Fake Shot (Boston Rebels Book 2)

Most of my teammates have gone home already. It’s basically just family left at this point, and I glance around, looking for Jules so I can tell her I’m going to walk home. It feels like it would be rude to leave without letting her know since we drove over together, but I don’t want to cut her time with her family short.

She’s standing in the dining room talking to her sister and friends. The late afternoon sun is getting lower on the horizon and shining right through the windows of Drew’s fifth-floor Back Bay condo. Golden light reflects off her skin like she’s being illuminated by a spotlight, her collarbones and the swell of her breasts appear almost bronze. Her ash blond hair is lit up like a halo framing her pretty face, and her blue eyes are more intense. It’s nearly impossible to look away from her.

An entirely unexpected wave of longing pools in my groin and spreads from there, making my stomach flip over and my dick start to harden. It catches me so off guard that I’m rooted to my spot in the living room.

It takes everything I have to remind myself that not only am I not attracted to Jules—who is objectively gorgeous but is like a little sister to me—but I don’t even like blondes. And besides, I wouldn’t do that to my best friend. That’s an unforgivable line I’m never crossing.

I close my eyes while I stand rooted in place, trying to wash away her image and forget the way it felt just now when my eyes landed on her. I need to stop noticing her like this.

But when I open my eyes again, her gaze locks on mine and she’s looking at me with her eyebrows raised. Her lips part and her chest swells—I can’t tell if she’s going to say something or is just taking a breath. Then Morgan turns to her, grabbing her forearm as she speaks, and Jules looks over at her, breaking the moment.

Holy shit, what was that?

I pull at the buttons on my polo, because suddenly the neckline of this shirt feels entirely too tight, but they’re already unbuttoned. So, why does it feel like I can’t quite breathe, then?

I need to get out of here, so I head straight to Jules to say goodbye.

“Hey,” I say as I approach. “I’m going to walk home. I’ll see you later.”

“Wait,” she says, “I need to get going too. I’ll give you a ride.”

“You don’t want to stay and hang out with your family?” I ask, as if putting the suggestion out there will change her mind. I need it to change her mind, because now that she’s only a foot away, that feeling of not being able to breathe is back in full force.

“I have a business dinner I need to get ready for,” she says.

“On a Saturday?”

“Oh my god,” Audrey gasps from the other side of the table. “In all the excitement, I totally forgot about the dinner. Alright.” She exhales with a quick sigh. “I’m sure Drew will be okay with me slipping away for a few hours tonight . . .”

Jules laughs, but it’s a tight, uncomfortable sound that’s nothing like her usual laugh. “You are not going to this dinner, Audrey. You never were. It’s fine, I always knew I was going alone.”

I’m trying to track what they’re talking about and having marginal success.

“You knew this was happening? Is that why you didn’t want to schedule dinner for tonight? Because you knew I wouldn’t be able to come with you?”

Okay, this is making a little more sense. But Jules is tough, so the fact that she doesn’t want to go to this dinner alone has me on edge. There must be a reason.

“It’s fine,” Jules says. “I’m sure he won’t bite.”

“Who won’t bite?” I don’t intend the question to come out like a protective growl, but I guess that’s what happens when you’re trying to get the words out through a clenched jaw. What the hell is wrong with me?

“We were supposed to meet with a potential donor for our nonprofit tonight,” Audrey tells me. “And now Jules is going to have to go alone because obviously . . .” she trails off, her cheeks getting pink.

“Obviously, she needs to stay so she and Drew can celebrate once Graham goes to bed.” Jules snickers, and normally I’d be laughing too, but I’m still focused on how uneasy she seems. The way goosebumps spread across her chest and arms when she said it was fine, and that she was sure this asshole wouldn’t bite.

“Is it a problem . . . you going alone?” I ask, taking half a step closer so I’m standing right next to her.

“No. He just makes me a little uncomfortable.”

My chin tilts down as I look at her, trying to force her to make eye contact so I can get a sense of what she’s feeling, but she doesn’t look up. “And why are you meeting with him on a Saturday night?” I ask again. Most men I know don’t take a woman out on a Saturday night because they want to talk business.

She sweeps her hand through the air. “Something about traveling for work, and this was the first available time when he was back in town.”

“Sounds like a date to me.”

“He probably hopes it is,” Audrey teases.

I don’t think she notices the way Jules tenses up again, but from where I stand, looking down at her, I see the way her shoulder muscles stiffen and her jaw clenches before she relaxes enough to say, “Don’t be ridiculous. It’s a business meeting.”

“Let me know if you need someone to go with you.” My words are quiet, so low I don’t think Audrey can hear them from a few feet away, and Morgan’s already turned and is talking to Lauren and Jameson.

