How did you bag a fucking QB?

Sienna's pov

The sharp, relentless ringing of my phone rips me out of sleep like a sledgehammer to the skull. I groan, burying my face deeper into my pillow, willing whoever it is to just go away.

The ringing stops.

Bless.

I sigh, shifting under the covers, trying to slip back into unconsciousness—

The phone starts blaring again.

I swear under my breath, fumbling blindly for it on my nightstand. The screen is too bright, the letters swimming in my still-sleepy vision. I don’t even check the caller ID before answering, voice groggy and irritated.

“What?”

A gruff chuckle filters through the line, and my stomach sinks.

“Well, good morning to you too, princess.”

Shit.

I sit up instantly, pressing my fingers against my temple as my father’s slurred voice fills my ear. “So,” he drawls, dragging the word out, “I have to find out from my friends—from the newspapers, the internet—that my only daughter is out here bagging a quarterback?”

I close my eyes, rubbing the bridge of my nose. Here we go.

“You couldn’t even call me? Tell your old man? No, no, why would you do that?” His voice grows dramatic, laced with self-pity. Classic. “I’m just sitting here, minding my own business, and BAM—there you are, all dolled up with Jaxon fucking Carter, acting like you don’t have a father who’s barely scraping by—”

“Dad,” I say tightly, pressing my fingers harder against my forehead. “It was just a date.”

“A date?” He scoffs. “Oh, so you mean to tell me you accidentally ended up on every tabloid cover with the goddamn quarterback of the Titans? And you didn’t think to tell me?” A humorless laugh spills from him. “No respect. That’s what it is. I break my back raising you, and this is what I get?”

I bite back the automatic retort clawing up my throat. Raising me? Right. If by “raising,” he means spending all his money on booze while I had to figure out how to feed myself, then sure. He raised me.

I inhale deeply, gripping the phone tighter. “I have to go,” I mutter, my patience hanging by a thread.

“Of course you do.” His voice drips with mock hurt. “Go ahead, princess. Enjoy your perfect life while your old man rots. I wouldn't want to be a burden.”

The call cuts off before I can respond.

I drop the phone onto the mattress, exhaling sharply. My head is pounding, a dull ache throbbing behind my eyes. I don’t even have time to recover before—

BANG BANG BANG.

“Sienna Blake, if you don’t open this door this instant, I promise you I will break it down myself!”

I groan, flopping backward onto the bed. Scarlett.

“Go away,” I grumble into the pillow.

“I swear I will kill you and bury your body myself,” I warn, dragging myself out of bed.

A beat of silence. Then—

“Who are you, and what did you do to my friend Sienna who wouldn’t hurt a fly?” Scarlett whines from the other side.

I rub my eyes, trudging to the door. “That friend didn’t have someone banging on her door at seven in the morning.”

“I brought muffins from Aurora’s,” she announces sweetly.

I pause, hand on the doorknob. Clever girl. She knows exactly how to bribe me.

I yank the door open, and there she is—Scarlett Monroe, dressed in an oversized hoodie and biker shorts, her golden-brown hair twisted into a messy bun. She’s holding up a bakery bag like it’s a peace offering, grinning at me like she hasn’t just threatened to break down my door.

Her eyes immediately widen as she takes me in. “Oh my God. You look like death.”

“Thanks,” I mutter dryly, grabbing the bag from her.

Her gaze sharpens. “You are going to tell me everything, right?”

I hesitate, glancing to the side—where Mrs. Taylor, my nosy, always-complaining neighbor, is glaring at me from her doorway, arms crossed, mouth pursed in disapproval.

I grab Scarlett’s wrist and yank her inside, slamming the door shut behind us.

She barely stumbles before spinning to face me, eyes glittering with excitement. “So?”

I sigh, already unwrapping a muffin. “So, what?”

“Don’t play dumb.” She plants her hands on her hips. “When the hell did you bag Jaxon Carter?”

I roll my eyes, taking a bite. “I didn’t bag him.”

Scarlett gasps, dramatically clutching her chest. “Blasphemy.”

I shake my head, flopping onto the couch. “It was just a date.”

“Just a date?” She narrows her eyes. “You’re telling me that you—Sienna Blake—randomly went on a date with Jaxon Carter and somehow ended up on every gossip site without there being more to the story?”

“It wasn’t that serious.”

Scarlett plops down beside me, pulling her knees up. “Are you seeing him again?”

I exhale through my nose. “Maybe.”

Her eyebrows shoot up. “Maybe?”

I shove another piece of muffin into my mouth. “It’s complicated.”

Scarlett squints at me, then gasps. “Oh my God. Is he bad in bed?”

I choke. “What? No! We didn’t—we haven’t—” I wave my hands around wildly. “It’s not like that!”

She tilts her head, studying me. “Then what is it like?”

I hesitate. I can’t exactly tell her the truth—that I’m fake dating him for money. That this whole thing is a transaction. That last night, when his hand lingered on mine in the car, when his warmth seeped into my skin, when his tuxedo and his Cartier watch and his stupid, stupid gentlemanly act outside the gala made me feel things I shouldn’t—none of it was real.

So I settle for the lie I sold to the Harper’s yesternight at the gala-we have to stick to a narrative. Right?

“We met at an animal shelter,” I say, licking a crumb off my lip. “He volunteers there.”

Scarlett’s jaw drops. “Shut the hell up.”

I nod sagely. “I fell for him when I saw him bottle-feeding a kitten.”

Scarlett squeals, grabbing a pillow and smashing it into her face. “That is so disgustingly adorable. I can’t believe this. I’m dating the wrong men.”

I hum, picking at my muffin.

She suddenly narrows her eyes. “Wait a damn second.”

I freeze.

“You’re not telling me something.”

I force a blank expression. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

"And you're avoiding." She narrows her eyes. "Come on. Spill."

I shake my head, laughing, "You're ridiculous."

Scarlett gasps. “ "Was he all broody and possessive? Did he whisper sweet nothings in your ear?”

“Oh my God, Scarlett—get out.”

She cackles, kicking her feet up. “Nope. Not until you tell me everything.”

I sigh, dropping my head back onto the couch. This is going to be a long morning.