Page 5 of Popular (Private: The Extended Edition #5)

Janae

Regular put-put is definitely an easy pass.

However, glow-in-the-dark with Star Trek: Voyager themed décor is an easy yes.

Despite being in second place to my twin.

I swear there’s not a single fucking sport the dude sucks at.

“ Fuckme ,” grumbles Bryn from where she’s setting up for what will be her third shot at the Kazon hole. “I hate this show. And this shit?!” She stabs her putter in the direction of the giant face cut out. “This bumpity ass nose bullshit only makes me hate it more.”

“Which I didn’t think was possible,” J.T. quietly informs over my shoulder, successfully getting me to snigger.

Rather than interact with her, I angle myself to completely face him. “And which is your least favorite from the franchise?”

“ Voyager ,” he answers on a warm chuckle yet quickly adds, “but I can tolerate it way better than she can.” Post exchanging snickers, he kicks his chin towards me. “What about you?”

“Probably Enterprise. ”

J.T. overdramatically clutches his chest in shock. “I’ve never heard anyone say that.”

More light laughs freely float through the air, mildly being drowned out by his best friend’s constant swearing.

“ I’ve also never ,” the poke back to our version of getting to know you keeps me beaming, “dated a twin.”

“What about fake dated ?”

His grin grows the slightest. “That either.”

It’s impossible not to continue smirking.

OhmyGarak, what is wrong with me?!

Why is my face stuck like this?

I can’t remember the last time I did this much smiling without being paid for it.

Leaning my frame against the nearby wall precedes me asking, “You have any siblings?”

“Biological? No. But Wes – the man married to the woman that’s now threatening to throw her club – might as well be.

” He lets his shoulder brace itself against the structure so we’re matching positions.

“We’ve been best friends since we were kids.

His family was there for me while my mom was dying and basically adopted me after she did.

My dad’s never been in the picture.” An unconscious adjustment to the designer watch on his wrist is executed.

“Then when his parents died that brotherly bond just got stronger.” He slides his free hand into his navy, nautical, embroidered shorts pocket.

“I know firsthand that blood isn’t what makes you family.

I also know that change isn’t always a bad thing even when it can feel like it’s the worst thing. ”

His decision to be so open and honest and vulnerable is what prompts me to do the same, “ I’ve never ,” the word choice continuation receives a small smirk, “had a biological parent present in my life.”

Sympathy swiftly slides into his sweet stare. “Seriously?”

“Nope. Sperm donor was a minor league baseball player – whose real family was back in Dalvegan, so he wanted nothing to do with us – and Mom – who was absolutely a cleat chaser – died during childbirth, leaving us to be raised by Gammie.” Sadness unfortunately seeps into my tone.

“We um…we lost her last year to a heart surgery complication…during the NBA finals.”

“No shit…”

“One weird benefit to us being part of the same franchise was knowing the owner – in good conscious and good press – couldn’t let one of us go but not the other.”

“True.” The corner of his lip twitches upward during his nodding. “So, you’re a cheerleader?”

“ Retired cheerleader or dancer – depending on how you wanna define it,” I correct, hearing Jericho summon us to the putting area. “This was not only my last season as a Highland Hellcat but last season as one period.”

“Why?” We begin making our way in that direction side by side. “You look like you’re still in good shape.”

“I’m in great fucking shape, Imzadi. ” Waggling my eyebrows further reiterates the lack of animosity in my retort. “ Still super fucking flexible. ”

J.T doesn’t bother swallowing his groan.

Or needily biting his lip.

Or gravitating closer as if anxious to put that to the test.

“I’m just… ‘old’.” Our arrival at the starting line is attached to a defeated sigh.

“Does it suck?” Placing the ball on the ground occurs next.

“Yeah.” My body straightens back out to make a swing.

“Will I let it stop me from continuing my life-long career of dance in some capacity?” I grip my putter a little harder. “ Fuck no. ”

The first swipe I make at the tiny green object sends it soaring.

Unfortunately, the bumpy ridges Bryn was bitching about earlier prove to be a problem for me too.

My bright piece returns to almost the exact same spot I placed it sparking me to squeak. “ Fuck! ”

“See,” Bryn teasingly waves her instrument around. “It’s not just me. It’s fucking Voyager .”

“Fucking Voyager ,” I instantly echo.

“I know you’re a cheerleader-”

“ Retired. ”

“-but don’t encourage her,” my fake boyfriend loudly scolds between snickers.

“It’s what I do,” cheekily escapes on a comical wink.

“How about I show you the right stance for this type of terrain?” he sweetly offers.

