8. Elodie

ELODIE

A fter being poor for the last many years, I thought I’d love the luxury in Evren Kaya’s mansion in Skyrise City. And sure, it’s extraordinary, but also intimidating.

The high-tech features throughout are impressive. Apparently, every room is climate controlled for humidity, temperature, and scent. How do you even set that up? How does it work? Because the lemon scent in the living room reminds me of my mom’s lemon crinkle cookies.

I should’ve made those instead of the chai ones Hunter’s carrying for me. I baked too many, hundreds too many, but there are hundreds of people here and I couldn’t show up empty-handed. That’s just bad manners.

It also helps that baking is a stress reliever for me. Well, baking and running are, but bootcamp’s ruined running. Over the past couple days, I’ve been focusing on baking the cookies in preparation for today, all to avoid thinking about my first show that’s in less than a week. I’m petrified, or whatever word would be a billion times worse than petrified. That’s what I’m feeling.

I try to grab the massive tray of cookies from Hunter, but he pulls them away from me. He’s been carrying them for me since he saw me wince while walking down the stairs of Stella’s private plane. I lied and said the tray was heavy, but really my body hates me. Bootcamp is still hell. Not on the level of passing-out hell since Stella talked to Rachel, but still brutal. I don’t think I’ll be able to walk normally ever again. My feet are full of blisters, and my body is a ball of pain. Stella must be an Olympian to do what she does, and no matter how hopeful I am, I fear I’m going to pass out or throw up in the middle of her show.

“You’re not carrying it,” Hunter insists. “We’ve gone over this.”

“Right. You’re my glorified purse and holder of all things.”

“Exactly. I have pockets and you don’t.” He gives me a lazy once-over. From my high ponytail to my lavender, A-line summer dress that hits me at the knees. He brushes his knuckles across my waist. “See?”

“See what?” I tug at the pocket of his sky-blue pants. He looks hot with his white shirt tucked into the waist. “That women’s clothes are misogynistic? ”

“They are,” he agrees. I glance at him in surprise, and he shrugs. “What? Surprised I agree?” I nod and he grins. “I don’t mind being your purse.”

“But Evren is right there.” I try to take the cookies yet again and point toward the man himself near the kitchen with a beer in hand. Everything about him screams money. From his light gray pants to his loafers and white button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up. “Come on, let’s go say hi and impress him.”

“Or, instead, we could go outside and avoid him all together?”

I glance at the backyard that’s not a yard at all but looks more like a summer festival instead of a simple team BBQ. There are multiple rides, bars, food trucks, grills manned by chefs, and a band.

I stare at it in awe, impressed for about two point five seconds before I realize how ridiculous I was to bring cookies. Of course, Evren would have the event catered. What the hell was I thinking? I was being myself and not Stella. Stella would never bring food to a catered event. I need to get rid of these cookies ASAP before I make a fool of myself.

“Actually,” I say, looking around the massive living room. “Good idea. Let’s hide the cookies behind a couch and go outside.”

“What?” Hunter gives me a confused look.

“Is the couch too obvious?” I think on it for a second and nod. “You’re right. Where do you think we should ditch them? In a bush perhaps? ”

“Why would we ditch them? You brought them.”

“Yeah, I did. To a catered event . I don’t know what I was thinking, and now I need your help to get rid of the evidence.” I rock back on my tennis shoes, my anxiety skyrocketing by the second. What if someone comes by and asks questions? Can I pawn them off on Hunter? Pretend like he made them? I should’ve added this as a clause to this fake relationship—that he takes the blame for any stupid things I do.

“They can add these to a table.” Hunter chuckles. “There’s no need to ditch them. I’ll even set one up for you.”

“No, that’s silly. I need to get rid of them.” I glance up and stiffen. “Oh shit. Evren is walking over here right now. The couch! Put them behind the couch!” I whisper-shout.

Hunter takes a step away from me, but not toward the couch. No, he steps toward Evren. What the hell is he doing?

“Stella brought cookies for you,” Hunter says, handing them to Evren. That traitor.

