The Fake Zone: A Fake Dating Sports Romance (Oleander Springs Series Book 3)
The Fake Zone: Chapter 33

I wake up to Grey trying to extract himself from the full body hold I have on him. My legs are tangled around his, my arms twined around his waist, and my breasts are plastered to his biceps.

I wince, retracting and slipping to the opposite side of the bed. My muscles protest, sore and cold, as I move away from Grey’s heat.

“I think I get the squid reference, now.” Grey’s voice is husky with sleep.

I hate how much I like it. “I warned you to let me sleep on the couch.”

He stands. “I wasn’t complaining.”

I swallow thickly, grateful the room is still pitch dark. “What time is it?”

“Time to get up.” He flips on the bedside table, and I whimper like a vampire exposed to the sun as I sink into the pillows.

“What time is it really?”

“Almost five.”

I groan. “I might have to learn how to do a rear-naked choke hold today, so you’ll sleep in.”

Grey snickers as his palm connects with my butt with a firm slap, making me jump. My head snaps up in time to see his side profile and the impressive bulge that his sweatpants do little to conceal.

He moves to the closet, his back to me. Each muscle is a piece of art as he tugs a shirt free from a hanger and slides it on. A Camden hoodie goes over it. “Wear layers. We’re going to the gym after we go running, and it’s cold out.” His hair is beautifully disheveled, reminding me of that morning he came to my apartment, and lust took over my brain.

“Food. Coffee.”

“It’s on its way. Get up.”

“On its way?” I release a final groan of protest and slip out of the warmth of the covers. I push the door shut with my foot and get dressed.

Grey’s greeting a freshman player I barely know holding a paper bag and a drink tray as I step out.

“Thanks,” Grey says, closing the door.

“Is this from the facility?” I ask.

Grey turns to face me and nods. “It was this or cereal this morning. Every time I tried to move, you stirred.”

My cheeks heat, wondering how long he was awake trying to get free.

He withdraws two creams and a single sugar from the bag, placing them in front of one of the coffee cups, reminding me once more of all the little details we know about each other. He pulls out two plates with covers, and we sit in amicable silence, eating scrambled eggs, toast, and a small mountain of fruit.

“Are we going to go running at the track or the facility?” I ask as we clear our dishes.

Grey shakes his head. “If he’s watching you, I want him to see me. See us.”

I lace up my shoes, my heart a sticky beat of us. Us. Us.

Outside, the ground is frosted white. I blow into my hands, my eyes stinging. “It’s dark and freezing. No one’s going to see us because no one’s crazy enough to be outside.”

Grey nods as the doors to the dorm open behind us, and three guys appear, nodding toward Grey, respect in their gazes.

“The football team doesn’t count,” I say. “You’re all nuts.”

He grins, catching my hand with his and lacing our fingers. His hand is warm, the skin on his fingers and palms rough with calluses. It feels remarkably nice, and I try to recall the last time I held a boy’s hand. It’s been a long time. Like kissing on the lips, holding hands is intimate, requiring a level of closeness I often avoid.

The groundskeepers have already sprinkled deicer across the sidewalks that lead us to the track, where a handful of people are crazy or devoted enough to their sport to be running.

Everything is normal, and I can’t help but wonder if we’re overreacting.

A blonde girl wearing leggings and a sports bra calls out to Grey and waves. Her gaze falls on me and then our joined hands, and I wish I could say it didn’t encourage me to stand a little closer to him as though I’m making some kind of claim.

“She’s going to get hypothermia,” I muse.

Grey’s lips quirk with a smile. “Ready to stretch?”

“I’m sore,” I admit, as our hands slip apart, and we move to stretch. The muscles under my armpits are particularly tender, as is every other muscle in my arms and over my ribs. “I didn’t realize hitting took so many muscles.”

Grey gives me a knowing look.

When I sit down on the cold ground to stretch my hamstrings, Grey hunches down in front of me. “It will be a deeper stretch if I help.”

Innuendos line my tongue, and I have to bite them back because every one of them involves him being deep inside of me, stretching more than my hamstrings, providing a relief my body has been craving.