“You’re in last place, yet you wanna show me how to play better?”

“I know my put-put skills don’t show it-”

“You call those skills?”

“ However ,” the glare I’m given is good natured, “I have been trained by some of the best golf coaches out there – including Cooper Copeland’s secret weapon to winning so many charity tournaments.”

“Then why aren’t you playing better?”

“You ever think that maybe I’m letting you win?”

“No.”

“And you’d be correct because I’m not.” New rounds of laughter echo throughout the space. “Sports just aren’t something I’ve ever been good at.”

“I like that you’re willing to admit that.”

“I like that you’re willing to keep fake dating me in spite of that.”

“Maybe even real date you depending on your coaching skills.”

Yet again laughs flood the room displaying to Wheeler – who thinks I didn’t see him skeptically watching us in the far distance – that we are the couple we claim to be.

Is it Crusher crazy that all this feels real?

That I like that it feels real?

That I want it to keep feeling real?

How Deep Space Nine disturbed does it make me if I’m falling this fast for a guy I barely know?

“ Show me. ” Sweetly insisting is attached to a small wiggling of my hips. “ Show me how to get a hole in one on a single stroke. ”

J.T. audibly groans louder as he slides behind me. “ You’re making this harder for me on purpose, aren’t you, Beloved? ”

“ You should always be hard for me, Imzadi. ”

His hands land firmly on my hips and gently tug me backwards to physically reiterate the words he purrs beside my ear, “ You mean like this? ”

Gasping gets him groaning.

Pressing tighter against me.

Passionately.

Possessively.

I honestly cannot get enough of him holding me like I’m his and only his.

“The thing to remember with short courses like this is that the key to winning is controlling the speed.” I mindlessly melt against his bright blue, button down, Crusin’ The Galaxy cloaked torso.

“You wanna position yourself to take an angle that avoids the tough terrain aka the uneven ridges of his nose.” Gently being guided over just a fraction has me granting him a barely audible sigh.

“Next, you wanna grip the putter securely here,” J.T.

uses his hand to gradually inch one of mine lower, “and,” his hold sensuously shifts the other, “ here. ”

The heat and heavy weight of his breath against the shell of my ear buckles my knees.

Causes them to knock into one another.

Clamp together in hopes of ignoring the increasing ache between my thighs.

Sulugivemestrength.

I shouldn’t be this fucking horny.

I already rubbed one out for the day.

What’s he doing to me?!

Is there nerd nip in his cologne?

Is that what’s mixing with the hints of citrus and amber?!

“ Wh… ” comes out in mostly air forcing me to immediately try again. “What um…what now?”

“ Now ,” he maintains his salacious grasp while continuing to lead, “square up the club head…” Together we execute the instruction.

“Stand tall.” Desire to receive praise outranks the one to sink the shot.

“ Swing from the shoulders… ” His fingers trail themselves up the length of my arms to featherily emphasize the area. “ Not the wrist. ”

Preventing my gaze from hooding is impossible.

As is remembering what it is I’m trying to do versus what it is I wanna do.

“ Drown out all the distractions, ” my fake bae warmly insists during his trekking backwards, “ and give it a light…firm…stroke… ”

With my tongue.

Got it.

Wait.

No.

That’s not the type of hole in one we’re playing right now!

However, it’s definitely the one we’ll be playing next.

I’d bet my framed and mounted Star Trek Gold Key Comics #1 on it.

Following through with the order sends my tiny ball traveling at a slightly curved angle that allows it to miss the uneven stretch of territory and cruise smoothly into the eye of the cursed Kazon. The instant it’s there, I gleefully leap into the air. “ Yes! ”

“I don’t think it’s normal to jump like a breaching mako over a put-put game,” gripes Bryn in the distance.

“I think you’re just bitter ‘cause you’re still not in the lead,” chuckles my twin from beside her.

“Thank you for that, Bones,” sardonically sneers the sassy woman who might actually be a good fit for my brother if she wasn’t already happily married. “You are clearly a doctor and an obviousitician.”

Jer loudly laughs during a headshake.

See.

That’s the type of person he needs!

A chick that isn’t afraid to buck back.

Who doesn’t feel the need to fall in line in order to fall in his favor.

Too bad the latter rarely crosses his path.

And when they do?

They’re typically already taken.

By Hollywood actors.

Or celebrity chefs.

Or retired military men who work for Haworth Enterprises, the company that supplies us with our personal bodyguards.

His perfect match is always taken and mine never seems to be real.

Even now.

Justus “J.T” Reese feels like a dream come true.