17. Cassandra
“I regret lettingyou knock down my handicap,” I said, brushing my hair back with the lip of a disc.
Diego led the round by two strokes, and unless I landed this shot in the basket, my hopes of winning for a second time were in shambles.
“The handicap is supposed to make us competitive. This is way more competitive,” Diego grinned, a black bag over his shoulder and wearing an outfit designed to keep me distracted. He’d popped the two buttons on his skintight white polo shirt and wore a pair of khaki shorts that molded to his ass just a little too well.
“What’s with the outfit, anyway? Did you think we were going to play real golf today?” I grumbled, tearing my eyes away and taking a practice throw.
“I’m dressed for success.”
I planted my feet and took a deep breath as I pulled my arm back. I shot. The disc wavered as it headed straight for the metal cage.
“It’s not going to make it.” Diego didn’t sound convinced. I held my breath as the disc hit metal with a loud clank, bobbled, and came to a rest in the bucket.
“Yes!” I cheered, shimmying toward Diego as his face fell. “I beat you.”
“Barely.” He frowned, shoulders collapsing as he shook his head.
“Well, good news.” I beamed up at him. “The club we’re going to tonight offered a VIP table and free booze, so technically, you don’t even have to buy me a drink. Just order one.”
“Is that why you wanted to bet drinks?”
“I thought I’d lose,” I admitted. “I didn’t trust my raw talent.”
He shook his head. “Raw talent. Next time, I’m knocking your handicap down to one stroke.”
Diego finished out the hole, losing by a single stroke. We gathered up the discs and made our way back to the car.
“I want to shower before we go out. Get any invitations to any restaurants?”
“My publicist didn’t mention any. We might have to fend for ourselves,” I joked. “You know, if I’d known fame and fortune was as easy as dating an NFL player and getting on the Jumbotron, I would have dated Trent years ago.”
Diego’s easy smile morphed into a frown, but he wiped it away. “I’m not letting you provoke me.”
“You’re not? Lame. I’ll talk to Trent about it tonight. Maybe he needs someone next season once you throw me over for an NDA and a shockingly huge contract. I know there were two copies, but it was a stack.”
“I’m not just hanging out with you because of a contract, Cassandra.”
My body heated at the way he said my name and I retreated to solid ground. “Right, you just enjoy losing disc golf to me.”
“And buying you free drinks,” he added. “I’ll even throw in dinner. I think I can get us into somewhere.”
“Good. Want me to meet you there?”
Despite not being his actual girlfriend, Diego had ferried me to every fake date so far, and the commute between his house and mine took him straight through the worst of Norwalk’s traffic.
He slung his bag into the trunk of his car and pointed to a second bag in the trunk. “I actually keep a change of clothes back here, if you don’t mind me using your shower.”
“It’s not technically my shower, so sure,” I said, ignoring the way my body heated at the idea of him in my shower. I clearly needed to get laid if I wanted this fake dating thing to work out for the next two months.
“And while we’re there, you can pack some things to keep at my place.”
I lifted an eyebrow as he shut the trunk door. “Excuse me?”
He leaned against the trunk, folding his arms over his chest and exhaling. “You can’t keep sneaking away from my house in the middle of the night. What would people think?”
“What people? I thought no one knows where you live.”
The edge of his lips hitched up. “What if they found out?”
“I promise I won’t doxx you, but if you think you need to publish your home address just to keep me from slipping out, fine.”
He reached out, brushing his thumb over my hip and pulling me closer. I kept a smile off my face as I shuffled closer. He cupped my chin with his other hand, and I winced, hating how good the attention actually felt, how good he felt.
Screw it. I rested my cheek against his palm.
“We need to make this relationship look real,” he whispered almost conspiratorially, as if at any minute, a cadre of photographers would pop out of the bushes. Like we hadn’t just played disc golf for hours without a single interruption.
“I think you’re just trying to get me to spend the night at your house.” I closed my eyes.
