Fake Out (Fake Boyfriend Book 1)

Damon:
Don’t hook up with Noah.

I stare at the text I sent an hour ago. Maddox doesn’t have that feature enabled that lets me know if it’s been read or not, and I resent him a little for being smart. Then I realize it’s my own fault, because I told him that’s how to trick Stacy into thinking you haven’t read her messages.

Let me stalk you, damn it.

And now I’m being neurotic. Fun.

A crappy shower later, I’m climbing into bed and telling myself not to check my phone like some desperate loser. And look at that, my hand reaches for it. I have no willpower when it comes to Maddox, and I’m sure my mixed signals are giving him whiplash.

Maddox:

Why not? Isn’t that what you wanted?

Shit. I get the feeling he’s pissed. Or fishing. I wish I could talk to him instead of having this conversation via text, because tone is impossible to read. No way in hell I’m calling him though.

Damon:

He’s not good enough.

Maddox:

He’s hot and rich and doesn’t want anything serious. Isn’t that what you wanted for me? To “experiment”??? Why isn’t that good enough?

Damon:

He’s an asshole. And a manwhore.

This is not exactly true. He can be an asshole, and he has acted like a manwhore in the past, but he’s actually a bit of a loner.

Maddox:

You and Stacy call me a manwhore.

Damon:

Maddy … Just please tell me you didn’t.

Maddox:

I dunno. I’m liking this. Although, it’d be better if I could see you squirm in person instead.

Damon:

Asshole.

Maddox:

: ) I didn’t hook up with him.

Damon:

Not many people turn Noah down.

Maddox:

I got that. Thanks for introducing me to everyone. Skylar’s already Facebook friended me, so I guess I didn’t make too much of an ass out of myself.

Damon:

In front of them? It’s not possible.

I hesitate before sending another message through.

Damon:

What are the chances of you getting out of work on Tuesday afternoon? I have to go to OU to scout a baseball player. I figure you could show me around campus.

It’s a horrible excuse. I visited Stacy a few times when she went there, so I know my way around, but apparently, I can’t help myself anymore. Wonderful.

There’s too long a gap in between messages, and by the time my phone vibrates, I’ve chewed my thumbnail down as far as I physically can.

Maddox:

Sure.

***

A nervous ball sits in my stomach as I wait for Maddox at the east entrance to his alma mater.

“Hey,” Maddox says behind me.

I turn and try to smile, but by the concerned expression on his face, I’m clearly not pulling it off.

“You okay?” he asks.

“Yeah … fine. Uh, you?”

“I’m good.” His eyes travel over me. “Where’s your suit?”

I stare down at my jeans and T-shirt. “I didn’t want to stand out. If people find out you’re with an agency, they’ll pounce and start rambling about their son who’s the best at everything. I should know—my parents did it back when I was playing. They’d randomly go up to people wearing suits asking who they worked for.”

Maddox laughs. “Baseball field is through here.”

Numerous people stop and say hello to him, and he greets them all as if they’re long-lost friends. His easygoing nature is only one of the things I admire about Maddox, but it also means it takes twice as long to get to the field than it should.

“So, are we being spies right now?” he asks as we finally step through the stadium gates.

“Spies?”

“Yeah. Does your subject know you’re scouting him, or are we supposed to be stealthy?”

“Is it possible for you to be stealthy? Everyone seems to know you.”

“I was loved at this school. No, I was a god.”

I snort. “Okay then.”

“Fine. Most of the people who stopped us were in my class when I was a TA last year. They only love me because I graded their papers generously.”

“You were a TA?”

“You say that as if you’re surprised I was smart enough.”

“Not at all. I just figured you were like Stacy—skating by on average grades because you were too hungover to put in the effort.”

“I was here on a partial academic scholarship. I needed to keep a three-point-five GPA to qualify for it. I partied hard while I was here, but I was better at studying and working hungover than Stacy was. Poor city girl couldn’t keep up with me. I’d been drinking moonshine out the back of Will’s family’s farm since I was fourteen.”

“You really are a country boy, aren’t you?”

Maddox shrugs and looks away. “Not really. I just grew up there. So, who are we scouting?” He leads us to a set of bleachers to the right of home plate. “And is here okay?”

The stands aren’t overflowing with people, but there’s a decent crowd.

I nod toward two free seats farther along. I should be able to check out this guy’s talent from there.

“It’s the pitcher,” I say to Maddox. “Some kid named Logan.”

Maddox leans back in his seat. “So, this is your homeland, huh? Your mothership.”

“Yup.”

“Are you sure you’re okay? You’re being all … first-day Damon-like.”

“First-day Damon-like?” I ask.

“Standoffish and grunty. Makes me think I’ve done something wrong or you’re in a shitty mood, like the first day I met you. Do you need to get drunk? Because that worked last time. They might sell beer at the concession stand.”

