Page 53 of Shootout
“No, we’re fine,” I rushed to clarify and punctuated my statement with a fake smile, which wasn’t lost on Geneva. Her brows shot upward, but she didn’t comment further.
“Do you have your dress for the gala?” she asked.
I was pretty sure I looked like a deer in headlights. I glanced at Banks, who studied the label on his beer as if it were the most fascinating thing he’d ever seen.
Another one ofthose lookspassed between the couple. Axel cleared his throat, and Geneva perused the menu.
Banks lifted his head and our eyes met. He gave me a little shrug and turned to his linemate. “Her dress is killer. I’m going to be proud as fuck, but I’m also going to kill any guy who keeps his eyes on her for too long.”
“Oh, okay. That’s good.” Axel sounded confused. He wasn’t the only one.
I searched for words to add. “Not that he’s seen me in the dress.” At least that was the truth.
“I don’t have to see you in that dress. I know you’ll be a knockout.”
“Jess, you’ll have to join us at my house. A bunch of us are getting ready there.”
“And what are the guys doing while this is happening?” Axel’s smile was indulgent.
“Drinking beer, I guess.”
“Now she’s talking.”
“And we have room for two more in the limo,” Geneva offered.
“Sure, we’d love to join you.” Banks played along and allowed himself to step into this trap, just as he had throughout our entire fake relationship. I owed him big. I should’ve discussed this with him, but I’d already asked so much of a guy who reluctantly agreed to this farce.
Axel and Geneva stuck around for another hour before excusing themselves and leaving the two of us alone.
“That went well,” I commented, knowing that Banks was still trying to fit in with his new teammates, and they continued to be wary around him. Tonight had been a positive step. Axel had warmed toward Banks as the night had gone on, even jokingly commiserating with him regarding what a slob Cave was and how his mess crept into their stall space in the locker room.
Distracted, Banks nodded. He met my gaze.
“You don’t have to take me to the gala. I’ve already asked too much of you as it is.” I searched his face for a sign of what he was thinking and got it. Guilt. Lots of guilt.
“I meant to bring it up when I found out about it. Sorry, I kept forgetting.”
My tainted heart cried foul. He’d known about it but really didn’t want to take me. How could I blame him? He’d been forced to be with me for the last month and until some indefinite point in the future. He had a rep as a playboy, and all he’d gotten out of this arrangement was one brief sexual encounter on a Zamboni. I wouldn’t want to take me to a gala either.
“It’s okay. We don’t really have to go.” I gave him an out. I might understand why he hadn’t asked, yet unreasonable sadness swept over me. The lines between fake and real blurred more with each passing day. I’d let a slight like this affect my happiness when it shouldn’t.
“What will your brother think?”
One more time, my heart squeezed in my chest, reminding me all he cared about was how things looked to my brother.
“He won’t care. I’ll come up with a plausible reason why we aren’t attending.”
Banks pursed his lips and stared upward, a sure sign he was running through his options in his mind. I’d seen him do this before when he was considering which choice would be to his advantage. He lowered his head and looked straight into my eyes. Determination glinted in his brown depths.
“I’d be honored to take you.” His disarming smile obliterated every argument I had prepared and left me grinning like a fool. Banks was merely calling forth his inner charmer, winning me over once again to his side so he’d look good to my brother and, as a result, the entire team.
I cringed at how bitter my thoughts were. Banks didn’t deserve them. I’d gotten him in this position, and he’d been a good sport. I suspected he’d assumed sex would be a bonus for his cooperation, but I’d squelched that notion after the first time.
“I’d love to go with you,” I heard myself saying, even though every fabric of my being battled against going if he felt forced.
“It’s been a long time since I wore a tux. I’ll need to dust it off.”
I doubted that. Banks was a guy who knew how to dress for success. I expected nothing less than a custom tux by some designer. I, on the other hand, didn’t have a formal gown and only owned a sundress. Dresses had never been my thing. I’d have to go shopping and most likely blow my meager savings on a gown that’d make Banks proud.
