Hook Up: A Fake Dating, Brother’s Best Friend Romance

For once, I’m ahead of schedule.

Let me rephrase. I’m always on time. The airlines? Not so much.

But the universal forces seems to align, ensuring I make it to Ryder’s side before the race. I know my husband is desperate for me to join him, even texting me the name of the hotel where he’ll spend the weekend.

That was all I needed to solidify my decision to hop on a plane and surprise Ryder.

I’m shocked the man didn’t see through my flimsy fib, but he’s also got his mind on a million different things. Not the least of which is our recent marriage, even if the world doesn’t yet know who snagged the king of racing.

Glancing down at the band on my finger, I smile. I know who snagged Ryder Gray, and I’m sure as hell not giving him up.

I’ll admit that doubt did rear its ugly head several times during our separation. Part of me worried he would change his mind, wanting to walk out of the whirlwind courtship as quickly as he walked in. It didn’t help to learn he wasn’t wearing his ring nor disclosing his newly minted marital status.

Then there are the articles, not the ones about Ryder’s mystery wife, but ones about his supposed reconciliation with Mandi.

Tabloids are the stuff of fairytales, right? But if they got the marriage rumor right, how far off are they about the ex-girlfriend one?

These are the thoughts vying for position in my brain, yet another reason I had to get my ass to Charlotte. I know once I see Ryder and he wraps his arms around me, that all will be right with the world.

Besides, I’m likely overreacting because I have zero experience in this celebrity arena. No one ever put anything about my life into print. Hell, it was never noteworthy enough for that nonsense. But Ryder? He drives down the street and the world clamors about, eager for a glimpse into his private life.

My husband swore his daily life is normal, even if life during the circuit is anything but. At least he’s accident free and now, he has Greg on his crew. My brother would sooner die than let his friend down.

With a sigh, I release any niggling doubts as I pop out of the cab in front of the luxurious Charlotte hotel. Talk about swanky. No wonder the team doesn’t mind spending a few nights here. It’s practically palatial.

My phone buzzes in my purse. Another message from Mr. Givens. That makes the third one today, all equally cryptic but claiming that we need to sit down and talk as soon as possible. All I know is Mr. Givens works for Ryder in some capacity. Beyond that, it’s a mystery.

Ryder also left me a message, telling me he has a plan for us. One I will want to know about immediately.

Knowing my man’s romantic inclinations, it’s likely some post-race soiree, celebrating his win and our marriage.

One thing I know for certain. After two weeks without him, I know being with Ryder is the right choice. The only choice. To hell with preconceived notions.

My heart wins.

I duck into the lobby bathroom to change into a sexy slip of a dress and apply fresh lipstick. I’m no fool. Ryder has his pick of women, but I’m going to drive home the point that he made the best choice, and a dress that hugs all my assets is just the ticket. Besides, the look on his face as his eyes travel the length of my body—I’m hot just envisioning it. It’s been two weeks since the best sex of my life, and I’m ready for another helping.

Here’s hoping Ryder doesn’t have some weird belief about no sex before a race. I’ve heard stranger things before.

Ryder left his suite number and the code word to get me past the front desk staff, but I’m coy when they inquire who I am, claiming to be an old friend. It’s true. We are old friends, along with being the hottest lovers on the planet. But these people don’t need to know that bit of information. Unfortunately, he isn’t answering the phone in his suite, so I flash the clerk a smile and head for the hotel lounge.

A glass of wine will do wonders to soothe my nerves while I track down my husband. Dialing his cell phone, I hear his phone ringing from inside the bar.

Isn’t that a bit of luck?

Glancing to my left, my heart sinks.

Looks like my luck ran out.

So much for tabloids being bullshit.

Not ten feet away sits Ryder, his hands grasping Mandi across the table. With trembling fingers, I dial his number again, desperate to witness his reaction. Maybe it’s that I don’t want to believe what I’m seeing, or perhaps it’s some leftover masochism from my youth, but I can’t leave without knowing.

My heart shatters when he gives the phone a quick glance before silencing the call and returning to his conversation.

This is what it feels like for someone to make a complete fool of you. It was gut-wrenching to watch my mother endure this treatment. To be on the receiving end is far, far worse.

Breathing is increasingly difficult with each passing moment, but I jerk when the bartender inquires about my drink order. “Nothing, thank you,” I manage before dashing toward the front entrance, my suitcase wobbling precariously behind me.

So much for surprising Ryder. I guess he figured since I wouldn’t be arriving until Monday that he was free to do as he pleased. With whomever he pleased.

My phone rings and I answer it without looking. “Hello?”

“Ms. Hammond, this is Mr. Givens. I’ve been trying to reach you.”

“Who are you?” I snap, in no mood to beat around the bush, especially where Ryder Gray is concerned.

“Mr. Gray’s attorney.”

I’ve heard enough. “I can’t talk right now. I’ll call you later.” It’s all I can manage, the tears bouncing off my phone’s screen.