I rub the back of my neck. “I’m fine.”

“Why …” he starts.

“Why what?”

“Why did you ask me here?”

Fuck, why did I ask him here? Showing me around campus was just an excuse. I made him take time off work to be here, and all I’m doing is giving him one-word answers.

I shrug. “To hang out.”

“Okay.” Maddox gives up and turns his attention to the game.

It’s already the third inning, but I made sure to come late. I want to see what this guy can do when he’s tired.

So far, OU is up by one, but that doesn’t mean shit this early in the game.

Logan’s form, from the windup to follow through, is anything but textbook, but he’s got a powerful arm. Too bad he doesn’t know how to use it.

“That was a strike, right?” Maddox asks.

I shake my head. “It was a ball. Missed the strike zone, and the batter didn’t try to hit it.”

“Wait, baseball has rules? Isn’t it all, hit the ball and run?”

I’d cry if Maddox wasn’t so damn cute. “Uh, no. There’s a lot more to it than that.”

“Okay, then teach me, Coach.”

I’m not sure if he’s doing it to try to break my weird mood, but it works. I go into the specifics of the game and get lost in my old world. And fuck, I miss it. Each play, I explain to Maddox what’s happening—stealing bases, fake outs, and the different types of pitches Logan tries. The kid’s only successful in about half of what he delivers. He’s nowhere near ready for representation yet, and with every slow or misaimed pitch, the more irritated I become that I’ve been sent here to scout him. When I was playing, this guy wouldn’t even get a look in.

“Wait, so you can legally fake out someone by pretending to throw the ball but still have it in your hand?” Maddox asks. “Isn’t that cheating?”

“It’s misdirection. Trickery. Kinda like the beginning of our relation—uh, friendship.” Not relationship. There is no relationship. I wish I had the ability to put words back in my mouth.

“True, I guess.”

We only get two innings before Logan is taken off and replaced with a reliever. It’s too early in the game to be pulling the starting pitcher, so he must be having an off day. Knowing he’s not on top of his game makes me feel a little better about coming out here to watch him.

“What do you think?” Maddox asks.

“Honestly? He’s got talent, but he’s too green right now. He needs more control and stamina. He looked wrecked when we showed up. I have to go talk to him, but we can head out afterwards. Go grab coffee, maybe?”

Did I just ask him out on a date? Shit.

“Sure.”

“Meet you out front? I have to deliver the news that OTS isn’t interested.”

Maddox pales as if he’s the one about to endure a confrontation. “Good luck with that one. I might stay here and finish watching this period.”

I cringe. “Inning.”

The fucker smirks. “I know. I really like seeing you squirm.”

With a shake of my head, I make my way to the back of the dugout and mentally prepare to give the rehearsed speech I heard myself a few times. You show potential, but we’re not ready to represent you at this time. Keep at it, and we can reevaluate. Good job out there today. When I knock on the door, one of the other guys answers. “I’m Damon King from OTS. I’m looking for Logan.”

Logan comes to the door wearing his jacket only on his pitching arm to keep it warm. His blond hair is a sweaty mess now his cap’s off.

“I’m—”

“Damon King. Holy shit,” he exclaims.

Ooh, boy. “Can we talk?” I tip my head behind me.

“You know who I am?”

“I work for OTS. I’m here to—”

His face falls. “Oh, damn. If I’d known that, I wouldn’t have signed with Hewitt and Locke last night.”

“I’m sorry, you what now?” I ask. He got a fucking contract already? What am I even doing here?

“Yeah, my father was supposed to call you guys. He wanted me to go with Hewitt. They’re bigger, you know? But shit, being represented by Damon ‘The Lion’ King? I’m kicking myself for listening to my old man. And, damn, you were watching today? I was throwing shit. Me and the boys got fucked up last night, celebrating.”

This kid is talking a million miles a minute. Someone get him some Adderall, stat.

This whole thing is bullshit. I wish I could say it wasn’t pure jealousy filling my veins with anger, but I know it is. This guy, who has the same amount of talent that my little finger did when I was top of my game, has an agent. He has the fucking idiocy and disrespect of going out the night before a game, but he has a future in baseball. What do I have? I have to sit back and watch others—others who don’t deserve it—succeed where I failed.

I grit my teeth and force myself to stay professional and calm. “Well, congrats on the contract. I need to get back to the office and inform my bosses you’re already taken.”

“Wait. Can I get a selfie?”

Jesus Christ on a cracker.

“Sure.”

He takes his phone out of his pants—geez, if either me or my teammates had our phones on us in the dugout, it was immediate one-game suspension. Guess Newport has higher standards than OU. Logan snaps the shot, and my feet practically make divots with each hard step I take from the dugout to the field entrance.