At least he didn’t say I made them, because I’m far too embarrassed to admit that I spent days baking them for a catered event. Nina’s never going to let me live this down when I tell her about this. Mom was wrong; bringing something to a party isn’t the nice thing to do. From now on, I’m going to just show up empty-handed. Raw dog it .

“That’s very kind of you,” Evren says, taking the cookies from Hunter.

I can’t tell if Evren is serious or not, and I think these cookies are going to be the death of me.

A wistful look crosses Evren’s face. “You’re reminding me of my home country.”

“Really?” I ask, surprised he’s not American. He has a little bit of an accent, but not obvious enough to make me question it.

Evren smiles kindly at me and nods. Oh wow, he’s hot when he doesn’t scowl. “In Türkiye we always bring presents or food when we visit someone’s house.”

“You’re Turkish?” Hunter blurts out. I glance at him and give a universal “act cool” look, but he just shrugs and gives me a boyish smile.

“I was born and raised there.”

“Do you miss it?” I ask.

“I do. It’s a beautiful country. But my businesses and home are in America.” He sighs, as if saddened by that fact. “I’ll be sure to put these out for everyone to taste. Please grab a drink and enjoy yourselves.”

“Thank you, sir,” Hunter says, placing his hand on my lower back and guiding me outside where a bar is set up. “Those must be some magical cookies,” he whispers to me. “I can’t believe you got Evren to open up.”

“Just doing my job. Team FD for the win.”

“Yeah, team FD.” Hunter gives me a strange look before handing me a beer. “Well, I can’t wait to try your cookies. ”

He says it in a way that makes it clear he doesn’t mean my cookies but my cookie . Oh okay, wow. I’d fan myself if it wouldn’t give away my heated state. He doesn’t break eye contact while he drinks from his bottle. Why is that so hot? Why is he so hot? It’s criminal he’s that good-looking while also being talented.

A group of young kids run by us with popsicles dripping down their wrists and faces painted in an array of butterflies and superheroes. A little boy and girl peel off from the group and make a beeline toward Hunter.

“Hunty,” the little girl says, making grabbing hands for him.

“Up, up, up,” the boy adds.

Hunter glances at me. “Be right back.” He passes me his beer before scooping them up, one in each arm, and runs around like he’s an airplane. Surprise flickers through me as I watch them. He's actually playing with the kids, his hands brushing away their sticky fingerprints without a flinch. Somehow, this clashes with the image of Hunter I've built in my head.

“It’s surprising, right?” a man says to my left. I glance at him. He must be one of the football players on the team just based on his size.

“What is?”

“That Hunter’s actually good with kids. Don’t worry, I was just as shocked as you are.” He laughs. “I’m Quincy, that buffoon’s best friend. ”

“No, I’m his best friend,” another man says in a bright pink T-shirt and navy pants. “I’m Jake.”

“Hunter sounds mighty popular if you’re fighting over best friend rights,” I say, hoping that’s something Stella would say.

They laugh, but it wasn’t funny. They’re probably being polite. Shit, why is this all so hard?

“Should we tell her?” Quincy asks Jake.

“Have you met Hunter?” Jake asks. “Because he’s never going to win a popularity contest in the team.”

“And let me guess.” I look him up and down. “You would?”

“Well, I am the captain.” Jake flashes me a megawatt smile, as if that’ll cement his popularity.

I snort. “I’d give my vote to Quincy over you.”

Quincy grins and Jake gasps in mock outrage. “Why would you do that?”

“You’re too pretty to trust,” I say simply. It’s true. He’s got this all-American thing going on, but there’s no way he’s that nice of a guy. They never are, not in my experience.

“Damn.” Quincy bursts out in laughter. “You’re my hero.”

“I get it now.” Jake surveys me intently. “Why he likes you.”

“Your approval means so much to me,” I say. It should’ve sounded nice, like Stella, but I can’t help the sarcasm that bleeds into it.

Hunter speeds toward us with the kids and deposits them into Quincy’s arms. Quincy kisses each of them before setting them on their feet. The second they’re back on the ground, they take off and join their friends again.

I pass Hunter his beer, and he slides his arm around my waist. His fingers rub my hip as he makes conversation with Quincy and Jake, but I’m too distracted by his touch to pay attention. After a few minutes, other people arrive and pull his friends away into a new conversation. Hunter makes no move to join the new group and instead hangs back.

