Page 25 of The Fake Out

Chris smiled widely. “I know exactly what you can do to help us out.”

In the next ten minutes, Chris dragged Doug to the bathroom. Shane gave me another hurried speech about getting my act together, and I cleaned up the mess while Heather put in for another order of chicken wings.

My mind raced as I sopped up the barbecue sauce. There was no good way to explain this away to Chris. He may be a football player, but it was becoming very clear he was a smart football player.

I pressed a hand to my stomach, overcome by the desire to puke my guts out. How had he managed to learn two secrets about me in such a short time? Secrets I’d worked hard at keeping hidden from every other person in my life.

I stood up from wiping the floor in time to see Chris leading Doug back to the table. Doug was free of chicken wings, sauce, and his fancy gray suit. It had been replaced with a pair of black sweatpants with Chicky’s sprawled up one leg in sparkly pink letters. It paired well with the pink t-shirt bearing the famous Chicky’s silhouette.

A manic laugh bubbled up and I pressed my lips together to stave it off.

Chris shot me a smile. “See? All taken care of.”

Doug did not look amused. Doug looked like he wanted to do me great bodily harm.

“I—I’m taking a fifteen-minute break,” I said to no one and scrambled into the kitchen. I slumped against the nearest wall. My breath sawed in and out like I’d run a marathon.

“You okay?” one of the cooks asked. “You look like you’re gonna be sick.”

I pushed off the wall, mumbling something about going to the bathroom. Once inside the ladies’ room, I splashed a little water on my face. One of my stupid fake eyelashes was hanging a whole lot lower than the other one. I looked like I was in a permanent state of winking.

“You’ll be fine,” I said to the mirror. “You made a mistake and yes, Chris Sterns showed up, a-and…” I paused, pulled in a deep breath and steadied my voice. “Shane hasn’t fired you yet. Just get back out there and do what you need to do. You got this.”

Good plan.

Solid plan.

With a renewed sense of confidence, I pulled open the door and there he was. Waiting. For me.

Fine. New plan. Without stopping, I grabbed Chris’s hand and yanked him down the hall to the only place we could have a chance of privacy—the supply closet. It was mostly shelves and a small space to store a mop bucket and vacuum. Still, we managed to cram both of us in there, and Chris was a whole lot bigger than a vacuum.

There was just enough room to breathe if he leaned back against the door. I pulled the string dangling down and a weak light snapped on.

I crossed my arms. They brushed against his chest. I uncrossed my arms. What the heck should I do with my arms?

“What are you doing here?” I demanded.

One dark eyebrow rose. “You’re asking me that?”

I ignored him and plowed ahead. “I was almost starting to respect you. Why would you come to a place like this?”

My mouth said that, but my mind skittered somewhere else. Mostly thinking about how good he smelled. He wasn’t encased in a cologne burrito like most of the guys who came in here. It was a clean fragrance, like he’d just gotten out of the shower—and then my brain briefly struck on the idea of Chris Sterns in the shower even though it did not have my permission to go there. I stopped that immediately. These wayward thoughts had no place in my life. It was already crowded enough with jobs and bills and a stupid mayor/ex-boyfriend on a mission to ruin my library. Besides, I was Chris’s sister-friend. Geez. Get a grip.

He shrugged. “Doug’s my agent. He picked it.”

“Your agent is a sleaze.”

“I know. That’s what makes him a good agent,” he said. “My turn.”

“For what?”

“A question.” He frowned. “Where are your glasses?”

“Really? That’s the question?”

“I like your glasses. They suit you.” His eyes roamed my face then dropped lower. I wanted to cover up the copious amount of cleavage happening down there, but I forced myself not to. “I’m not sure this suits you, at all.”

I straightened, feeling almost offended. “Excuse me? I’ll have you know I can pull this outfit off just fine.”