Suddenly, it all makes sense. His lawyer, desperate to speak with me. Ryder refusing to acknowledge our nuptials or wear his ring. The articles detailing Mandi and Ryder’s reconciliation all culminating in what I just witnessed in the lobby restaurant.

Ryder didn’t miss me. He needed me in Charlotte to discuss a quick annulment, softened by a cash payout, no doubt, if I go away quietly.

This is the stuff of television reality shows, only this time, it is my reality.

My terrible reality.

Thankfully, the valet is able to have a cab by the entrance within moments, and I hop into the back. My destination? The airport.

Less than ten minutes later, my phone rings.

Ryder.

How quaint. He must have decided it’s bad form to ignore your wife, even if you only plan on keeping her on the docket for another few days.

I silence his call, but he phones again. Likely Mr. Givens told him about my frantic state and he’s hoping to smooth over this mess.

To think I thought he was different from all the other men. What a fool I am. He dangled the idea of true love in front of me and, like a fish with a shiny lure, I jumped at the chance.

I knew better, but I did it anyway. This is absolutely the last time I believe anyone with a penis.

By the fourth call, I realize he isn’t taking silence for an answer. “Hello, Ryder.” Funny how calm my voice sounds, considering the tempest brewing in my heart.

“Hey, beautiful. Sorry I missed your call. I was in the shower.”

Liar, liar. I chew my lip, uncertain how to proceed. I want to scream at him, rail at his myriad of lies, and demand answers. Hear him admit the wicked truth and force him to explain why he would want to hurt me, of all the people in his life.

But what’s the point? I got my answer, in no uncertain terms. I saw it with my own eyes. His additional fibs are just icing on the proverbial cake.

So, as I’ve done since I turned eighteen and my father destroyed my family, I slip on my mask, presenting a strong front to the world. Besides, Ryder doesn’t deserve my tears. “How was qualifying?”

“Finished first,” he boasts, and I picture his arrogant ass strutting around his suite like a peacock. Likely strutting around for Mandi’s benefit as well.

I did not need that visual.

“Of course you did. Ryder Gray never loses.”

“I won with you. So, is my cheerleader going to be here tomorrow, rooting me on?”

I almost inquire to which woman he is referring, but I bite my tongue. “Please be careful. I worry about your safety. I worry about you.” My words are the truth. Despite everything, he’s someone I’ve known the majority of my life. My brother’s best friend. A man who thinks a car moving over 200 mph around a track is the definition of excitement.

What the hell was I thinking? Talk about opposites.

“I’ll be fine. I’ve got an angel protecting me now.”

Swallowing back the nausea, I pass the driver some cash as he pulls up to the airport terminal. I need to end this call, and fast, before Ryder realizes where I am. “Get some rest. I have to get back to work.”

“You’re still on Long Island?” His voice reeks of disappointment, but I know it’s all a front.

“I am, but I’m trying to get there. Don’t lose hope.” It’s a lie. I lost hope almost an hour ago.

Why don’t I admit I’m in Charlotte? Because then he’ll spend the night embroiled in a row with me, which is stupid, pointless, and highly unsafe. Regardless of if he gets ten hours or ten minutes of sleep, Ryder will race tomorrow.

I refuse to be responsible for him being anything less than perfect. We will talk, but not now. Right now, I’m a ball of emotions and none of them are pretty. Give me a day or two, and I’ll be back to my rational self. My heartbroken, never trust a man again, rational self.

Then, I’ll let him have it with both barrels.

“I wanted to discuss something with you before the race, but… I didn’t want to do it over the phone.”

Of course not. Divorce is such a sticky topic. Much better suited for an in-person discussion.

“Will it keep? Can it wait until I’m there?”

“Sure. Just know that I have plans for us, Gigi. Big plans.”

I’ll be he does.

Swallowing back tears and forcing a smile for the aggravated cab driver, I push open the door, blasted by the cacophony of noise. “Good luck tomorrow. I’ll see you soon, Ryder.”

“Not if I see you first—”

I click off before he can finish his sentiment, and immediately regret my decision. I didn’t tell him I loved him or that I cared. Even though I know what he did, I hate the idea of him racing without that knowledge. Something about working around life and death every day that sinks into your soul. You never know when the last time will be the last time and you’d better let people know how you feel.

Even if they don’t feel the same.

I dial his number again, struggling with my suitcase as I head for the ticket counter.

“You hung up.”

“The call got disconnected. I love you, Ryder. Promise me you’ll be safe.”

“I promise. Thank you. I needed to hear that.”

Blinking back tears, I end the call.

I know this is the last time I’ll see Ryder, save for any dates with his lawyer, but at least he’ll know what was in my heart.

It’s all I ever had to give him, but apparently, it wasn’t enough.

Not by a long shot.

I peel my eyes open as the sun streams through my blinds, a headache blasting through my skull.

I rarely drink—a glass of wine here or there—but any plans for sobriety flew out the window last night, after discovering Ryder with Mandi.

