The Winner Takes All (Complete Collection)

28. A Total Stud

28

A TOTAL STUD

Hunter

Bungee jumping is scarier than a dinner with everyone who matters in my career and my husband’s.

Not by much though.

When I reach the table for six, Ilene pats the seat next to her. I take it, sitting across from my husband, who’s between Reese and Vance.

But wait.

Did I do my entrance wrong?

Was I supposed to stop at Nate, set my hands on his shoulders, then drop a kiss to his scratchy cheek for their benefit?

Hell if I know.

But now I wish I had—for my benefit. I also wish I could grab a minute alone with him to make sure we have our story straight.

I meet Nate’s gaze and try to read his blue eyes. Maybe I can find instructions for how we’re supposed to behave at an impromptu dinner with all these freaking people.

But I don’t find a code in them. Just a warm glint that makes me feel good. I manage a soft, “Hi.”

He returns my smile with one of his own. “Hey.”

That’s not a bad start.

But now I have to deal with others. When Ilene called me a few minutes ago, she didn’t mention who would be at dinner or I’d have researched the company on the walk over.

Ilene introduces me to Yasmin, who runs Less is More.

Right. She’s the one Machiavelli was in a tizzy over in the car the other morning. They market to kids and teens, and kids and teens love Nate. I also know they sponsor some Sunday Funday-style events in the city too.

For now, I say, “Pleasure to meet you, Yasmin. I so appreciate you including me.”

“Glad you could join us. Nate was telling us how you met,” Yasmin says.

He was?

Pie and all?

“Oh really,” I say, noncommittal.

Vance shoves a menu my way. “Take a look, Hunter,” he says.

For that, I don’t need a decoder ring— don’t talk about how you and Nate met . Vance doesn’t trust us not to botch our stories.

I spend a good, long time studying the menu just to stay busy, then I place my order when the server arrives with a bottle of champagne.

After he pours six flutes, Ilene lifts one. “Let’s toast to a great game this weekend and a great partnership.” We clink glasses, then she adds, “I come from a long line of celebrators. The Brancusos celebrate everything—business deals, birthdays, graduations, awards, blue ribbons in show jumping.” She accents that humble brag with a roll of her eyes.

“Ah, you’re a horsewoman, Ilene?” Nate asks, picking up on her unsubtle clue. “Did you do Grand Prix?”

“Yes!” They go on to chat about levels of show jumping competition, from the best breeds of horses to the toughest obstacles.

I watch, a little amazed by my fake husband. From how to fuck to how to impress my boss, Nate’s a total stud.

I’d like to return the favor and converse with the woman Nate was supposed to impress, so I turn to Yasmin. “Are you still doing the Sunday Funday events, Yasmin? Didn’t your company organize a bike scavenger hunt around London this past spring?”

We did a segment on the event on one of our shows.

Her brown eyes sparkle. “Yes! Only, don’t tell anyone, but I’ve forgotten already where the final prize was hidden.”

“I won’t tell a soul it was in St Dunstan’s then.”

Her eyes light up. “Ah, that was it!” She lifts her glass and tips it toward mine. “Thank you for keeping my secrets.” After she finishes her glass, she smiles curiously. “As I was saying, before you arrived, Nate was telling us how you met.”

Dammit. The table goes silent. They want to go down the romance road again? So much for my plans to impress her with my producer’s memory for fun London facts involving her company.

“That’s great.” I say casually. I don’t want to contradict anything that Nate may have already concocted. Maybe we met at a Lettuce Pray concert? Or after a football game?

“He said you met this summer,” Yasmin prompts.

I tug at my shirt. My pulse skitters when Nate reaches across the table for my hand, squeezing it.

Calming me.

“We met at a carnival,” he begins, smoothly taking the reins.

My nerves settle. He wants us to use the real story. I can do that. “It was in June,” I add.

“I was doing the dunk tank as a volunteer,” Nate continues, “for the LGBTQ Alliance in San Francisco. The one Jason’s involved in.”

I can picture the scene perfectly. Nate was playfully giving a teen a hard time. They market to kids and teens, and kids and teens love Nate. That sounds like my cue. “I remember you were egging on one of the teens,” I say. “He was taunting you and you were basically saying bring it on . After he knocked you into the water, you took the time to sign an autograph for him.”

Yasmin coos. “Oh, that’s so lovely. Taking a moment to do that.”

Yes! It worked. I scored points for him.

“And what brought you to the carnival that day?” Ilene asks me.

Well, Ilene, I was horny and trolling for dudes.

“I was finishing a meeting about a documentary we acquired on the most daring adventure sports, and I spotted the carnival after I left the production company’s studio. When I saw Nate in the dunk tank—” I hit the brakes, because what I thought when I saw Nate shirtless was that I wanted to get his shorts off too. “I was instantly taken,” I finish truthfully.

