One Week Girlfriend part 1

avoid?”
    “Partying, drinking, girls.” He slides me another look, his features softer, the earlier anger gone. “I don’t like losing control.”
    “Me either,” I whisper.
    He smiles at me and I feel it like a dagger to my softening heart. “Sounds like we might make a good pair after all.”
     
    Drew
     
    The second the words fall out of my mouth, I want to snatch them back. We are definitely not a good pair. She’s the worst sort of girl for me and I know it. It’s why I’m bringing her home. So my dad will think I’ve scored a hot little football groupie who gives it up to me whenever I want and Adele will finally leave me alone.
    Fable really is a team groupie. She’s supposedly banged half the guys this season alone, though I don’t know how accurate the rumors are. This is how I first discovered her existence. A bunch of guys from the team were talking about her when we were at La Salle’s one night right after the semester started. After she took our table’s order, they compared notes and bragged how great in bed she is. One of them even pinched her ass when she walked by, earning a dirty look from her that made them all laugh.
    Her reputation—and her feisty reaction—was my first clue she might make the perfect fake girlfriend. I don’t fool around with any of those girls who hang around the locker room after practice or after a game. I don’t really fool around with anyone. It’s easier that way. You give girls a little bit of yourself and they always want more, more, more. Things I can’t give them. I shut myself off to make my life bearable. I’m like a damn machine sometimes.
    Unfeeling. Uncaring. Emotionless.
    My dad worries about me. I know he thinks I’m some sort of pussy who can’t get laid, which blows his mind. He’s confronted me about it before, asking me point blank if I’m gay.
    The question had come out of nowhere and I was so shocked, I started laughing. That pissed him off more, and though I denied the accusation, I know he didn’t really believe me.
    Hopefully, showing up with Fable hanging all over me will end that worry.
    Damn. I know I’m a jackass for doing this, thinking like this. For using Fable in such a shitty way, but it isn’t the only reason she’s going with me. Not that I can tell her the truth, but if I did? She might understand. She looks like the sort of girl who would get it. Who might’ve gone through some of the same bullshit I have.
    What we really need to do is talk about our supposed relationship more. I have to stop being so wrapped up in my worry over going home and ask her more questions. “You only have your little brother then, huh?”
    “Yes, just me and Owen. And my mom.” Her voice tightens. I figure she doesn’t like her mom very much.
    I can relate.
    “You don’t get along with your mom?”
    “She’s never around to get along with. I’m always working and she’s always screwing around with her latest boyfriend.” The bitterness is obvious. No love lost between those two.
    “And your dad?”
    “I don’t know him. He’s never been a part of my life.”
    “But if Owen’s only thirteen…” I’m confused.
    “Different guy. That one didn’t stick around either.” Fable shakes her head. “My mom knows how to pick them.”
    I don’t know what to say. I’m not comfortable with the personal stuff. I have friends, but none of them are really close. The guys I hang out with are from my team and we talk football and sports and that sort of bullshit. Sometimes we talk about girls, though I just sit there and laugh at whatever they say. I never really join in. I don’t have much to add.
    Here’s the deal. I could have any girl I want. I know this. Yes, I’m an arrogant ass to think like this, but it’s true. I look all right, I’m smart and I play decent football. The girls want me even more because I don’t pay them any attention.
    They all want something. Something I can’t give. At least with Fable, I was upfront with what I needed from her from the start and I compensated her right away. She won’t want anything else from me.
    It’s easier that way. Safer.
    “Can I ask you a question?” She knocks me from my thoughts with her sweet voice. She looks all tough, with the heavy eye makeup and the dark clothes, and that platinum blonde hair. But she has the most lyrical voice I’ve ever heard.
    “Sure.” I’m opening this discussion up for potential disaster. I can sense it.
    “Why