Page 81 of Fumbled Into Love

He’s halfway into the walk-in closet when I catapult my body, wrapping my arms around his waist.

“I’m sorry!” he yells, though the way his shoulders shake tells me he isn’t sorry at all. “I meant to tell you, but I got sidetracked moving all of your underwear.” He spins in my arms to face me. “You have a lot of lacy ones,” he comments, his erection pressing against my lower abdomen.

My chest flutters as his eyes darken.

“Please, please, please forgive me,” he says, lower lip sticking outward. “I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”

“I don’t know,” I say airily, glancing around the closet. Holy shit, it’s nice in here. So much space to store all my shoes. I should force my apartment to build a closet like this while they take the months needed to fix all the water damage and corroded pipes. “This doesn’t look good for our fake relationship. Miscommunication this early? We’re doomed.”

“I’ll buy you a dozen macarons.”

His bribe works perfectly. “Deal.”

Deon leans down but pauses midway, like he thought about kissing me, then changes his mind. I ignore the way my stomach knots and wave goodbye.

I wish he would have kissed me. Rule number two be damned.

“Deon didn’t tell you we were sitting with you, did he?” Nyla asks, a knowing look on her face.

“He did.” I lie through my teeth. My knee bobs up and down in the stadium seat as I wait for the players to take the field.

Diane laughs deeply.

“You’re loyal.” The smile she gives me settles something in my chest. “But we both watched as my sonran away,and you chased him.”

My cheeks flame. “That was—”

“My son forgot to tell you,” she finishes, and I sigh. He also forgot to tell me they were coming in general, but they don’t need to know that.

“Yeah,” I admit. “But I am really happy to spend time with you both,” I say genuinely.

The teams run onto the field, and as they play, Diane and Nyla share stories of Deon as a child, showing me photos of Deon with braces in high school. He was all limbs then.

“This one is my favorite,” Diane says mid-way through the third quarter. The Mavericks are winning by three touchdowns, and we’ve stopped watching to instead talk about Deon. He should have thought about this before he chose the seats.

Diane turns her phone, a photo of Deon with a long, gray beard hanging to his mid-stomach. The outfit is complete with robes and a staff.

A little Gandalf.

“Oh my god!” I squeal, and my chest heats at how adorably nerdy he looks. “Look at him! What a nerd,” I joke, and Nyla huffs.

“It’s not nerdy to like something,” she responds defensively. Her lips are pursed, and I jerk back, stunned.

“That’s not what I—”

“There isnothingwrong with him.”

Her pointed words burn my throat, and before I can stop myself, I respond.

“When did I say there was?”

Nyla blinks, the only evidence I stunned her. I rip out my phone, pulling up the photo of Santi and me at Comic-Con dressed as Aragorn and Arwen.

I didn’t have a boyfriend to take, so I begged Santi to come with me. We spent the whole day having to explain we were siblings, and Santi refused my invitation when I asked him to go the following year.

“I can call him a nerd because I am just as crazy as he is.” Diane lifts a brow, and Nyla looks apologetic. “And I haveneverthought there was anything wrong with Deon, except that he thinks mint chocolate chip ice cream is the best. It’s glorified toothpaste.”

Diane and Nyla stare, slack-jawed, and my hands tremble with anger.

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