To top off an already banner evening, there weren’t any available seats back to New York, so here I am, in a somewhat seedy motel, a bottle of vodka by my side with a quarter of the contents missing.

No wonder my damn head feels like it’s going to explode.

Unfortunately, I have to get my ass up and moving. I snagged a flight back to Long Island this afternoon, and at the rate I’m going, it will take until boarding for me to feel human again.

Never mind my aching heart. I’ll deal with her later… or not at all, as is my modus operandi.

Stumbling into the shower, I scald my body into submission, before sucking down a cup of coffee that ranks right up there with hospital brew.

But I barely taste the acrid liquid, my eyes instead glued to the television set. It’s almost race time, and the crowd is gearing up to cheer on their favorite hometown hero. When the cameras scan the packed stands, I wonder if Mandi is there, rooting for her man.

He doesn’t need me as a cheerleader, he’s got her. Besides, I’m far more tempted to shove a pom-pom up his ass than wish him well at this point. Nothing too severe, perhaps a case of noxious gas to liven up his rekindled romance with Mandi.

My thoughts drift back to our weekend in Vegas when Ryder first proposed this cockamamie idea. He needed the good press, or so he claimed. Seems the truth was, he wanted to spark Mandi’s jealousy.

In that regard, I suppose I served my purpose. A few well-placed articles about Ryder with another woman and his ex is eating out of the palm of his hand.

Could he have hired the paparazzi to stand outside that restaurant? Was that why he kissed me so openly? The events muddle together, and I can’t make truth of any of them, save one.

My deal with Ryder ended the moment Mandi walked back into his life.

I still don’t know why he asked me to marry him. I wasn’t going to pressure him into any sort of commitment. Not my style. I expected we would go our separate ways once our sojourn to Barbados ended. Instead, he dropped to one knee and asked me to spend my life with him. Have a ton of babies with him. Be with him.

Me, being the lovesick fool, saw hearts and rainbows and screamed yes. For me, it was the greatest moment of my life. For Ryder, it was a well-executed plan, knowing that if him being with another woman raised Mandi’s ire, him marrying one would send her into a tailspin.

Finding out the marriage wasn’t real has certainly sent me into one.

What other reason could he have? Obviously not love, as evidenced by his recent rendezvous with Mandi.

So, instead of a few fond memories of incredible sex on a tropical island, I now get to finagle a deal with his lawyer to earn back my independence.

This is why I never fall in love.

Love stinks.

One thing is for certain, his rich ass is footing the bill for any legal costs related to this annulment. I’ve wasted enough time and tears on the man.

A tear slides down my cheek, cutting through my emotional armor and revealing the caustic pain simmering under the surface. I hate what he did to me—the mind games, making me believe in him, making me believe in love. But what I hate most is how real it felt. Every look, every touch, felt genuine.

I’ve never met a man like that. A talented player in every sense of the word, both on and off the track.

With a grunt, I turn off the television. No point in watching the race, watching his beautiful, lying face light up when he wins yet again.

I have my own business to attend to—namely to finish packing and then beg my boss to take me back in that hellhole of a position I was so overjoyed to escape. I loved the patients but the mismanagement of the clinic made working there like the seventh level of hell, and that was on a good day.

Then I get the added fun of finding a place to live since I sublet my apartment to a friend’s cousin for the remainder of my lease.

Add another line on my to-do list.

The throbbing in my brain refuses to back down, so I fill the tub and soak for an hour, desperate to get warm. Desperate to feel anything but this gnawing in the pit of my stomach that reminds me how my world is upside down, and it’s all my fault. Ryder may be an asshole, but I believed him.

That’s on me.

When there are no more tears to cry, I hoist myself from the tub, staring at my reflection and looking for answers that aren’t going to come. My reflection thinks I’m a blooming idiot, too.

Time to head for the airport and back to my reality, or whatever term we want to use for this funhouse of nightmares. My phone rings, and I grab it, fully expecting yet another call from Mr. Givens.

It isn’t Mr. Givens. It’s Greg, and he’s called twenty times.

That means one of two things, possibly both. Ryder won the race and Greg is gearing up for one hell of a celebration tonight, or my brother has learned of my brief marriage and impending annulment all in one fell swoop.

No doubt he’ll have some choice words for us both once that debacle hits the airwaves.

Dialing my brother, I fall back on the mattress, a loud whoosh sliding from my lips.

Greg answers on the first ring. “Gigi, where are you? I’ve been calling for an hour.”

I’ve heard my brother upset before, but there’s something in his tone that strikes fear into my heart. “Why? What’s wrong?”

“You don’t know? Gigi, where are you? You need to get to Charlotte. Now.”

“I’m in Charlotte.”

“Get to St. Luke Hospital immediately.”

I bolt upright, my blood pounding in my ears. “Are you okay? What happened?”

My brother’s sobs break through my hangover haze. “Don’t turn on the television, Gigi. Ryder has been in an accident.”