I lie on my back as Grey gets into position above me, resting my leg on his shoulder and leaning forward. “Tell me when.”

Despite getting stronger and building endurance, my hamstrings are still pitifully tight.

“Hudson put together a spreadsheet that includes everyone’s schedules. We need you to add your classes.”

“Someone should be with Evelyn. He talked to her,” I remind him.

“He was showing you how close he can get. The guy who stalked my mom used to drop off gifts for me. We don’t know if he was trying to taunt her or if he really thought that would change her opinion. Sometimes these people are sick and need help. But Hudson’s already added Evelyn, and Nolan added Hadley, Hannah, and Katie. We’ll have someone from the team with you guys at all times.”

“For how long?”

Grey moves, and I swap legs. This time, he keeps a hand on each of my thighs, his knee so close to my center I have to focus on not moving to press myself against him. “We’ll see,” he says vaguely. In my experience, vague responses are used to eclipse ugly truths.

My independence claws at my chest as we remain silent. I want to refuse. I don’t want to hide and change my life for Julian fucking Holloway, but I already have. I did a year ago and haven’t been able to readjust to normal since, regardless of my attempts and desire.

“We’re going to do a couple more stretches together,” Grey says, lowering my leg. “Put your feet together and bend your knees.” He pats my knees.

I move to follow his instruction.

“Lie back,” Grey says, resting a hand on the inside of my knees as my back presses against the cold ground again. Grey rises on his knees, and without warning, my thoughts shift to when he was in a similar position between my legs, and I was naked. Desire and heat curl low in my stomach, and the way I ache for him is nearly painful.

“What if he gets mad and tries to do something? What if he goes after one of you guys?”

He smirks, but it’s dark and mirthless. “Let’s hope he tries.”

“No,” I say, shifting out of the stretch, my heart straining.

Grey lifts a single brow as he stands, extending a hand to me. I want to refuse and bat his touch away, but I slowly accept his hand. “This is a bad idea.” I shake my head and try to pull my hand free, but Grey tightens his grip before I can.

“What’s wrong?”

“If me being around others deters Julian because he realizes I’m involved with someone else, cool, but if this is a risk, we’re not doing it. I’m moving back into the apartment, and I’ll track things and report it, but I’m not letting you or anyone else get involved.”

Grey’s broad shoulders block the track from my view as he steps closer to me. “Nothing is going to happen. Everyone will be safe … everyone except those who have to walk Katie to class.”

I scoff, but my guard is raised, a panic attack on the fringes of my actions threatening to possess me. My gaze skitters, trying to find something to focus on, but everything looks like a threat. My chest burns, my thoughts are fuzzy, and my breaths are loud in my own ears as Grey says my name a second time.

Warmth enrobes me as Grey presses his mouth to mine. He’s kissing me softly, gently, as though he senses how close I am to the edge, and one wrong move will push me over.

His thumb grazes my cheek as his other hand sinks into the back of my hair, near the base of my ponytail. He angles my head and steps closer, his chest pressing against mine so hard it forces me to lean into him, so we don’t topple over. His lips part, and I taste the mint of his toothpaste before my body melts against him, pliant and wanting. His tongue brushes the seam of my lips, and his fingers constrict in my hair, deepening the kiss as though sensing the transition of my thoughts as they veer from dread and fear straight to bliss and desire.

His thick erection presses against my stomach, and a sound between a moan and a whimper leaves me as my back arches. Desire has never felt like a need—until now. I press my hands to his waist, grappling with his shirt to feel his bare skin under my fingers, hot and perfect.

Grey hums an approval, swiping his tongue against mine, purposeful and slow, and my body sparks with recognition, recalling the way it felt to have his tongue between my legs. A voice cuts through the lust that has me feeling drunk on him, and I slowly pull back and find Emma Kemp.

My emotions take a one-eighty.

Again.

Deceit cuts the same lines lust just laid. “I thought that was you,” Emma says, ignoring me with more than her singular word as she stares at Grey. “You’re right. The track is empty at this hour.”