“So was I,” Nate says softly.

My heart swells, and I squeeze his hand harder. “And I didn’t want to lose the chance to talk to him, so when Nate told me he was manning the pie toss, I made sure to show up right at the end.” I’m telling the story to Nate now. Only Nate, as if everyone else is gone.

“I didn’t think you were going to show up,” he admits, his voice lower.

“Why would you have thought that?” I ask, surprised to learn this. “I was determined to see you.”

His blue eyes are vulnerable. “It all seemed too good to be true.”

Oh, god. I don’t think I can survive the next hour of this meal with the way my heart is galloping.

“Then, I threw a cherry pie at him, so it’s not like everything was perfect,” I say, so we don’t totally combust from the intimacy of this confession.

Our dinner companions laugh, but I hardly notice them.

Nate wiggles a brow. “Or maybe it was because we had to go to my place.”

He can’t possibly be sharing that part of the story, can he? But strangely, I don’t mind. We’re married. We’re supposed to like each other. We do like each other.

“And then later,” Nate says, fading to black over the moments in his kitchen and on his couch, “all I wanted was to see Hunter again.”

My heart thumps.

“But he had to go to England,” Ilene interjects, her tone sad.

“I did. But I desperately wanted to see Nate again too,” I say to the others now, widening my focus to include the audience.

“For a few days I wasn’t sure what to do. But then I texted you,” Nate says, giving us a new second act.

“And we kept writing to each other,” I add, improvising our romance for Ilene and Yasmin, but also for us. We’re in on the private joke and it’s fantastic.

“And talking,” Nate says, his eyes twinkling brighter now as we keep going, “every night. And then there was this weekend before training camp where I flew over here. I had to see Hunter.”

That fictional weekend was spectacular. “We had a great time. We went on bike rides around the city,” I say.

“Went to the theater. The movies,” Nate says, and his smile is just…wow. It’s confident and inviting.

“What did you see?” Yasmin asks.

Nate’s eyes never leave mine. “No idea. We left early,” he says, his voice a low hum.

“Yeah, that was a great play,” I say with a laugh that the rest of the table echoes, the soundtrack to our seduction.

“And when I was in Los Angeles for meetings, he came down to see me.” I add another scene to our fictional romance. I don’t want to stop telling it.

“We had the best time getting to know each other.” Nate’s grin makes me feel like a rock star. With a deep breath, he links his fingers more tightly with mine. “So, I asked Hunter to elope, and he said yes.”

It’s official. I’m infatuated. “And here we are,” I say, relieved we’re done with the fable, but a little devastated too. I want to live in that story. I want to do all those things with him. I want to feel what it’s like to be that guy.

“That is so lovely. Thank you for sharing,” Yasmin says.

“Hunter, I’m so glad you could join us at Webflix,” Ilene says. The message isn’t lost on me—join her tonight and join this company. “Though, I hate to be a Debbie Downer, but what are you two going to do when Nate returns to California?”

It’s like someone flicked on the lights in the movie theater at the end of the show, revealing the sticky floors and discarded popcorn.

Reality is coming for us in a few days. We are only temporary husbands, making the most of our time. I don’t break character when I answer, “I suppose I’ll miss him terribly when he’s gone.”

Nate swallows, roughly, maybe nervously. Then he sighs. “Me too.”

Ilene whimpers. “That’s such a shame.”

“Yeah, it totally is,” I say, and this dinner can’t end soon enough.

It’s nearly two hours later when we finally reach our hotel. We cut across the lobby to the elevators, racing to be alone. Once we’re inside and the doors close, Nate crowds me against the wall. “That dinner drove me wild,” he says, then ravages my mouth. When he lets go, he’s staring at me like I’m his second meal.

“Same here,” I say, breathless—curious too. “How did you know all that horse stuff?”

“My sister was into horses. She rode growing up.”

“You charmed my boss,” I say.

He angles his head in a question. “What about you? Did I charm you?”

As if he has to ask. “I am beyond charmed.”

Nate devastates me with another kiss. It’s hot and deep and it feels like the start of something.

Something that could last a while.

Last a while tonight , I correct.

But when the doors open on our floor, my thoughts are stuck on that first idea— the start of something.

It’s a dangerous, foolish notion. I’ve got to focus on the here and now.

And I want to do something for him to show him how much I appreciate everything he did at the restaurant.

Once we’re in our room, I reach for him and spread a hand over his pecs. “Can I be in charge? I want to spend a long time making you feel really fucking good.”

Nate goes still, as if he’s processing my request. Then I find the answer in the sparkle of his eyes and the tilt of his mouth. “Have me.”

Oh, I will.