“You hungry?” I ask.

“Sure.” Hunter grabs my hand and guides us to the nearest food truck. Hot dogs in hand,we set off to explore the grounds.The vibrant energy buzzes around us,but the further we go, the quieterHunter becomes.

He doesn’t greet any of his other teammates, and they also ignore him. I’m not sure what’s going on, especially when Jake and Quincy seem like they’re close to him, so I pull him off to the side and ask, “Are you okay?”

“Sure.”

I grab his hand in mine and lift to my tippy-toes to reach his ear. “Squeeze my hand two times if you need saving.”

“That was for you. I don’t need that.” He removes his hand from mine.

I hold in my flinch. Him pulling away hurts, but he was there for me on the red carpet. I won’t leave him hanging when he’s clearly going through something, even if I don’t have a clue what it is.

I try again. “But a good captain anticipates the needs of the team. Help me out here.”

“Nothing’s wrong,” he snaps.

“Okay, so you’re just pissy for no reason? Ohhhh, wait. I get it. You’re insecure because your teammates are attractive.”

He gives me a dirty look, and I smile wider, begging him to react, to play with me. But he doesn’t take the bait.

“Do you want to hunt down the cookies I brought?” I ask.

He shakes his head. “Not now.”

I frown. Where did the Hunter I’ve come to know go? The one who promised to set up a table just to showcase them? The one who actually seemed to enjoy my company. Because right now? He’s acting like I’m the last person he wants to be around.

Hunter stalks away and I hurry to catch up. He doesn’t hold my hand or touch me in any way. If anyone were to look at us, they’d think we’re in a fight. That’s unacceptable. This is only our second official appearance together as boyfriend and girlfriend, and I can’t have people already doubting our relationship. Not when Jax’s face was priceless on the red carpet when he realized Hunter and I are still together. I might have a vendetta against him after Stella told me he cheated on her. Cheaters can rot in hell, just like my dad.

I grab his hand in mine, trying to act like we’re together, as we continue our loop around the yard. Every attempt to draw him out of his funk results in him shutting me down. What the hell happened between meeting his friends and now?

He grabs another beer for us and chugs his before grabbing another and chugging that.

“Whoa, slow down,” I say. “You drove here.”

“So? We can order a car. Or you can call your bodyguard to get us.”

Okay, that’s it. I’ve had enough of his shit. I drag him into the house, over white marble floors and into a pristine bathroom that smells like the ocean. I slam the door shut, lock it, and whirl on him.

“What’s going on?” I ask.

“Nothing.”

“It’s not nothing. You’re acting like we’re not together and that you hate it here.”

Hunter remains silent, his jaw clenched.

“Who the hell are you?” I ask, leaning against the door.

“What do you mean?”

“What version of Hunter is the real you? You’re fun one minute, protective and caring the next, and now this? What happened? Did I do something to make you mad?”

“No. ”

“Then what’s going on?

“Nothing.”

I sigh and look to the ceiling for help. For the first time, I understand what Rachel might feel like when she talks to me. “Listen, I refuse to be ignored all day. Something’s clearly going on, and if you don’t want to tell me, no problem. You don’t owe me an explanation, but even if you’re acting like an ass, I’m still going to uphold my part of this agreement and help your image by talking you up to your teammates. After that, I’ll call Brian to take me home.”

I grab the lock and begin to turn it when he says, “Wait.” I pause and he says, “My team doesn’t like me. I hate doing events like these since I’m always the outcast.”

I spin around to face him. “But you’re doing it to yourself. You’re ignoring everyone. You’re not even trying to talk to them.”

“You don’t understand,” he grumbles.

“It seems pretty simple to me.”

“They’re ignoring me, too. I tried, during training camp, to get to know them. But they rejected my attempts. There’s no point in getting to know them.”

“How much did you try?”

He remains silent, and I huff out a laugh. “Whether you like it or not, we’re stuck together for the next few months, and I have a job to do here.”