Jules finally glances up at me. “It’s. Fine.” There’s barely any sound as the words leave her lips, and I understand that she’s asking me to drop this. She probably doesn’t want Audrey to feel bad about not going.

I give her a curt nod before saying, “Okay, so you want to head out?”

“Yeah, can you just help me carry what’s left of the food down?”

“Sure,” I say. “I’ll take care of it so you can say goodbye to everyone.” In my experience, the Flynns take freaking forever to say goodbye when they’re leaving a party—they’ve obviously never heard of an “Irish goodbye.” Which is fine, because it will give me a little physical distance and a few minutes to process why I’m so keyed up about Jules going to this dinner.

“You want to help me carry the food?” I ask Jameson as I leave the dining room.

“Sure,” he says, giving Lauren a quick kiss on her forehead before he turns to follow me to the kitchen island that divides the two rooms.

We grab two of the insulated food carriers, and as I trudge down the stairs in front of Jameson, he asks, “So, how’s it going living with Jules?”

The skin on the back of my neck prickles as I pray he isn’t asking because he noticed how I was looking at her a minute ago. “She hasn’t killed me yet, so I think we’re good so far.”

His low rumble of laughter sets me at ease. “She’ll warm up to you being around. Just don’t piss her off.”

“I’ve been pissing her off for over a decade; it’s kind of my thing.”

“Nah, trust me. If you actually pissed her off, you’d know it.”

As we reach the bottom of the first floor, I look over my shoulder and am about to respond to his comment, when we hear Drew’s voice from above us. “Why didn’t you idiots take the elevator?”

“It’s not like we’re carrying furniture,” I say, the sarcasm heavy in my voice. We look up and watch Drew as he comes down a flight of stairs, around the landing on the third floor, and down the next flight of stairs, carrying one of the insulated food bags we must have missed.

“I just thought with your old knees, you might need to take the lift down.”

“The lift? Are you fucking British now?” Jameson says.

I half-listen as they give each other shit while we walk a block over to where Jules parked her truck, but I’m mostly in my own head about why I’m suddenly noticing Jules in a very non-sisterly way. When we get to the truck, I realize that I didn’t get the keys from her. I set the bag on the sidewalk and pull out my phone to call her, but then she’s sidling up next to me, the blue fabric of her sundress flowing around her muscular thighs.

“God, you guys walk fast,” she says, her chest heaving in a way that makes it impossible for me not to notice the swell of her breasts above the low neckline of her dress—again. I glance up quickly and Drew’s smirking at me. He clearly just caught me checking her out, but thankfully, Jameson doesn’t seem to have noticed.

Shit. What the hell is wrong with me? This is not who I am. She’s my best friend’s little sister, for Christ’s sake. Maybe it’s just been too long since I had sex? I wasn’t planning on calling Bambi in response to that text she sent earlier, but . . . maybe I should? Maybe then I wouldn’t be keyed up and noticing Jules like this?

I busy myself loading the bags as she says goodbye to her brother and future brother-in-law, and then we hop into her truck to head home.

Needing some air so I’m not surrounded by her sweet scent—she smells like vanilla or a cupcake or something—I roll down the window. The car is quiet as we drive, both of us seemingly lost in thought, until her phone rings. She glances at the screen briefly, her eyebrows raising when she sees the name Rosie Perot.

“I have to answer this,” she says before accepting the call. “Hey, Rosie! What’s up?”

“I got your text.”

“The one I sent almost a week ago?” Jules teases.

“Yeah, I needed to think about it.”

“And . . .?”

“I think I’m ready to do this. What did you have in mind?” Rosie’s voice is nervous, like she’s trying to be brave, and I’m wondering who this woman is and what the hell is going on.

I listen for a bit as Jules describes filming a video testimonial for the mentoring program she and Audrey started, and how she’s hoping Rosie will share how the mentoring impacted her personally and professionally.

“Do you think . . .” Rosie pauses, and Jules turns the steering wheel, guiding us home as she waits patiently for her to continue. “. . . could we maybe film it from my good side?”

I’m curious what she means about her “good side.” The fact that Jules is quick to agree makes me think it’s something that’s really important to Rosie.

“We can do whatever makes you most comfortable,” Jules says. “Your story is so powerful. You are such a badass and you deserve recognition for everything you’ve been through and the choices you’re making now and how far you’ve come as a result. But I know how hard it’s going to be for you to tell this story, and I want you to know how proud I am that you’re doing this. You’re going to be helping so many other women.”