I try to take a step toward the track, but Grey wraps his hand around my waist, pulling my hips flush with the side of his thigh so our bodies are a ‘T’ shape.

“Emma stopped by the facility because her dad knows we have great trainers, and I was getting taped up.” The explanation is intended for me, or maybe for Emma. Grey was offered multiple sponsorships but still hasn’t signed with Linus Kemp or Gerald Barnhardt.

I recall Hadley’s words from the booster meeting, how vicious Emma has been, and lean a little closer to Grey, playing my role since meeting her. “It’s nice to see you, but you’ll have to excuse us. We have to get in our cardio before classes. We like to work on our endurance.”

Her gaze shifts to me, understanding clear as her smile grows tight.

I feel the gentle rumble of Grey’s laugh as he prompts me forward. We hit the field and fall into a jog.

We run with focus—Grey because he’s an overachiever and me because I don’t know if he just kissed me again because he wanted to or because Emma was here.

When we do our cooldown stretches, Grey tries to make small talk, asking about my classes today, how I slept, and even compliments my pace of the run. When my answers remain polite but short, he stops trying, and we stretch in silence.

The silence follows us back to the dorm, into the elevator, and up to his room.

I refuse to sit and get comfortable. I don’t want to get used to his space. Instead, I stand beside the couch and check my email while he packs a gym bag.

I don’t want to talk to him, realizing whether it’s fair or not, I’m mad at him.

“Don’t forget to input your schedule into the spreadsheet. Any time our schedule overlaps, mark them one color.”

I’m already reviewing the spreadsheet, trying to tamp down the horror and embarrassment at seeing row after row of schedules that have already been entered. Hudson’s recruited the entire damn team.

I discover a section filled with colors and find Katie, Hadley, Hannah, and Evelyn’s schedules have already also been added. Guilt reminds me I need to reach out to them and apologize, not because this is my fault but because it’s impacting them.

I enter my classes and times but don’t color code where Grey’s and my schedules overlap. I don’t even look because lately, every time I test fate, it tests me right back. Knowing my luck, Grey will be available to walk me to every class of every day, and Emma Kemp will be in all my classes, and we’ll have to continue this inane lie. Sᴇaʀch Thᴇ (ꜰind)ɴʘvel.nᴇt website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

I feel Grey’s stare, hot on my neck.

I don’t look up to acknowledge him.

We managed to coexist for two and a half years, toeing the line of being friends. It was comfortable, easy, reliable. This new space where he insists we’re friends, and I’m sharing stories about my life, and he’s training me, and kissing me to deter another girl, introducing me to his mother, and holding my hand to successfully breach every line of intimacy I avoid has me bristling. I want to yell and scream. I want to say hateful words, so he knows it all means as little to me as it does to him. But more than anything, I want that comfort of being acquaintances back.

“What’s wrong?” he asks.

“Does it really matter what Emma Kemp thinks?” I snap, my gaze finally narrowing in on his.

“I don’t care what Emma Kemp thinks.”

“Then why did you kiss me?” The question explodes from my chest—from my pride, from somewhere that makes kissing Grey feel different, and loathing the fact because I’ve been terrified for the past several weeks that it doesn’t feel different to him. That this is entirely unrequited.

Grey’s eyes are hard, brow furrowed. It looks like he wants to yell at me, too. Remind me the premise of our deal. That he’s helping me and has invested way more time into this bargain, and that he’s only kissed me a fraction of the times she’s been around.

He walks toward me, pure stealth and grace.

“I had no idea she was out there. Did it look like I was capable of paying attention to one damn thing but you?” he asks. “No.” His voice is an eruption of anger. “I was between your goddamn thighs imagining things I shouldn’t be imagining, and then you looked so starkly terrified, and I didn’t know how to find the right words to assure you, so I kissed you.”

I stare at him for a second, my anger evaporating too fast. I want to cling to it, bathe in it, allow it to protect me because anger has always felt like the safest emotion.

“I know you feel this, Mila.” He steps closer.

I pin him with my gaze. His words feel like a trap, a slide straight into the fiery pits of vulnerability hell.

Grey strikes then, his mouth on mine, hands on my waist—forgoing words.