I storm out of the bathroom, and Hunter follows behind me. Silent, looming. There’s a group of wives chatting near the bouncy castle, and I head over to them.

“Go talk to someone else,” I say to Hunter, shooing him away. “Don’t cramp my style.”

Hunter throws me a withering glare before coming to a halt in the no-man's-land between the wives and the boisterous players trash-talking each other.

I ignore him and head over to a woman with beautiful box braids, glowing skin, and a bright orange crop top and multicolor, flowy skirt.

“Hi,” I say, “I’m Stella.”

“Hey, girl,” the woman says with a laugh. “I think we all know who you are. I’m Nora, Quincy’s wife.”

The other women smile kindly and introduce themselves.

“We all had a bet going that Hunter would never settle down,” Nora says. “But I’m glad you were the one to break his no-relationship stance.”

“Thanks. Hunter’s been the best boyfriend.” I glance over at Hunter who’s still at the weird middle ground, alone. I raise my eyebrows and lift my chin toward the group of his teammates. He shakes his head, and I glare at him. He frowns before heaving a sigh and slowly making his way over to his teammates, posture stiff and uncomfortable.

“Damn, girl.” Nora whistles. “What magic do you have to make that happen?”

“Stubbornness?” I joke, still staring at Hunter. He’s actually going to talk to his teammates and listen to me? Why is he trying now? I get pulled into a conversation about the upcoming travel schedule and their kids before I can dissect it further. I make sure to ask the group questions nonstop so that I don’t have to answer anything about myself. Or about Stella. They’re all so sweet and welcoming that it’s easy to be included.

When I finish my drink, Hunter appears at my side. I glance at him, and he runs his hand up and down my arm before kissing me on my cheek. My breath hitches and my heart races like wildfire. It doesn’t mean anything, I know that. He’s playing his part to sell this lie to his team. But my body is reacting too dramatically for my liking.

“Sorry to interrupt,” he says, holding out a plate piled high with cookies on it. My cookies. When did he leave his teammates to get these? “These little gems are the best thing I’ve tasted here. But they’re even more delicious because Stella brought them.”

The women all grab one, and I’m freaking out. I don’t like watching people eat my food and waiting for their reactions. If it wouldn’t be so ridiculous, I’d sprint away from this spot. Or at the least, I’d close my eyes so I don’t have to watch. Sure, baking is a hobby, but somehow, I take it personally if someone doesn’t like my food. And I really don’t want to start holding a grudge against these amazing women I’ve just met if they start trash-talking it and?—

“These are amazing,” Nora says. “You’ve got to share where you bought these from. ”

“It’s a secret,” I say. “But I’m glad you like them.”

“Like? No, I love,” Nora says. “I’ll pry that bakery’s name out of you if it’s the last thing I do.”

I grin and Hunter grabs my hand. “I’m going to steal my girl.” The women all coo over us, and I wave goodbye to them with a smile. If only they knew it was fake.

Hunter stops walking once we’re under the Ferris wheel. “I’m sorry. About earlier. I was a dick.”

“You were.”

“Can you forgive me?” he asks, grabbing both my hands in his.

“Fine, but only if you approach more of your teammates with a plate of cookies.”

He grimaces. “Is that your asking price?”

“It is.”

“I accept,” he says, “but you’re coming with me.”

“Oh, no. I’m good right here.”

“Don’t make me throw you over my shoulder.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

His eyes spark with mischief. “You sure about that?”

“Very,” I lie, sprinting to the front of the line and regretting that decision when every muscle in my body spasms in pain. Fucking bootcamp. I cut in front of a man who I’m ninety-nine percent sure is Hunter’s coach. “Sorry to cut, but I’m avoiding a situation.”

The coach laughs and waves me forward when he spots Hunter chasing after me. I hop into the newly emptied Ferris wheel cart and bounce in my seat, needing the door to close faster than it is so I can get into the air. Hunter wraps a hand around the handle, stopping the worker from doing their job, and dives inside just before the door shuts.

“Think you’d get away so easily?” he asks.

“Yeah, though I’m not sure why I thought I’d be able to outrun a fucking athlete. Do you have to be so fast?”

“Yes.” Hunter laughs. “Yes, I do.”

