The Fake Zone: A Fake Dating Sports Romance (Oleander Springs Series Book 3)

“We aren’t taping our hands?” Mila asks as I instruct her to remove her shoes and join Cole and me in the ring. While she changed, I filled Cole in on all things Julian Holloway.

Cole’s eyes have lost the goading that was present this morning. Instead, he’s all focus and discipline.

“No. We’re going to shadowbox and practice some holds.”

Mila slips between the ropes, joining us. She looks tired, and a part of me wants to call it a night and reconvene tomorrow, but a bigger part of me is glad she’s exhausted, knowing this is when mistakes are made.

Cole runs a hand over his hair and leans against the ropes as I approach Mila. “First things first, if you can avoid a fight, avoid it. If that means running away, hiding, or asking for help, do it.”

Mila nods, but her gaze drifts to Cole as he circles me.

“Most people won’t try and hit you. They’ll grab you, usually from behind.” I pause as Cole demonstrates what I mean, his arm wrapping around the front of my neck. “We’ll teach you moves, but one of the fastest ways to make him let go will be to poke him in the eye. Use your nails, knuckles, it doesn’t matter. Someone sees something coming toward their eyes, they’re going to recoil, and it will give you that gap you need to get away.”

Cole nods, and moves to the front of me, turning to look at Mila. “If he doesn’t flinch because he’s like Dustin and has a blind spot, dig your thumb into his eye socket, and believe me, he’ll let go.”

Horror flashes across Mila’s features.

I don’t allow the thought to settle, continuing. “If someone comes at you from the front, you can also use your knee. A knee to the groin will make any guy drop.” I slash a hand through the air definitively. “Eyes and groin hits will make them release you, and then you run like hell.”

Mila turns, her face inches from mine. Hesitation is etched across her brow. “What if someone grabs me, and I freeze?”

I nod. “It’s normal to freeze. Adrenaline makes you lose motor skills.”

“Like a opossum,” she says.

Cole shakes his head. “That’s why we’re here. We’re going to teach your reflexes to behave like a goddamn grizzly. You won’t even have to think.”

Mila stares at him, gaze critical. “This isn’t teaching me how to hit someone. I understand that defense is important, but what about offense?”

“We’ll get there,” I tell her. “Tonight, we’re going to practice on you getting free when I grab you.”

Cole flashes me a grin. “Don’t be afraid to hit him, Mila.”

“You guys can’t be serious—” She looks from me to Cole, and then her breath catches as I grab her leg, nearly tipping her over before steadying her.

“Get ready,” I tell her, pacing a few steps back.

I go at her again, wrapping my arm around her shoulders. “You’re tall. A guy’s likely going to grab your waist or shoulders. If he takes you by the waist,” I move my arm to her middle, “you go limp. Make yourself as big and heavy as possible, and then wiggle. Make it hard for me to hold on to you.”

We practice again and again, walking through each scenario until Mila declares she needs a break.

I glance at the clock, realizing it’s already past ten. “We should call it a night. We’ll come back tomorrow.”

Mila blows out a long breath and slips out of the ring, going to where she left her shoes.

I turn to Cole, offering him my hand. “Thanks for coming.”

He nods, taking my hand and reeling me in for a hug. “Anytime. She’s a quick learner.”

“I’ll send you and the others this clown’s mugshot. If he comes around here, let Abe go to town.”

Cole grins. “Are you coming tomorrow?”

“I have three classes, practice, and a meeting with that booster I was telling you about. Hopefully to sign a contract.”

“We’ll take care of her.”

I glance in Mila’s direction as she ties her shoes. “I want you to be sure to put red tape on her.”

“She might have fun. She seems scrappy.”

He’s goading me, and I know it. Still I react, growling out a swear.

Cole slaps me on the back. “God, this is more fun than I anticipated.”

I shake my head and offer a final goodbye before scooping up Mila’s bag and leading her out to my truck so Cole can lock up.

We drive in silence for several minutes, my gaze on the rearview mirror, ensuring no one is following us.

“How did you guys learn all this stuff?”

“Everywhere we could. Cole does mixed martial arts because he learned multiple fighting styles, and this allows him to combine them.”

“What got you guys interested in fighting?”

“Cole got jumped one day at school. They kicked the shit out of him, and the school didn’t do a goddamn thing. They said there were no witnesses to prove who had started the fight. So we decided since the school wouldn’t do anything, we would.”

“That’s terrible, but it’s also kind of amazing. You guys trained how to kick ass while I was trying to beat crazy world records by eating the most slices of pie in a minute.”