“Maybe,” he admitted, sending a jolt of desire down my spine. His thumb brushed my lips, and I held back a moan. This was a mistake. Being around Diego in general had always been a mistake. I knew it the first time we met, but I got away. This time though…well, escape wasn’t exactly an option. “Or maybe someone’s watching us right now.”
“Liar,” I said, not daring to open my eyes.
He leaned forward, his breath hot on my cheek. I leaned closer, desperate for just a little more contact.
“We shouldn’t take any chances.” His lips brushed mine as he talked, too far away for any actual contact, just the faintest promise. His voice called me closer, waiting for me to lean in. Waiting for me.
I opened my eyes, catching the glint of his smile, and pushed him away. “You asshole.”
“You wanted to kiss me though, right?”
I rolled my eyes as I took a step back and steadied the rapid thrum of my heart with a fist to my chest. “Of course I did, you jerk. You were giving me your sexy bedroom voice.”
“You think my bedroom voice is sexy?” He shoved his hand in his pocket, digging out the keys as I rounded to the passenger seat, cheeks beet red.
“You’re awful. Completely unsexy.” I slipped into the seat, fumbling to secure the seatbelt.
“But I think we’re even now.”
“Even?” My jaw dropped as he started the ignition. “That was dirty. You aren’t playing fair!”
“Playing fair?” He tousled his hair. No one being that annoying should look so sexy. “What part of wearing Trent’s jersey was playing fair?”
“You played the best game of your career!” I said, not entirely sure that was the truth. It sounded good, though.
“I nearly started a fistfight on the sidelines. Do you know how happy you made Trent? I can’t have that on my team.”
“Trent’s happiness is a deal breaker for you?”
“That wasn’t really what I was getting at.” Diego’s voice dipped before he shook his head and pushed the car into drive. “But sure, let’s go with that.”
* * *
Diego’s deep vibrato echoed from the bathroom, and I rubbed off an errant swipe of emerald eyeshadow off my eyebrow.
“Calm down in there, Liberace,” I yelled, searching the coffee table for makeup remover.
I’d hastily thrown the scattered make-up on the bathroom vanity into a bag so Diego could take a shower. Apparently, the make-up remover hadn’t made it into the mix. Of course, if Diego wasn’t so distracting, I wouldn’t need it.
“I like to think of myself as more of a Pavarotti than a Liberace,” Diego called back, his voice clear even through the closed door.
“I don’t know what that means.” I dabbed a cotton pad into the cup of water on the side table and wiped off the eyeshadow.
“More substance, less show.”
“I don’t know. You’re pretty show-y.”
“I scored four touchdowns last game.”
“And boxed out your best receiver. That’s a Liberace move.”
His deep laugh echoed from the shower, and I smiled. “I’m getting a drink. Want one?”
“A beer would be great,” he said before launching into a truly ear-piercing rendition of “Time To Say Goodbye.”
I rolled my eyes and padded into the kitchen to retrieve a beer from the otherwise empty refrigerator.
The sound of pounding water stopped as I searched the drawers for a bottle opener. Diego rustled around inside the bathroom, and I poured myself a drink, keeping my thoughts on making my drink and not the naked god in my bedroom. The one who pretended to date me with an NDA and a contract.
“I’ll take that.” Diego emerged from the bedroom, black hair wet and a thin pink towel wrapped around his waist. My eyes snapped to his face and heat built in my chest as I struggled not to glance down.
“You could have thrown on a shirt first. The beer would have kept.” A flippant eye roll gave me a quick glimpse at his chiseled chest. I struggled to focus on his face.
“But why chance it?” He took the beer and leaned against the oven, clearly not in a hurry to head back toward his clothes. He took a sip of his beer, resting the bottle against the indentation at his hip, just above the thread-bare towel.
I forced my eyes back up. Two could play that game.
“Is Frankie coming tonight?”
Diego raised an eyebrow as he sipped his beer. “Yeah, why?”
“He’s single, right?”
“Why does that matter?”
“Just curious. I haven’t really chatted with him, so I’m really looking forward to tonight.” I shrugged and took a sip from my drink.
His eyes narrowed. “What are you up to?”
“I think Becca had one of his jerseys, too.”