Our cart rises higher in the air, and we have the perfect view of the party below. All the people milling about, laughing and chatting and having a great time. I spot Evren on the threshold of his living room, not joining the party but just watching everyone else enjoy it.

“It’s beautiful up here,” I say.

“It is.”

I glance at Hunter and he’s staring at me. I nudge him with my shoulder. “You did not just say that. That’s so cliché.”

“But it’s a good line.”

“I don’t need a line. You already have me for the next few months.”

Hunter places his arm around my shoulders, pulling me into his side. “You still deserve to be told how beautiful you are regularly.”

“Then by all means, please continue. But I don’t want to hear about my looks. I want something different.”

“Hungry for a compliment, are we?” He says it like a joke, but I can’t help but stiffen. He’s hit far too close to the truth than I’m comfortable with. In my real life, it’s not like I get complimented regularly on anything. It’s just complaints, highlighting how incapable I am to work multiple jobs and keep my life together. So yes, I’m compliment starved as Elodie, but I shouldn’t be as Stella. “Well, add that to my job description. I’ll make sure to tell you something I like about you regularly.”

“Okay, what about today?” I ask. “What’s my compliment?”

“I love your voice.”

“My voice? Like my singing voice?”

“Nope,” he says. “Your talking voice. It’s husky and sexy as fuck. Makes me hard every time I hear it.”

“Even now?” I ask, checking out his package yet again. And yup, he’s hard.

“Especially now,” he says, readjusting himself.

“Never thought I’d say this.” I look him in the eyes. “But I miss your jeggings.”

“And why’s that?”

“Because now I’m even more curious what happens if you sport a boner in them.”

“You’re awfully curious about my dick.”

True. One thousand percent true. And I don’t mind owning that.

“Is that a problem?” I ask.

“Never.” He turns my face to his with a hand on my jaw. Our gazes lock and hold. His chocolate eyes dance with mirth, but the longer we stare at one another, the mirth disappears and what replaces it causes an inferno to build inside me. Intensity. Passion. Fun.

Oh no, no, no, no.

I shouldn’t look him in the eye. It’s like he’s a pussy charmer, and the longer I look at him, the more I think about kissing him for real and not just for show. The kiss on the red carpet was an accident. I was so overcome with emotion after he told off the paparazzi that I couldn’t stop myself from kissing him. Nina’s the only other person who’s ever stood up for me and I wasn’t prepared for the onslaught of emotions while he defended me.

The kiss was a mistake, one I can’t help but replay constantly. It wasn’t just his exceptional skill in that department, but the way he held me close when he dipped me. For a split second, it felt like he’d never let me go. The memory of it makes me want a repeat. If only to double-check if it’s as good as I remember, or if I embellished it because I’m so kiss starved.

A voice in the back of my head screams at me to stop that line of thinking. It tries to remind me that he’s a football player and that we don’t go for men like that. But that voice must be talking to a wall, because my body? She doesn’t get the message. I lean further into his hand, and he inches closer.

We’re so close our noses almost touch.

He asks, “Are you?—”

“All right, lovebirds.” Our cart stops and the worker opens the door for us. “Time to get off. ”

Hunter glares at him. “I’ll pay you a thousand dollars to keep us in here.”

The worker’s eyes go comically wide, but then Hunter’s coach yells from the cart behind us, “Get out and give the kids a turn, Holt.”

“Yes, Coach,” Hunter mutters and I laugh.

When we’re back on the grass, Hunter grabs my hand and leads me…somewhere?

“Where are we going?” I ask.

“To get those cookies of yours and talk to my team members.”

“I forgive you.” I dig my heels into the grass. “There’s no need to do this.”

He gives me a long look. “Are you embarrassed?”

“Of fucking course, I am. I brought food to a catered event.”

“That just makes you charming.” He flashes me a delightful grin. “Don’t worry, you can squeeze my hand twice if you need a save.”

“Oh? So, we’re back to that, are we? Fine, I’ll only come if you use the hand thing on me too.”

“You want the hand thing too?” Hunter gives me a filthy smirk that reminds me of sweaty, rough sex. “Anytime, anywhere.”