“I’m doing this to help you,” Rosie says, “so that you can help more people, like you helped me. This testimonial isn’t going to be about me. It’s going to be about you and everything you’ve done to change my life.”

Jules sighs. “I wish you could see how your strength is what got you where you are. I just helped smooth out the path a bit. That’s what the mentoring program is all about.” Her voice has the hoarse quality of someone who’s close to tears.

Even though I knew she and Audrey had started this mentoring program, I didn’t know much about the impact it had until now. By the sound of it, the experience has changed Rosie’s life.

“Well, I was considering dropping out of electrical school before I met you, because I just couldn’t see a place in the industry for myself.” Rosie’s response is full of gratitude as it carries through the speakers in Jules’s truck. “You’re the one who made me believe it was possible. So if you’re uncomfortable being the hero in my story, maybe we shouldn’t record it.”

Jules swallows audibly, as Rosie waits for her reply. And for the first time ever, I realize that maybe Jules isn’t comfortable with people’s attention on her. It makes me wonder if maybe her sassy and sarcastic personality is just a deflection technique that covers up for . . . I don’t even know? Some insecurity?

She’s always taking care of others—helping Audrey raise Graham, cooking for her family, remodeling Lauren’s house as a favor to her brother, even coming to my condo when the adjuster was there so I didn’t get taken to the cleaners with the cost of renovations. I never recognized this side of her before, but it’s so damn clear now, as I listen to the way this woman practically idolizes her for the help she’s provided and how Jules is hesitant for Rosie to talk about that aspect of the program.

“I think we should record it and see how it goes,” Jules says finally. “Just remember that it’s the mentoring program that should be in the spotlight, not me.”

Because I can’t seem to take my eyes off her, I notice the pink creeping into her cheeks.

“Girl, you are the mentoring program,” Rosie insists. “This thing wouldn’t exist without you. Audrey’s incredible, and the women you partner us with on job sites are wonderful . . . but without you? None of this would have happened.”

“It wasn’t even my idea,” Jules insists. “My friend, Morgan, suggested it.”

“Doesn’t matter. You ran with it and built it into what it is, and you deserve recognition for that, too.”

Jules forces another deep swallow, like her throat is thick from being choked up.

“Thanks, babe,” she says. “I’ll be in touch with more details when we’re ready to record.”

They say their goodbyes, and when she disconnects the call, I ask, “Is this the reason you’re going to this dinner tonight? Because more donations will help people like Rosie?”

“Yeah, that and because I told Audrey I would.”

“But if you’re not comfortable around this guy, why go?”

“I’m not uncomfortable around him. He’s just . . .” She sighs. “Have you ever met someone who was so focused on you that they ignored everyone else around you?”

“You just described every woman I’ve ever met.” I’m half-teasing, but also . . . not.

She huffs out a laugh and her hand flies to the base of her throat. “Oh my god, Colt, I can’t breathe. There isn’t enough oxygen in here for me and your ego.”

“My ego’s not the only thing about me that’s huge.” She shakes her head, her eyes staying on the road, but she’s smiling. “Anyway, I do know a thing or two about unwanted attention. Is that what you’re getting from this guy?”

“Sort of? I hated the way he was so focused on me during our conversation that he basically dismissed Audrey, like she wasn’t there or didn’t matter.”

“Did she notice this?”

“I don’t think so. It’s not a big deal. I’m going to go meet with him tonight because it’s important to her that we at least hear what he has to offer. Besides, the food at La Gallina is amazing, so at least I’ll enjoy my dinner, even if it’s a terrible conversation.”

It’s like a rock is sitting on my stomach, pressing it down and making me sick. She’s doing this because it’s what she thinks Audrey needs her to do. I wonder if there’s anything she wouldn’t do for her siblings.

“I don’t think Audrey would want you to go to this meeting if she knew how much you were dreading it.”

“I’m not dreading it,” she says as she pulls into the alley and slips into the parking spot near the back door before turning toward me. Her lips spread across her bright white teeth in a tight smile. “It’ll be fine. So anyway, what are your plans tonight?”

“I’m meeting a friend for drinks,” I tell her, the idea forming in my mind as the words come out of my mouth.

“Oh? Where are you going?” The question is asked like an afterthought as she reaches for the door handle.

“La Gallina.”

She freezes, then looks over at me. “Colt.” My name is spoken like a warning to not get involved. “I don’t need you there to protect me, or whatever ridiculous notion you have in your head right now.”

Like hell she doesn’t. My mom raised me better than to let a woman walk into a situation where she’s clearly not comfortable, without some sort of backup. This is just about protecting her, I assure myself.

“It’s just drinks, Jules. Don’t read too much into it.”