Blindsided: Fake Boyfriend Book 4 Read online

  Blindsided

  Fake Boyfriend Book 4

  Eden Finley

  Blindsided Copyright © 2019 by Eden Finley

  Cover Illustration Copyright ©

  Kellie Dennis at Book Cover By Design

  www.bookcoverbydesign.co.uk

  Edited by Deb Nemeth

  http://www.deborahnemeth.com/

  Copy-edited by Kelly Hartigan @ Xterraweb

  http://editing.xterraweb.com/

  All rights reserved.

  This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher.

  For information regarding permission, write to:

  Eden Finley - permissions - [email protected]

  Contents

  DEAR READER

  Disclaimers/Trademarks

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Thank you!

  Also by Eden Finley

  Acknowledgments

  DEAR READER

  This book belongs to the Fake Boyfriend universe but does not contain a Fake Boyfriend trope.

  I’ve spoken publicly about Talon and Miller’s origin—in which they weren’t supposed to exist. This book isn’t supposed to exist. But Talon was one of those characters who wouldn’t take no for an answer, and he decided to drag Miller into it too. So here we are.

  Instead of forcing a trope on them that I had no plans for, I let these boys lead their story.

  Those of you who have read Trick Play will know Talon and Miller’s backstory. They sleep with women. They share women. No scenes are graphic in this book, but I wanted to stay true to their bisexuality, because these guys really like boobs. As they should. Boobs are great.

  Side note: Tom Brady exists in this universe, but Talon has played for New England for the last six years, so I like to think of Tom Brady as retired in this fictional world. (Even as an Aussie, I know who Mr. Bündchen is.)

  Disclaimers/Trademarks

  This is a work of fiction. Sports Illustrated is used in a completely fictitious manner. NFL team names—like the Warriors—are completely made up. The views in this book in no way reflect the views and principles of the NFL or any of their real teams.

  Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Chapter One

  TALON

  NINE YEARS AGO

  “Drink up, rook.” I hold a red Solo cup out to Shane Miller, the brick shithouse who’s gonna protect my ass on the field this year.

  He stares me down with his big brown eyes before taking the drink. “You’re the type of guy my mom warned me to stay away from. Peer pressure’s a real thing, you know.”

  “Momma’s boy, huh?”

  Miller snorts and chugs the entire beer. “Nope. If Mom knew the truth, she’d be warning me to stay away from myself. That was like my sixth drink tonight.”

  I laugh and clap him on his shoulder. “You and I are gonna get along just fine.” I’ve had about that, if not more. I lost count after three.

  One could argue it’s because football players can’t even count past that, but it’s actually because I don’t give a shit how many drinks go down my throat.

  I was there when Coach was reviewing tapes of this guy, and it’s no wonder he’s on the starting offensive line when he’s only a freshman. Miller’s as wide as he is tall, and he’s only eighteen years old.

  “What you in the mood for?” I gesture to the sea of people crammed in my house. “Brunette?” I point to a scantily clad junior who walks by giving us both a wide smile. “Redhead?” I nod toward the sardine-canned living room that’s the makeshift dance floor.

  Six of us from the team are renting this off-campus house for this reason—parties and drinking without anyone from the school breathing down our necks.

  “Blonde,” Miller says, his eyes lighting up at the girl approaching us.

  “Sorry, man, that one’s taken tonight.”

  She’s technically my date, but everyone knows that term is used loosely with me. It’s not really a date if I didn’t go pick her up and we didn’t arrive together, seeing as I live here.

  Nikki sidles up to me, and I wrap my arm around her shoulder. “Nikki, this is Miller. Miller, Nikki.”

  I don’t miss the way Nikki eyes Miller, her gaze dragging over him from his short dark hair to his large chest and then narrow waist. Most guys would hate that—their date checking out someone else—but me? I find it hot for reasons I can’t explain.

  I’ve never found a reason to be jealous. There’s no point. I’ve never been the jealous type, not just with dates but even girlfriends.

  Nikki leans in and whispers in my ear. “Ready to go up to your room?”

  Impatient much? I turn and kiss her cheek. “Soon. I’m just gonna talk to my boy Miller for a bit longer.”

  Miller’s eyebrows shoot up as if surprised I’m choosing him over a hookup. We’re teammates—that bond can’t be broken. He’ll learn that. I’ve decided I’m taking Miller under my wing.

  “I’m gonna go dance then,” Nikki says, and her arched, perfectly shaped eyebrow is as good as a threat. If she gets a better offer out there, she’s gonna take it.

  “Have fun,” I say.