It’s not until Maddox catches up to me I even remember he’s here.

“Didn’t go well?” he asks.

“You could say that.”

Maddox grabs my arm to stop me from walking so fast. “What happened?”

“He signed with another agency.”

“Isn’t that a good thing? You didn’t want him.”

I shake my head and walk off again. Maddox doesn’t get it. He won’t ever understand it.

“Damon—”

I spin on my heel. “How is it fair? That kid has my future, and he’s half the pitcher I was. After my injury, I became kryptonite. No one wanted me. Even if I’d pushed hard and risked further injury to get back to where I was, all the agents had disappeared.” I don’t realize I’m yelling until I notice the people around us are staring.

“Come with me.” Maddox grabs my arm and pulls me down the path that runs behind the bleachers.

“Bet you spent a lot of time back here,” I grumble.

Maddox laughs. “I was a bleachers type of guy in high school. In college, I had class. Used to fuck behind the stacks in the library.”

“Much classier.”

Maddox pulls me down to the ground, and we sit with our backs against a concrete pillar. His arm is flush up against mine, and I like it way more than I should.

“Was this the first baseball scout you’ve done?” he asks.

I nod and stare into the distance.

“Okay, so that’s going to be hard no matter what. Now the first one is over, the next one will be easier.”

“I was fine until he told me he’s already got an agent when nothing here today showed me he was ready for it. Kinda lost my shit.”

Maddox laughs. “Just a bit, and can I just say, I’m liking this freaked-out Damon more than I should.”

“You what?”

“You always seem so together and in control. You have direction and drive. You’re like … a grownup.”

“Hate to break it to you, but so are you.”

“Nah, I float by on life and run away from my problems. I have a job I’m good at—and don’t get me wrong, I love it—but I had plans when I went off to college to travel and see the world once I was done. But I went straight into my job, and even though I have the funds, I haven’t done anything about going anywhere. I graduated almost a year ago now. It’s like I’m content to always think about what I want without acting on it. What made you decide to become an agent?”

“It was always my backup. I knew the chance of playing ball professionally was small, but I was so close. The first year of law school was the hardest, because I was still dealing with the fact I was never going to play again. Not at a competitive level. And then I was angry at everyone who abandoned me. My agent, the millions of offers from other places. I understand why they did it, but it made me want to be better than them. I wanted to become the agent those guys weren’t.” I haven’t told anyone about this shit. There’s something about Maddox that makes me lay it all out there.

“Since I met you, I’ve had this weird awe-slash-jealousy thing toward you,” he says. “Until now, the most I’ve seen you close to losing it was when I cornered you in my apartment and you fled like your ass was on fire. Even then, you were still in control of that whole situation. So, yeah, as mean as it is, I like seeing you ruffled. Makes you more human.”

“Don’t put me on a pedestal I don’t belong on, Maddy. I may act like I have my shit together, but I’m faking it. I think most adulting is faking it.”

Maddox grins.

“And I think you should just do it,” I say. “Plan a trip somewhere. Anywhere. Go to Niagara so you can say you’ve been to a different country, at least.”

“Canada doesn’t count, but you’re right. I should just do it. Maybe Stacy will come with me.”

I almost blurt out I’d go, but that’s not going to happen. I don’t have time to go away. Then there’s the long list of other reasons like being around Maddox drives me crazy, I want him, and it’s still a bad idea to be with him.

“As far as baseball goes,” Maddox says, “it sucks you can’t be the one on the other side of the contract. But look at it this way, when you find that ballplayer who’s great—who’s even better than you were—you’re going to do everything in your power to give that guy what you couldn’t have. His success will be your success, and you get to be by his side when he makes it big. It won’t be the same, but it’s the closest you’re going to get. And not everyone has that opportunity.”

I turn my head to find his blue eyes piercing mine. “I see it now. The TA thing. I can see why they all loved you.”

His gaze drops to my lips. I want to kiss him, and it’s getting harder and harder to remember why I shouldn’t. But when he shifts, my immediate reflex is to break the connection and turn away.

“What are you doing on the weekend?” Did I swallow a chunk of dirt in the last five seconds? My mouth is dry and my voice comes out rough.

He sighs, probably because I’ve rejected him again. “Have to head back to PA. Crazy aunt’s visiting.”

“Right. You said that. Need your fake boyfriend to tag along?” What am I doing? I can’t survive another weekend with him.

“You’ve got finals coming up. You need to study.”

The disappointment is heavier than I expect. I do need to study, but I can’t make myself care about it. I’d rather be in Pennsylvania, pretending to be Maddox’s boyfriend.

“I can study anywhere, but if you don’t want me to go—”

“Thanks. I’ll let you know if I change my mind.”

He doesn’t.