We’re both terrible at words.

His tongue pummels mine savagely, his hands dipping beneath the layers he instructed I put on, finding my skin greedy for his touch. I sigh the moment his fingers press against my bare skin. He gets the first point.

I kiss him harder, meeting each thrust of his tongue as I scrape my short nails through his hair that is decidedly more brown than blond. I try not to lose myself in his touch as his hands skate up and down my sides, inching my shirt higher, my joggers, lower. I catch his bottom lip with my teeth, nipping the flesh as I grip his cock through his sweats. He’s hard and so damn big, flexing his hips into my hand as he emits a low groan worthy of two points.

I stroke him as he reclaims my mouth, and for a several minutes, we allow lust to settle between us, not hurrying to the next step as we bask in the perfect unison of our mouths.

Grey roams to my breast, his fingers shifting my sports bra high on my chest to free both breasts, and as his hands glide over each aching globe we sigh together.

I tip my head back, willing to lose a point to feel this, to allow him to worship my breasts as he had last time, teasing, licking, pinching until I didn’t know what would come next or what I wanted more. His thumbs graze over my erect nipples and his hips grind against mine, a ghost of pleasure where I so desperately need to feel him.

I strip off my shirts, and he rewards me by pinching my nipples, his gaze is on my face, on my mouth swollen from kissing him, my eyes drowning in lust. I wrestle off my sports bra, and lean against the coolness of the wall, prepared to forfeit the game.

Grey surges forward, capturing my lips with another heady kiss as his hands swipe and roll my breasts.

“I love your breasts,” he says, kissing me again as he flicks one hardened peak and rubs the other. Like Grey, everything he does is a near confliction.

I reach for him, shoving my hand beneath the barriers of his waistband and underwear and wrapping my hand around his girth. We release a shared moan, his at relief, and mine due to the ache that intensifies in my core.

I pump him in my fist twice, and then his fingers still me as he slides against my wet heat, and I practically orgasm out of anticipation.

“Fuck,” Grey says, a tortured sound as he leans his forehead against mine.

Neither of us moves, aware we have two distinct options, we can stop and walk away or allow this to change everything between us.

I want him to choose. I want him to be sure.

My determination hangs by a thread. “God, Mila. Tell me you want this. Tell me you want me, and I will give you the goddamn world.”

My hand tightens around him, stroking him as I kiss him frantically.

Grey thrusts two fingers inside of me and I gasp, writhing on his hand as he kisses me harder, more urgently, trying to absorb every gasp and moan I release as I lose myself to each thrust of his fingers that eases the incessant ache for him.

“Grey, I need…”

He twists his fingers, and my spine grows weak as he slides his fingers to my clit where they glide lazily along my flesh.

I groan, a sound of annoyance and pleasure. It feels so damn good I can’t stop myself from imagining an entire day spent naked, laid out before him while he strokes me like this, an orgasm just out of reach but not caring because it feels so good. Like something forbidden and perfect.

“What do you need?” he asks, running his nose along my cheek.

I shake my head. “Don’t stop.”

He doesn’t. He tunes me like an instrument until everything in me feels aligned, perfect, and right, and that orgasm that felt a mile away comes barreling down my spine, blindsiding me and making my knees weak. My breaths fall out of me in gasps. He doesn’t lessen his strokes, if anything he goes faster, harder, wringing out every ounce of my orgasm until I place my hand over his, the stimulation too much.

He kisses me, and for a second, I fear this will be like last time, and he’s going to tell me it’s time to go, but then I’m airborne. With me over his shoulder, Grey crosses to his room.

My back hits the mattress, and with my next breath, he’s stripping off my pants and underwear.

“Do you have a condom?” I ask.

Grey reaches into his nightstand and pulls out a sealed box. I take it from him, using my teeth to rip the plastic and hand him one of the foil packets.

“Lose the clothes, Meyers.”

He chuckles, stripping out of his sweatshirt first, exposing his perfectly sculpted everything. His thumbs hook into his sweatpants and boxer briefs next, drawing them down, releasing his long, thick cock, the head tinted purple with his own desire.