  Again, not jealous. If she finds someone she wants to hook up with, then she should. This is fucking college. No time for drama, bullshit, or serious relationships.

  When she saunters away, Miller nudges me.

  “Dude, when a girl who looks like that asks you upstairs, you go upstairs.”

  I huff a laugh. “You’ll soon learn there are plenty more books in the library.”

  He narrows his eyes. “Isn’t the saying there’s plenty more fish in the sea?”

  “I don’t like that analogy. Like, if you go fishing and you catch a fish, you don’t say ‘I think this will taste gross’ and throw it back. Doesn’t that phrase actually mean that you take the fish home, cook it, eat it, think it’s gross, and then throw it out? So, really, that’s like saying if it doesn’t work out with someone you should kill them. Homicide is not sexy. Books, on the other hand … you borrow from a library until you find the book you love, and then you keep it. The library won’t let you borrow more books until you return it, but you never return it because you’ll never need any other book.”

  Miller looks confused. “You’re fucked up.”

  I grin. “Thanks.”

  “It actually means if a fish gets away there’s plenty more to catch.”

  I love that Miller doesn’t take the shit spewing out of my mouth as gospel like other guys do. It’s the athlete effect, and sometimes I push boundaries to see just how much I can get away with. “Well, do women really like being compared to fish? I mean … you know
…”

  Miller doesn’t take the bait—pun totally intended. “I’m getting another drink. You want?”

  “Thanks.”

  I watch him as he walks away, and it’s not only girls who turn their heads to stare after him but the guys as well. His presence is demanding. Being a six-five giant probably has a lot to do with that.

  When he returns with two beers, he smiles as he hands me mine. “So, what’s your plan? NFL, I’m guessing.”

  “Fuck, yeah. Same for you?”

  Miller shrugs. “I guess. I dunno if I’m good enough.”

  “Are you kidding? I’ve watched some of your high school games. You’re a force to be reckoned with. You can totally go all the way.”

  Surprise and hope shine in his eyes. “You think so?”

  Knowing the chances of the NFL for any of us is small, I should tell him to make sure he gets his degree for a backup first, but I dunno what it is about this guy. It’s like when I’m on the field; I have this sixth sense about the game. My gut tells me what plays will work and who to throw the ball to. And even though I only met Miller a few days ago, I know he’s gonna make it.

  I hold up my drink for him to cheers. “Definitely. You and me. Future Super Bowl winners. I can see it now.”

  Arms wrap around me from behind. Nikki’s back.

  I cut her off at the pass. “We can go up soon. We need to hook Miller up first, or he’ll want to watch.”

  It’s a total joke. At least, I mean it that way until I see interest flare in Miller’s eyes. I turn to Nikki, expecting to be slapped or at least scolded. Nope. She’s staring at Miller the same way he is at us.

  She shrugs. “I’m cool with that.”

  I think both Miller’s and my mouths drop open. Was totally not expecting her to agree.

  Nikki takes my hand and then Miller’s and leads the charge upstairs. I’m sure people are probably watching us, and perhaps I should care about that, but I really don’t. The thought of having sex while someone else is in the room turns my crank like nothing ever has, and it’s not until right this second that I’m learning that about myself.

  I’m hard before we even reach my room.

  Nikki goes in first, already stripping her skintight tank top off and lowering her miniskirt so she’s only standing in her heels and underwear.

  “Holy shit,” Miller mutters behind me and closes the door fast.

  “Thanks.” She chuckles.

  My room is a shoebox, so Miller brushes by me to get to my tiny study desk and chair in the corner. For some reason, that small contact makes every nerve ending along my skin come to life.

  I fumble my way through getting undressed. The button on my jeans doesn’t cooperate, and my T-shirt gets stuck when I try to lift it over my head.

  If the other two notice, they don’t mention it.

  I can’t help the way my gaze finds Miller’s. His pants are unzipped, his hard dick trying to break through the confines of his underwear.

  Miller watching Nikki and me and getting himself off at the same time makes me feel like a god.

  Who knew voyeurism was so hot?

  I’ve never been so worked up, so hard, or so ready to explode. It’s probably the fastest I’ve ever come inside someone since losing my virginity, and when I do, I come with my eyes locked on Miller’s.

  He may not know it yet, but what I said earlier was true. We’re gonna get along just fine. I can totally see us becoming the best of friends. And with the way he comes all over his hand, I’d say we’re on the same page in knowing this is so going to happen again.

  Chapter Two

  MILLER

  NOW

  Shit. It happened again.

