Page 8 of Fumbled Into Love

A rock lodges in my throat as I follow him. I’m fearful of whatever conversation we’re about to have. Declan’s cryptic message only adds to the nerves.

“Are you okay?” I ask, allowing for as much space as possible between us on the couch.

Deon blinks, mouth opening and closing, gasping like a fish. “I told the media I have a girlfriend,” he blurts out in one long syllable.

“Oh?”

Well, that's…nice, I guess. From what I’ve heard from Maren and Sawyer, Deon firmly resides in the ‘I refuse to date’ category of life, but I guess he re-evaluated his rule. Good job to whatever woman managed the feat.

“Congrats?” I give him an awkward thumbs up and he frowns. “But what did you need to talk about?”

I’m starting to wonder if this is one elaborate prank.

Deon grabs a throw pillow, fiddling with the tasseled edges as he whispers, “I don’t have a girlfriend.”

“Huh?”

My brain begins to throb. His eyes tilt down, and I examine him. He’s always been attractive, but it’s not the right word. He’s…He’s stunning. Soft cheeks paired with a sharp jawline. Piercing sea foam green eyes and deep, rueful dimples. A gold chain that sparkles against his dark skin.

I was shocked by his beauty when we first met and he volunteered at GameChangers. Over time, it’s become easier to interact with him. I'm nearly immune to his attractiveness now.

It helps that he's a love-denier.

I am a lover of love. Ilovelove. The opposite of Deon.

My floor is piled with romance novels and I’ve seen every romantic comedy movie ever produced. I watch dating shows with blind optimism and spend far too much time on the internet reading about other people’s meet-cutes.

I’m in the middle of making a mental note to record this week's episode of my dating show when Deon stuns me into silence.

“Will you be my girlfriend?” My lungs constrict as I hack, desperate for oxygen.Did he just… “Fake girlfriend!” he screams, eyes full of panic.

“Start from the beginning,” I choke out, positive I am missing some crucial reasons why he’s asking me to be his girlfriend. Deon eyes me warily and I lift a brow. “Deon,” I push.

He smiles sheepishly and squeezes the pillow tightly against his chest.

“I-I may have told the press I have a girlfriend…” He grimaces. “And then I may have told the events coordinator I would askthisgirlfriendif she wanted to attend a charity auction for cancer research. Then my head coach said he was excited to meet my girlfriend…”

My jaw drops lower with each word until all I can do is stare.

Who the hell is this man?

This is not calm and collected Deon Adams. This is not Mr. Straight-To-The-Point. His eyes are frazzled and panicked as he continues to explain how he was backed into a corner and it was the best response he could come up with.

“You could have said ‘no comment’,” I deadpan. He smiles apologetically. If I wasn’t incredibly confused, I might consider the smile adorable. “But, if I’m getting this right, you told the media you have an imaginary girlfriend and now you want me,” I point at myself, “to be your fake girlfriend and go to this…auction thing?”

“That kinda sums it up.”

A maniacal laugh tumbles from my lips, growing uncontrolled. He’s insane. Well and truly insane.

“You’re funny,” I wheeze, the sides of my abdomen cramping. I slump against the couch cushion, unable to sit up. This is an outrageous joke. I glance around, searching for the cameras to prove I’ve been pranked. “Was this Declan’s idea? Are you pranking me?”

Declan is about to jump out of my closet, I know it.

“Nathalie…” Deon gulps, throat bobbing. “I’m serious.”

“No.”

I will not pretend to be anyone’s fake girlfriend before I am someone’s real girlfriend. I have not trudged through and survived endless flings and the horrors of dating apps for my first relationship to be a sham. I crave the butterflies and excitement and wonder of meeting someone and slowly falling in love, nota fake relationship with someone who has barely spoken to me outside of group events.

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