The ache that was sated seconds ago returns at the sight of him.

Grey rolls the condom over his length, and I stare at him, debating where to go. “Lie back.” His voice is gravelly and soft as he runs a hand over himself.

I lean back on my elbows so I can watch him. Grey smirks, running his hand over his length again, allowing me to admire him. Then he grabs my thighs and tugs me to the edge of the mattress. He props one of my feet against his chest and moves his hand to his cock. He rubs the tip over each swollen and desperate inch of me twice before slowly pressing against my entrance.

I sigh a breathy moan, and Grey presses in a little further. He’s so large pain licks at me before pleasure chases it away. He eases into me until half of his length is buried inside of me, the fullness of him stretching me, making me want to beg him to move. But he pauses, lifting his eyes from where our bodies connect to my face.

He made the first concession, and I don’t hesitate to make the second, realizing for the first time the purpose of the hundreds of hours spent on self-worth and what I want. I want this. I want him. I reach forward, running a hand over his jaw, it’s a lover’s touch, something as intimate as holding hands, and then I lie back, my hand still cupped around his jaw, inviting him to cover more of me—all of me.

He leans down, kissing me, his fingers gently rolling my nipple. I moan, a breathy sound as I arch my back. “I want you so bad.”

His sapphire eyes darken, drinking me in, and then with one hard thrust, he’s seated inside of me. Pleasure steals my breath as it settles over my muscles, and down to my bones. The fullness of him is too much, yet not enough. I need him to move, need to feel him thrusting inside of me until this desire burns out.

Grey resumes kissing me, remaining obstinately still as I adjust to his size. I try to shift my own hips, but he presses down harder, kissing me fuller. This time, I deliver the declaration of war and advance, biting his bottom lip. He snickers quietly, kissing along my jaw, taking his time, and maintaining the upper hand.

“Grey.” My voice is throaty to my own ears, frantic with an underlying edge of a threat. “I…”

“I know,” he says.

I shake my head. He has no idea how it feels as though my body is screeching with demands of friction. How my heart feels as though it’s been creeping outside of my body for weeks—years.

Grey leans down, his body blanketing mine, so warm, so wide, so impossibly strong. Then he’s kissing me again, drowning out the need for him to move as he sets a new demand with his mouth, and as soon as our pace is set, a rhythm of teeth, tongues, and lips, he moves, and I forget how to kiss, how to breathe, how to exist as he slides out and then presses back inside of me.

I forget about scores as he moves above me, every move smooth and deep, filling me in a way I never imagined possible. I wish for a second orgasm, and in the same breath, pray it doesn’t come so he never stops.

His breath mixes with mine, his blue eyes dancing above mine, reading my every gasp and moan.

“Harder,” I say.

That smirk returns to his lips, accepting the challenge as he sits up, gripping the back of my thighs, sinking deeper inside of me, and then he moves faster and harder, each thrust slapping our bodies together.

His gaze is on our bodies, his grip firm but not tight enough, his movements too measured. Just as I’m about to ask him to go harder again, wanting him to get lost in this with me, wanting him to burn out with me, Grey slides a hand between my legs, and I clench around him.

He makes a sound low in his throat, his movements becoming less measured, more frenetic. And as I do it a second time, his gaze flashes to mine. “Fuck, Mila.”

Our war resumes: my determination to make him lose composure and his will to maintain it.

Sweat beads along my hairline, and his thumb moves over me so damn deliciously I don’t even feel the warning of my orgasm before it shatters me. Then Grey pumps harder still, his movements becoming faster and less controlled before he unravels with a long groan. His chest falls against mine, a mountain of warmth.

My breaths are as uneven and heavy as when we complete our morning conditioning, my entire body sensitive, as the temperature drops and I sink a little deeper into the bed, a sense of satisfaction radiating all the way to my toes and fingertips.

Grey slowly slides out of me, and I open my eyes to find him already staring at me.

My arms feel weak as I scoot myself over, making room for him to lie beside me, and I’m a little surprised when he does, his hair disheveled and eyes gleaming brighter than I’ve ever seen them.

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