Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 102411 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 512(@200wpm)___ 410(@250wpm)___ 341(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 102411 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 512(@200wpm)___ 410(@250wpm)___ 341(@300wpm)
It’s true. Every word. Yet it feels like I’ve changed the narrative—moved our fake relationship one step closer to real by acknowledging it out loud. Here, in front of the sports press. Not just the lifestyle media.
And that raises a question I hadn’t fully faced until now: What happens when it ends?
It’s a sour thought, one I don’t want to sit with.
I skip the polar plunge this time. I shorten my post-game bike ride to ten minutes. A truncated routine now and then won’t hurt me. Besides, I am more than ready for the rest of the night to begin. By the time I’m showered and suited up, all I can think about is taking Skylar home and doing very bad things to her. Just like that, the game, the press, and the quiet dread I’ve been wrestling with fade into the background. With a one-track mind, I find Skylar chatting in the corridor with Sabrina and Leighton, as well as Everly.
I hope she doesn’t plan to hang out with them for long.
I head over to them, with Everly catching my eye when I’m a few feet away. She tips her head toward the other side of the corridor, the sign she wants to talk.
“Hey, Ford,” she says quietly, and I’m running through potential issues she might be drawing my attention to. Something I said wrong to the press? But that’s doubtful. I’m pretty bland—deliberately so—when I talk to them. “I didn’t want to say this in front of everyone,” Everly adds. “But we have family night next week when we play Vancouver here, and if things are going well, it’d be nice to have you two there.”
Oh. Oh.
That’s the game where players bring their partners and kids, if they have them. Where the team takes all sorts of pics for social media. Everywhere we turn, it’s like the universe wants us to keep pretending.
Or maybe you do.
I school my expression, reining in the cat-who’s-got-the-cream smile. “I’ll check with Skylar, but it sounds good to me,” I say.
“Great.”
We return to the other two women, and this time Skylar peels away from her friends as I approach, flashing a flirty grin my way—a grin that says we’re on the same wavelength.
“Want to go home with the star of the game?” I ask, sliding my arm around her shoulders—a very possessive arm.
She grins. “I do.”
But as we leave, footsteps grow louder behind me. The loud clop-clop of someone jogging in work shoes. I look back. Damn. It’s Ryan from the neighborhood site heading our way. We can’t leave just yet.
“Hey, Skylar. Hey, Ford,” he begins, as I hit pause on my do bad things plans. “I couldn’t make it to the game—my partner was sick. But I sneaked off when he fell asleep. Can I get another picture and maybe ask a few more questions for our site?”
It’s just a neighborhood site. It’s small on the scale of things. But then again, I was just a Minor League player for a long time. An undrafted guy. Here’s Ryan, clearly hustling for a living.
“If it’s okay with Skylar,” I say.
“I’m up for it,” she says, and if that doesn’t sum her up, I don’t know what does. We talk with Ryan for a bit, answering easy questions and smiling for the camera.
When we’re done, he offers a grateful smile. “Appreciate you sticking around, man.”
He didn’t mean it this way, but his words remind me of my goal for this year—to stick around. As I leave, I start to wonder if romance and sticking around are as mutually exclusive as I’d once thought.
29
SPANK ME AND LOVE ME
SKYLAR
I can’t wait.
I can’t wait so much I nearly blurt out my plans on the drive home. But I’m a good girl, keeping my mouth zipped as Ford drives and pulls up in front of our houses. We hop out together, and for a brief moment, my mind spins forward.
This action—pulling up together at our homes—is so…couple-y.
It’s almost like we live together.
What will it be like when this ends? We won’t be driving home together. But how will we behave when I run into him in the front yard? On the sidewalk? In the backyard?
My brother’s concerns weigh on me.
But then I think of my plans for tonight, and what’s waiting in the bedroom, and I kick those concerns to the curb.
Best to stay in the moment. To enjoy.
After we take our dogs out for a walk, we head up the steps to my home. Before I unlock the door though, I set a hand on his chest. “I have something for you. Leave the suit on.”
His lips quirk up. “Whatever you want, baby.”
“But take the jacket off,” I say, then I don’t bother waiting. I push it off his shoulders myself.
“Someone’s eager,” he says, grabbing the material before it falls to the ground.