  My mouth is dryer than if I’d swallowed cotton balls covered in sand, and the tiny drummer in my head pounds against my skull as if playing Van Halen’s “Hot for Teacher.”

  I roll over to a sight I’ve woken up to many times before, but it’s been six years since I last fell into bed with Talon and some random girl. Or in this case, two random girls.

  The room smells like sex and cheap citrusy perfume.

  This was a common occurrence back in the day, but I thought we were past it all—the reckless college phase. When I found out at the end of last season that Talon had signed with the Warriors, the last thing on my mind was going back to our old patterns. I was solely focused on football and how great being on a team with him again was going to be.

  Maybe that was my survival instincts kicking in.

  He was drafted to New England after he graduated USC the year ahead of me. I got thrown around from practice team to practice team the first two years after being drafted and eventually got picked up by the Warriors three seasons ago. Because we’ve been in different conferences, I’ve barely seen Talon since he graduated. Our contact has consisted of trash talking each other on Twitter and a vague friendship on Facebook.

  Now he’s permanently back in my life, and it’s as if he never left.

  And that’s why I’m one hundred percent fucked.

  Because instead of looking at either woman squished against us, my gaze gets stuck on hard muscles, an unshaven square jaw, and blond hair that’s short enough to run my hands through but still grip onto if I—

  Nope. Don’t go there, Miller.

  Never. Going. To. Happen.

  Talon may be open to sharing chicks, but there has always been the strict rule that it’s about them. Me and him, we don’t touch. His hands stay firmly on whoever we’re with, and I make sure I keep mine as far away from him as possible. Because if he knew the things going on in my head while we were together, there’s no way he’d ask me back to his place ever again.

  Hell, if he could know what I’m thinking right now, he’d kick me out of his house buck naked.

  The petite body of the blonde woman moves against me as my hard-on for my old best friend digs into her back.

  “Mmm, someone’s ready to go again,” she says, and there’s a smile in her voice.

  Talon’s blue eyes lazily open and lock with mine while a hot-as-hell smirk spreads across his face.

  There’s no way I can go another round without screwing up our entire friendship. Last night was a mistake. Alcohol and college crushes should never mix.

  I pull on my earlobe—our universal sign for party’s over—and Talon gives me the nod.

  “Sorry, girls,” he says and stretches. The stretch turns into reaching and bringing them both against him, freeing me to get up. “We have an early practice.”

  That’s a lie. The season hasn’t started yet, but the girls don’t notice. Most jersey chasers don’t know the schedule unless they’re the full-on stalker type, but neither woman was interested in actual football talk last night.

  A half-assed wave goodbye is all I can manage before I trudge into Talon’s bathroom and get in the shower. The three of them remain in Talon’s super king bed, which is the size of all of Illinois, and I try not to think about the possibility of them fitting in a quickie.

  I put my head under the spray to drown out any possible noises. If I hear them going at it, I don’t think I’ll have the strength to resist.

  And I need to resist before I become the mess I was when Talon left me the first time.

  Ugh. Talon didn’t leave me. There was nothing to leave. There still isn’t. He’s not … we’re not … Gah!

  This is why our friendship is confusing, and why I haven’t let myself think much about him.

  I’m almost finished in the shower when Talon saunters into the bathroom and pisses in front of me. Does this mansion not have another bathroom?

  It’s easy to see the difference in our pay grades, and that’s just by standing in his bathroom. It’s all legit marble tile with expensive fixtures and fancy shower settings. It matches everything else in the Lincoln Park address.

  “You mind?” I grumble.

  “Nothin’ you haven’t seen before.”

  Truth. After three years of being on the sa
me team in college and rooming together for two of those years, I’ve seen way too much to still be into the guy, but apparently, even unattractive bodily functions won’t turn me off him.

  “Just like old times, right?” Talon grins. “We should’ve made an effort to keep in touch over the years.”

  “Mmm.” I duck my head under the spray again. I won’t get into why I ignored his messages about catching up whenever we happened to be in the same city. He tried, but I always made excuses. In my defense, it wasn’t hard to feign being busy, and Talon understood it. It’s not that I didn’t want to see him. I did. I was ninety percent sure I was over him by the time I was drafted, but I did worry this would happen.

  With one night, I’m back where I was six years ago—pining for something I can’t have.

  “They gone?” I ask.

  “Yep. And get this”—he finishes his business and turns to face me, and I have to look at the roof so my gaze doesn’t fall to his cock—“I asked for their number, and they giggled as if I was joking and left.”

  I chuckle. “Someone’s ego bruised?”

  “I don’t get it. It was fun, right? Who wouldn’t want more of that?”