I chuckle. “We did other kid stuff.”

“Yeah? Like what?”

“Legos, sprinklers, campfires, riding our bikes…”

“I never learned to ride a bike.”

“You never learned to ride a bike?”

Mila shakes her head. “I’ve never slept in a tent, either. And until you gave me that jump rope, I’d never done that.”

“Even after you were adopted?”

“They would’ve in a second if they knew. I was kind of like a twenty-five-year-old, shoved into the body of a seven-year-old when I moved here.” She gestures with her hands as though compressing an object.

“It must have been hard coming to a new state and a new family.”

She’s quiet, and I think I must have said the wrong words. “Not because they weren’t good parents, just that would be a lot of change. Hell, half the guys on the team had a hard time adjusting when they were eighteen.”

“Do you want the nitty gritty or quick and vague?”

“I want all of it.”

Mila’s eyes flash to mine. Silence stretches between us for a full minute. “Jon and Alex saved me. Most people wouldn’t have been willing to adopt me. I acted like a twenty-five-year-old because I’d seen so much, but I was also a bit like a feral cat. Malnourished with trust issues, depression, and anxiety.”

I’m silent as guilt hits my stomach, quickly chased by the bitter taste of panic.

“Do you still experience anxiety or depression?”

She nods. “It’s like an illness. It doesn’t completely go away, but I’ve been fortunate, and through therapy and lots of trial and error, I’ve found techniques and different things that help me keep it all together when I start to feel the desire to fall apart.”

“I’m here,” I tell her. “If you ever need anything … to talk or to…” I shake my head, feeling completely useless and uncertain. “I’m here.”

“Training with you helps a lot—more than I expected. Briggs has been basking in an obnoxious ray of vindication. He’s been trying to convince me to pick up a physical hobby for years.” She pauses. “Maybe clinging to my stubbornness is how I show my claws?” She flexes her fingers, her tone light.

“Does it help to talk about those years before moving here?”

“That’s a complicated question, and the answer is even more complicated.”

“Why?”

“My childhood wasn’t entirely bad or tragic, but it’s like a minefield. Some of the memories trigger my depression or anxiety, so I have to tread through them carefully. And I don’t usually talk with anyone about them aside from Briggs and sometimes my parents.”

“Not even Hudson or Evelyn?”

“Some stories can’t be unheard.”

It’s my turn to feel haunted.

When we pull onto campus, my gaze sweeps across every dark and lit space, searching for anything out of the norm. I find a parking space in the front row.

Mila follows me to the doors, which require a keycard because of the late hour. A few student-athletes are in the lobby, studying. We ride up to the fourth floor and go to the end of the hall, where I unlock my door. “I’ll get you a spare key tomorrow.”

Mila nods, following me inside.

“Do you want to shower first?” I ask.

She nods, avoiding eye contact. “Sure. Yeah. Let me just get my stuff.” She pauses for a second as though working to recall where her things are and then heads for my room.

Moments later, she reappears, clutching a small pile of clothes and a pink bag. “I didn’t pack any towels. Do you have an extra I can borrow?”

The thought of Mila naked is something I’ve been wrestling with for weeks now, and the realization she’s about to be naked in my shower has my cock aching.

I nod. “I’ll show you where everything is.” I cross to the small hall closet outside the bathroom without daring to look back at her and point out the extra towels and washcloths. “There are spare toothbrushes and toothpaste in the bottom drawer of the vanity, too.”

“For your overnight guests?” Her tone is teasing.

“I don’t have overnight guests. I don’t bring people here.”

Panic sketches across her features. “Ever?”

I shake my head.

Mila clutches her clothes to her chest. “Maybe I should stay with Hudson. I don’t want to impose.”

“Mila, go shower.”

“I’m serious.”

“So am I. And I need to take a shower, too, so unless you want to make some kind of pledge to save water and shower together, you need to get in there.”

Challenge flashes in her gaze, and I reach for the hem of my shirt.

She shoves me before I can get it above my navel and disappears into the bathroom.

The water turns on as I text Hudson. I’m not in the least surprised when he texts me back with a link to a shared spreadsheet with my name and other guys from the team, their schedules and availabilities blocked out, so someone is always available to walk Mila to classes or anywhere else she needs to go. She’s going to hate it.

Mila steps out of the bathroom ten minutes later, her hair wrapped in a towel. “I’m going to blow dry my hair in the living room so you can shower.” She looks tense.

I nod, filling in the final slot of my schedule for the week before pocketing my phone and grabbing some clean clothes.

Under the shower stream, my thoughts return to Mila’s haunted words that some stories can’t be unheard.

