Chapter 8
brOOKES
I’m hot on Poppy’s heels as she storms out of my house, my six-feet-two inches barely managing to keep up with her short ass; girl has some speed about her when she’s pissed.
Reaching her car less than a second before she does, I slam my hand against the door, preventing her from yanking it open, and when she spins around, gaping at me, all I can do is offer her a rueful look.
“Brookes!” She huffs, pushing her long dark hair back from her flushed face. “I-I—I have to get to work.”
“You really should’ve read the contract, huh?” I say, folding my arms across my chest and arching a brow as I look down my nose at her. “You literally could’ve just signed to agree to suck my dick every other day.”
Her eyes blow out. “You said no shady business.”
“Relax. I’m joking,” I snort out. “But seriously, you don’t even want to have a lawyer look over it?”
“You think if I was the kind of person who could afford a lawyer, I’d be agreeing to this?
” She waves her finger between us with an incredulous laugh.
“The best I could do would be one of those no/win no fee guys from the billboards on the side of Highway One and… I don’t even know if they’re legit. ” She throws her hands up in the air.
I soften because I need to remind myself Poppy is just an everyday person.
That’s why I think she’ll be the perfect fake girlfriend.
She’s doing it for nothing but the money.
“Look, there’s no hurry to move in. Besides, when you do, you can treat it like an all-expenses-paid vacation.
I’ll be covering your rent and your bills and anything else you need while you’re here. ”
“I don’t pay rent.” She looks down a moment, her shoulders cowering, and I can’t help but side-eye her car dubiously.
“You’re not, like, living in your car… are you?” There doesn’t appear to be any pillows or blankets in the back seat, but they could be in the trunk.
Poppy looks up at me again, cocking her head to the side, deadpan. “No. I… I live with my… ex,” she admits, suddenly a little sheepish.
“Your ex?” Who the fuck lives with their ex? “Are you guys still—”
“No!” She almost chokes on the word. “We moved out here together from Missouri and… well, I guess he felt bad for me, so after we broke up, he let me live with him until I could afford to find a place of my own.”
I remember back to the flash of sadness in her eyes yesterday, after Jonesy asked her if she had a boyfriend, and now I can’t help but wonder if maybe she’s hoping to get back with him, and I really don’t want a potential mess with this whole thing. “You’re still… friends?”
She snorts. “He cheated on me. And then he blamed it on me, because I’m not a size four and apparently he has a reputation to uphold. What do you think?”
I can’t help but balk because what the fuck? Suddenly, all I can think about is Blake and his stupid-ass Ozempic comment.
“A reputation?” I quirk a brow. “Who the fuck is this guy?”
“He plays for the Hurricanes.”
I look at her confused. “Am… I supposed to know what that is?”
Poppy bites back a grin. “It’s the local double-A baseball team.”
“Double-A? Pfft.” I scoff. “Might as well play on a beer league. Loser.”
Poppy heaves a small, resigned sigh, looking down again. “I’ve been saving up to move out, but rent around here is expensive as hell, so it’s taking longer than I’d hoped. But thankfully he let me stay there because otherwise I would be in my car.”
“Well, then, there you go. Two birds, one stone.” I shrug.
She eyes me doubtfully before glancing back at the house.
“You’ll have your own room, your own bathroom. Honestly, we’ll barely even see each other.”
“Okay.” She nods, clearly reluctant.
“Oh, and you’ll finish up work at the club today, too.” I continue, “Your boss is aware.”
“Huh?” Her eyes go wide.
“This was all in the contract you didn’t read,” I remind her. “We leave for Oklahoma on Tuesday, and then we’re in Texas the week after.” With a smirk, I can’t help myself as I say, “You work for me now, Pops.”
With an eye roll, Poppy tugs open the car door, shoving me away in the process and hopping in.
And as she pulls away, I give her a finger-wiggling wave which she returns with a shake of her head.
And when I see her shitty blue car exit out of my security gates, my smile falls and I turn and head back inside with a newfound rage that sears my veins.
“Get out of my house!”
Blake looks up at me from his phone, his eyes widening with disbelief when he realizes it’s him I’m talking to. Eyebrows knitting together, his gaze flits about the room and honestly, the audacity to look confused right now is so on brand for Blake fucking Mestroni.
“Huh?” He gapes at me like he’s not sure whether I’ve lost my mind.
Folding my arms across my chest, I narrow my eyes, steadying him with a steely, no-bullshit glower. “Ozempic? Really?”
“Oh,” Blake snorts a laugh, waving a hand dismissively. “It was just a joke.”
“I don’t give a fuck,” I retort. “Get the hell out of my house.”
“Brookes,” Blake says, his condescending tone grating on every one of my last nerves.
I hold firm, my teeth clenched, gaze set on him as I say, “Cam, call security.”
With an eyeroll like I’m not seconds away from calling security on his ass, because I fucking will, Blake heaves himself up from my sofa, casually tucking his phone into the pocket of his chinos. “All I’m saying is Caitlin was a sure thing…”
He’s talking about Caitlin Dewan. Pretty.
Hot. Influencer-slash-model-slash-whatever else, because aren’t they all?
And I have no doubt in my mind the only reason he’s so hell-bent on having her as my fake girlfriend is so that he can try to fuck her.
It’s his MO. I can’t prove it, but I’m ninety-nine percent sure the guy’s a predator.
