Page 27 of The Fake Husband Play
“Not sure,” I say, seeing the perfect opening. “But with my team insurance, I’m sure they’ll figure it outtout de suite. It’sreallygood insurance.”
“Oh yeah?” she asks after a beat. “How good?”
“Really good,” I murmur. “So good that Mimi would have full coverage immediately, the day we got married. No waiting periods, no bureaucracy, no choosing between paying insurance premiums and medication. Whatever she needs, whenever she needs it, she’ll get it.”
Hope flickers in her gaze but dies before it can catch fire. “Again, I appreciate your kindness, but I?—”
“It’s not kindness,” I cut in, realizing I’m going to have to do a way better job of selling this to have asnowball’s chance in hell of her saying yes. “It’s more of a case of you scratch my back, and I’ll scratch yours.”
Realizing how that sounds, I lift spread fingers into the air and hurry to add, “But not in a gross way, I promise. It’s just my mom… She’s been after me to make time for a relationship for years. My brother, Grant, was married by my age, with baby number one on the way a year later. Meanwhile, I haven’t dated at all since last summer. She’s afraid I’m going to become so stuck in my workaholic ways that by the time I’m ready to settle down, no decent woman will have me.”
I shrug, taking a sip of my coffee before adding, “If she thought I had a live-in girlfriend, someone who mattered to me, she’d back off and let me focus on the game. It’s only my second season in the league. As much as a part of me would like to make time for romance, I can’t risk the distraction right now. I have to stay locked in and prove to the Voodoo they didn’t make a mistake dropping all that cash to woo me away from the Badgers.”
“They didn’t make a mistake,” Elly says flatly, the lack of flattery in her tone somehow making the words more reassuring. “You’re the best rookie to come up in years. Maybe decades. Whatever they paid you, you should have asked for more. You’re worth it. But that doesn’t mean you’re not crazy. If I’m understanding this correctly, we’d get married for the insurance and to get your mother off your back about dating, but then we…wouldn’t actually tell your mom that we’re married?”
I shake my head. “No fucking way. She knows me too well. I’m not that impulsive. She’d be suspicious and wouldn’t stop sniffing until she found out what we were up to.”
“Would that be such a bad thing?” Elly asks, taking a sip of her coffee.
“It sure would be,” I say, pretending to be more certain about that than I am. Mama would probably be just fine with me fake-marrying a single mom to help her sick daughter, but being honest about that won’t help my cause. I need Elly to say yes, so I fudge the facts a little as I add, “My mama doesn’t take marriage lightly. If she knew we’d decided to tie the knot after knowing each other for less than twenty-four hours, she’d be even more up in my business. I’d never have a moment of peace, and a man about to launch a franchise needs peace in his home.”
“The kind of peace that would be shattered by a six-year-old acting out her latest comic book or shouting at her stuffed animals for misbehaving.” Elly shrugs. “Or shouting just to be shouting because she thinks it’s funny. She’s loud. We both are.”
“Good, me too,” I shoot back. “Hell, shouting’s a good time. I’m not worried about that. Kid noise doesn’t bother me. I have three nephews. And I won’t be around much during the day anyway. They keep us pretty busy on days when we don’t have a game. And we’d all have separate rooms with separate doors that we could close if things got too noisy. I have a three-bedroom penthouse with a big living room and a terrace outside. Plenty of room for us to hide out when we get sick of each other.”
An almost hungry expression tightens her features. “Damn, that sounds nice.” She gives a shake of her head, laughing as she adds, “Not the sick of each other part, but the space. It’s been a while since we had enough of that to go around.”
“Things a little cramped where you’re at?”
Her lips pucker as she nods. “You could say that. We’re in a one-bedroom. Mimi has the bedroom; I havethe couch, which I really don’t mind. It’s storage that’s the problem. There’s never enough room to hang things.”
“Wouldn’t have that problem at my place,” I wheedle, dangling the carrot like the shameless man I am. But fuck it, every inch of my gut is screaming that I need to do this for her. For Mimi. For myself, to prove I’m still the man my mama raised me to be, not just another selfish pro athlete with more arrogance than sense. “I have walk-in closets.”
Her brows shoot up. “Plural?”
“Plural,” I murmur, playing up the seduction in my voice as I add, “Two in the main bedroom and one in each of the others. You can have two if you need them. I like clothes, but not enough to fill up more than one closet.”
She fans herself with her free hand. “I may need to sit down. This closet porn talk is doing things to me.”
I laugh and instantly fall a little harder. If there’s anything better than a beautiful woman with a sense of humor, I can’t name it. “Come on over here and sit down then, woman,” I say, motioning toward the line of chairs bolted to the wall. “Take a load off, while I fetch the little princess her chips. We’re doing all the chips that end in O, right?”
“Yeah,” she says, settling into the closest hard plastic seat. “I would tell you to let me buy them, but I already know you wouldn’t, and my feet are killing me in these stupid heels. A change of clothes can’t come into my life fast enough. In all the rush, I left mine folded up in the kitchen at the hotel.”
“I hear that. It’s always good to get the uniform off. But in the meantime…” I drape my suit coat around her bare shoulders, fighting the inappropriate urge to drop a kiss to the top of her head. Something about this woman brings out my sappy side as strongly as my stalker one. “And you’re right about the chips. See? Look how much we’ve learned about each other in an hour and change. Give us three days, and we’ll totally be ready to tie the knot.”
“The fake knot,” she whispers, a hint of sadness in her tone.
I pause, taking a mental step back.
I haven’t asked Elly aboutherviews on the sacredness—or lack thereof—of marriage. I haven’t even stopped to think about it. I’ve been so focused on the end game, I’ve charged in like I was chasing down a loose puck in the crease, blind to everything but the chance to score.
“I’m sorry,” I say, sinking down beside her. “I didn’t mean to make light of marriage or commitment or anything like that. If you have strong religious views or?—”
“Oh, no, I know. It’s fine,” she says, with a smile that looks forced. “I know you didn’t mean anything like that. And I don’t have strong religious views, I’m just…” She lets out a shaky breath and curls both hands around her coffee, gazing down into the light brown liquid as she adds, “I’m just a sap, I guess. A romantic, even though no one’s given me a reason to be.”
And that’s it.
The moment I go completely off the deep end.
