Release Date: June 27, 2018
Cover Design: Kellie Dennis / Book Cover by Design
Want to know the fastest way to get screwed out of a football career? Get photographed in a compromising position in a gay bar. Yep, welcome to my life.
My agent says he can fix my image. He wants me to become the poster boy for gay football players. Me? I just want back on the field. I’ll do anything to play for the NFL again, even pretend to have a steady boyfriend. If only my fake boyfriend wasn’t Noah Huntington III—the most arrogant, entitled rich guy in the world.
Pretend to be Matt Jackson’s boyfriend, my best friend said. It’ll be fun, he said. What Damon neglected to mention is Matt is surly and bitter. Being his boyfriend is a job in itself. From his paranoia over being constantly photographed to his aversion to PDA, being with Matt isn’t the care-free fake relationship I expected when I signed on to do this.
It’s supposed to be a win-win. I get to stick it to my politician dad who thinks no one is good enough for the Huntington name, and Matt’s reputation of being the bad boy of football dies.
What I don’t expect is to start caring for the guy. That’s not part of the plan. Then again, neither is fooling around with him on my private jet.
The sound of water crashing over the bow reaches our room from the black abyss that is the Atlantic Ocean. Sitting on the small couch in our cabin and drinking a beer is peaceful until Noah opens his mouth.
“We should make out.”
I choke and splutter on my beer. “Why in the hell should we do that?”
“I’m not hitting on you, you jackass.”
“Pretty sure askin’ me to kiss you contradicts that statement.”
“Hear me out. You’re uncomfortable in public, and we don’t know each other. The way to make it look natural is if we are natural. Therefore, if we make out, you’ll loosen up.”
I hate that he has a point, but we can’t cross those lines. “We should make this a purely platonic arrangement so there’s no confusion.”
“There will be no confusion on my part. I understand why you’d be hesitant, because, well, look at me. You’re worried about liking it too much.” Noah gestures to himself, and I force myself not to look.
“Yeah, you’re lucky I haven’t jumped you already.” Even though he does have a great body. Damn him.
“I could goad you into doing it, but I don’t think I have to. You know this is a good idea.”
“It’s really not.”
“Scared you’re going to fall for me?” he taunts. “All the boys do.”
“Fall for your wallet, maybe,” I mumble.
His eyes turn a stormy gray as they narrow, and if looks could kill—
“Fall for you after one kiss?” I scoff. “Not possible.”
It’s not possible after multiple kisses. I reckon I’m incapable of love, because I don’t know what the fuck it is.
Noah moves closer.
“Noah …” I shift on the seat.
“You’re way too uptight. I promise I’m not trying to fuck you. Although, that could definitely be fun.”
A tentative hand skims up my side and around my back.
My body freezes, and if Noah thought I was uptight thirty seconds ago, it’s nothing compared to how tense I am right now.
“We have a photoshoot in two days.” His breath tickles my cheek. “You’re going to have to be relaxed and pretend you like me.”
“So, we can do this then.” My voice cracks and I clear my throat. “I don’t understand the point of it now.”
“Breathe,” Noah says. “And just let me kiss you.”
This is a stupid idea. Really stupid. Even so, there’s a part of me that not only wants it but hopes he has a point, because there’s no way I can pretend to be in love with a guy I don’t know and am nervous around.
“Fine.” I lean forward and put my beer on the coffee table in front of us.
He stares at me dumbfounded, as if he wasn’t expecting me to give in. Maybe this is a game to him. If it is, he’s winning.
That doesn’t stop either of us from moving closer to one another.
My lips inch toward his but before I kiss him, I add in a low voice, “This is an experiment only. A one-time thing.”
“This isn’t going to work, and when it doesn’t, I will gladly rub it in your face every day we have to play this stupid charade.”
Noah laughs, as if he knows I’m trying to convince myself and not him, but I cut him off with my mouth on his. My tongue pushes past his lips, and I refuse to let out the groan that tries to escape when it meets his. Two seconds into the kiss, I know this is a huge mistake.
I ignore the tightening in my pants and the shiver that runs through me as his hand trails down my spine. Then, suddenly, I’m on my back as he pins me to the sofa that’s way too small to fit both of us.
That doesn’t stop us, though.
His cock lines up with mine, and even through two layers of suit pants, I know he’s long and thick.
Shit, don’t think about his dick.
Noah’s lips break away from mine and skim my bearded cheek. “Thought you said you weren’t going to enjoy this.” His breath is warm in my ear.
“I’m not.” Hmm, probably would’ve been more convincing if my voice didn’t crack like a twelve-year-old seeing his first dirty magazine … or in my case a football magazine. Boys in tight pants and pads? It’s no wonder I loved the sport when Dad first forced me to play.
Noah rotates his hips slowly, grinding his hard body against my even harder cock. “Pretty sure this says otherwise.”
“I’m a gay man with a hot guy’s tongue down my throat. It’s simple chemistry. It doesn’t mean anything.”
“You’re wrong. This is anything but simple.” Noah’s mouth comes back down on mine again, and this time, I can’t hold back the moan.
I’m no longer on the ship. I’ve fallen overboard and am drowning in Noah, and I don’t want to come up for air.
“Matt,” he murmurs against my mouth, and his voice may as well have been a bucket of ice.
I push him off me and sit up, straightening my shirt and my composure in the process. “See. Didn’t work.”
I reach for my beer to wash the taste of Noah down.
He wipes his mouth and breaks into a cocky-ass smile. “So you felt nothing, huh?”
“Right.” More beer goes down my throat.
“Keep telling yourself that.”
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About the Author
Eden Finley is an Amazon bestselling author who writes steamy contemporary romances that are full of snark and light-hearted fluff.
She doesn’t take anything too seriously and lives to create an escape from real life for her readers. The ideas always begin with a wackadoodle premise, and she does her best to turn them into romances with heart.
With a short attention span that rivals her five-year-old son’s, she writes multiple different pairings: MM, MMF, and MF.
She’s also an Australian girl and apologises for her Australianisms that sometimes don’t make sense to anyone else.
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