not.

“Well, I could have told you that.”

Great, the insults are back. “I’m going to choose to overlook that comment, because we have something more pressing to discuss.” I sit back on her desk and cross my arms, serious and sincere. “I have a solution to your dilemma.”

Her dark hair swishes as her head snaps up. She fights to maintain apathy, but I see the glimmer of hope in her glassy brown eyes and the crease of curiosity in her forehead. Her scrubs crumple as she shifts in her seat, one leg crossing over the other then dropping back to where it was, like she doesn’t know what to do with herself. “Yeah?”

“Yep. It just so happens that I am in the market for a fake girlfriend, and it would seem you are in need of a very charming and incredibly handsome fake boyfriend.”

I’m met with a short exhale, almost a scoff, then…silence. Not quite the reaction I was expecting after serving her everything she needs on a silver fucking platter, but whatever.

Her brows jerk then pull tight. “What a staggering coincidence.”