My gaze dips down to the empty Gatorade bottle in his hand, and I snatch it from him, spearing him with a pointed look. “And keep your greasy mitts off my grape Gatorades.”
With another eye roll and a low chuckle, Blake shakes his head and starts down the hallway before pausing and turning back to look at me. “Be careful, Brookes,” he says, his tone laced with smugness, “that girl is not—”
“I fail to see why I’ve had to ask you three times to get out of my house and yet you’re still fucking here.” I groan, turning away from him. And it isn’t until I hear the front door open that I yell, “And tell Caitlin Dewan to stay the hell outta my DMs. I’m not fucking interested!”
When I hear the front door close, I release a breath and shake the bad energy out of my limbs, walking back to the kitchen to where Cam is sitting at the island, a knowing smirk playing on his lips as he stares at his laptop like he didn’t just witness that whole exchange.
“He’s such a fucking asshole,” I mutter, dumping the empty Gatorade bottle into the recycling compactor before moving to the fridge.
“He might have a point, Brookes.”
Grabbing a bottle of disgusting blue Gatorade because it’s the only damn flavor left—Thanks a lot, Blake—I turn, looking at Cam and waiting for whatever it is he feels the need to say.
“I mean, sure, she seems nice and all, but… don’t you think maybe she’s a little too innocent?” He glances over the screen, meeting my eyes. “Why her?”
“Nobody knows her. There’s no messy past to worry about, she needs the money, and, most importantly, I have absolutely no desire whatsoever to fuck her and screw everything up. She is perfect for this.”
I can’t help but notice the look of doubt Cam offers me, but before I tell him to fuck off too, I force a big swig of Gatorade, wishing more than ever that it had a couple shots of vodka in it.
I needed to get the hell out of the house to clear my head.
Because thoughts of vodka shots in my Gatorade are not good, especially not before noon.
I really didn’t feel like calling my sponsor, so I decided to torture myself instead with a five-mile beach run.
But, as my feet pound the sand, a phone call interrupts not only my steady pace, but the music playing through my AirPods.
Slowing to a stop, I look down at my watch to see Happy Slater’s contact flashing on the screen and I can’t help but smile as I press to accept the call.
“Hey, bud.”
“Well, well, well!” Happy’s cocky tone rings through my pods. “If it isn’t the disgraced bad boy of golf.”
I roll my eyes, sniffing a laugh. “Apparently…”
“Frankly, I don’t know what the big deal is,” Happy says. “I saw the footage, and you’re telling me a few fuck yous and a broken fucking golf stick is enough to get your ass kicked off the AGL?” He snorts. “That wouldn’t even get you two minutes in the box in hockey.”
“Welcome to the prestigious world of professional golf, Hap,” I say with a derisive chuckle.
“You should come join the Thunder,” Happy says, entirely unserious. “We need a new goon since Rusty finally retired his hairy old ass.”
I wipe the sweat beads from my brow, chuckling. “I’ll think about it.”
“As soon as you guys are done broing out, can we cut to the chase?” A female voice cuts in, and I grin at the familiar sass.
“Hannah banana?”
“D-bag Devereaux!” she retorts with elated sarcasm.
“What’s up, you guys?”
“Did you get the invite?” she asks excitedly.
“Yeah, it came yesterday.”
“Are you going to come?” Hannah asks. “I know it’s golf… season.”
“It’s always golf season,” I return with a snort.
“Fun all-year round…” she bites back drolly.
I laugh.
“Anyway, we’d love for you to be there, Brookes,” Hannah continues. “I mean, clearly only if you think you can be there. Obviously, there will be liquor, but I’m going to make sure there are plenty of sober options. And Jonny will be there, and he said he’d love nothing more than to sit by you—”
“Don’t fall for it, dude. You’ll wish you were drunk after ten minutes with Jonny Slater,” Happy says, completely deadpan.
“Of course I’ll be there, you guys,” I say on a laugh.
Hannah squeals, and I wince at the high-pitch.
“So… will you be bringing a plus one?” she asks, her tone suddenly teasing.
I rub at the sudden pinch in the back of my neck and, blowing out the nerves that have lodged themselves in my throat, I force a smile even though I know they can’t see me. “Actually, yeah. If that’s… okay?”
“Brookes Devereaux!” Hannah sucks in a gasp. “Are you seeing somebody?”
I roll my eyes, dropping my head back and glaring directly up at the sun until I feel my retinas burn. “Yeah.”
“Ohmygod, tell me everything!”
Stifling a groan, I rub my eyes. “It’s… new.”
“Anyone I know?”
“No.”
“What’s her name?”
I clear my throat. “Poppy.”
“So cute!” Hannah gushes. “Is she as adorable as she sounds?”
“Yes,” I answer abruptly because I really don’t feel like getting into this right now while sweat drips between my ass cheeks.
“I am so excited!” Hannah squeals again.
“Yeah, good for you, my guy!” Happy chimes in. “We can’t wait to meet her.”
“Yeah, anyway,” I mutter again. “Are we done? Because I have a three-mile run back to my house.”
“Boo, you’re so boring,” Hannah mutters.
Happy chuckles. “Bye, man.”
“We’ll see you and the missus in Puerto Rico in a few weeks,” Hannah sing-songs.
“Not my missus,” I mutter, but the call is already dead. Rude.
I look out over the endless ocean, heaving a heavy exhale. “Well, there’s no going back now, Devereaux.”