When I get out of the shower, Mila’s still drying her hair. Her eyes catch on me, darting across my bare chest before she averts her attention to the wall. She’s going to hate my proposal even more than Hudson’s spreadsheet.

I brush, floss, and fill two glasses with water before Mila finishes.

“You can leave it under the sink,” I tell her as she starts to put her hair dryer back into her suitcase.

“I think I should sleep on the couch,” she says, shoving it into her bag.

I shake my head. “We already talked about this.”

“Actually, we didn’t. You just had a supreme bossy moment, and I chose not to argue because I got the impression you weren’t in a good place to negotiate.”

“You think that was a supreme bossy moment?”

Her gaze strays to my chest, and her cheeks flush.

Heat slips along my spine as a sense of urgency flows into my veins.

Mila takes a step back, stumbling when she hits the open door with her elbow. She gazes at the floor, bed, and bags—avoiding me at all costs. “I was going to sleep on the couch at Hudson’s anyway. I’m—”

“If you sleep on the couch, I’m sleeping on the couch. We’ll fit a lot better here.”

This gives her pause. “Why would you sleep on the couch?”

“Because I’m not sleeping in a separate room.”

“This is just a … precaution. An extra precaution. It’s not as though he can get into the building.”

I shake my head. “Brush your teeth and get into bed.”

“I—”

“I will pick you up and put you in this bed.”

It’s likely the wrong thing to say to her. Mila tends to dig in her heels the same way I do.

“Is this your way of showing me you can be bossier?”

I don’t answer.

Mila takes another step back, and I mirror her this time. She raises both hands. “I’m just going to brush my teeth.” She crosses the hall, leaving the door open a crack as she proceeds to brush her teeth.

She returns, her pink shower bag in hand, lingering by the door. “For the record, I think we should discuss this tomorrow after I maul you in your sleep.”

“Is that a threat or a promise?” I tease.

“Has Evelyn told you stories? She compares me to a giant man-eating squid.” Mila puts her bag into her suitcase and slowly approaches the side of the bed I usually sleep on. I don’t mention it as she pulls back the covers, her pajama pants and matching tee covering too much of her and exposing entirely too much at the same time.

“It’s a king-sized bed.”

“You say that like it will save you.”

I laugh and flick off the light, a million dirty thoughts rushing to the forefront. “Do your worst,” I tell her before climbing in on the opposite side.

She lays at the edge of the bed, her back to me, leaving enough room for two people to fit between us.

“What time is your first class tomorrow?”

“Ten.”

“We’ll do cardio here and then head to the gym at six. You can stay and work with Dustin while I’m at practice.”

She groans. “I knew you were a morning person, but I didn’t realize you were that early of a morning person.”

“Do you need anything? Are you warm enough?”

She rolls her upper body, so her shoulders are flush against the bed and turns to look at me. It’s so dark I can barely discern the outline of her jaw.

“Have you ever hit someone? Not in football, I mean.”

“A few times.”

“Did you ever freeze?”

“The first time I did. I wasn’t expecting it. It was a guy my mom was dating. I was sixteen and hit his bumper by accident. He clocked me.” I trace my finger across my cheekbone as if still able to feel the sting.

“What happened?”

I release a long breath, recalling that afternoon. “I wasn’t expecting him to hit me, so I took the full impact. I was still stunned when he moved to shove me, but my reflexes kicked in, and I put him in a rear-naked choke hold. I told him if he ever came around or talked to my mom again, I’d bury him in the backyard.”

“I can’t believe he hit you. What a jerk.”

I raise a hand to hers, brushing my thumb across her knuckles. She doesn’t pull away, so I do it again. “I was fine. It barely bruised.”

“Is it really called a rear-naked choke hold?”

“It is. Want me to show you how it’s done?”

In the silence, I catch the bright reflection of her eyes. “No! But I need to know why it’s called that.”

I chuckle, letting my hand relax over hers. “It’s a Jiu-Jitsu move, and it’s called that because, unlike other strangulation techniques, it doesn’t require the opponent to wear a gi training uniform.”

“We need to work on your pillow talk. Telling a girl that you know how to strangle someone before she sleeps with her back to you is strictly off the table.”

My fingers curl around her hand. “You’re always safe with your back to me.”

It’s silent again, my need to pull her closer nearly outweighing the warning in my head that I could fuck things up if I push this too fast.

“We’ll see if you’re singing this same tune in the morning.” She slips her hand free and rolls to her back. “No rear-naked choke holds.”

She falls asleep nearly instantly.