Page 24 of The Fantasy League
It was easy to distinguish the players from the sponsors simply based on height and stature. Not to mention most of the players were crowded around the table that was filled to the brim with appetizers.
One might’ve thought that the night would’ve gotten off to a slow start before picking up.
Wrong.
It was absolute madness from the moment we walked through the doors two hours ago. Abel had hardly handed over my coat to the attendant before we began getting bombarded with questions about our “relationship.”
How did you all meet?
When did you know he was the one?
Would you like to join us on our couples vacation next off-season?
How soon did you all say I love you?
I would’ve enjoyed lunch with wolves more than answering these questions, but I was having more than enough fun replying with the most obnoxious answers I could come up with on the fly.
I couldn’t wrap my head around how oblivious these people could be to the lies I came up with. If I told them we met on a skydiving trip on the moon, they probably would’ve believed me and asked where they could buy tickets.
For people who were supposedly super successful, they weren’t all that great at detecting a couple of frauds among them and that seemed like a liability on their part.
In their defense, Abel had done a great job playing the part of attentive boyfriend. His hand rested on the small of my lower back all night. He would occasionally place a kiss on my forehead during moments when we were really trying to sell our “love.”
If I didn’t know any better, I would have thought that he was being sincere with how believable he was.
“Oh we’re neighbors. I saw him taking out the trash shirtless one morning while I was taking my morning run and just knew I had to ‘bump’ into him with a fresh batch of cupcakes in hand. He invited me inside and well…” I winked at the latest couple—Sharron and Paul, midfifties, two kids from previous marriages—that bombarded us with overbearing questions.
“The rest is history,“ Abel added in with a wink like he’d done all night whenever ridiculous retellings of our fake love story left my lips.
He didn’t seem the least bit annoyed at my responses, although most of them were meant to embarrass him. I told the team owner of the Matrix that Abel still swam with arm floaties because he was scared of the deep end and he didn’t even flinch. In fact, he seemed more amused than anything.
We said our goodbyes to Sharron and Paul and moved toward one of the outer corners of the ballroom to take a snack break from the madness. I plopped down at one of the tables and Abel plated appetizers for us.
“You’re a charmer, Red. Everyone loves you.” Abel smirked, handing me over a plate of crab Rangoon. “Color me impressed.”
“Who knew I would finally be able to put those improv classes from college to good use?”
“It’s not every day you get the chance to lie to the face of multi-millionaires, huh?”
“Even creepy Bob hasmultiplemillions?” I questioned. “What am I doing wrong?” I muttered under my breath while stuffing my face with the appetizer plate Abel handed over to me.
How could a guy who looked like a walking gargoyle have that much money?
“You ready to get back out there?”
“No. Please don’t make me,” I pleaded, pressing my hands together in front of my chest. “Those people are awful.”
“I know. I fucking hate these events with a burning passion, and it’s usually worse when I’m alone because people are trying to set me up with their daughters and nieces.”
“What a travesty to have options.” I rolled my eyes playfully.
Between middle-aged women trying to set him up with their daughters and the flood of women thirsting over him on Socialgram the better question was whodidn’twant to be with Abel Abbott?
Other than myself, of course.
“You don’t think you have options?” Abel bounced back at me. “I’ve been giving guys the death glare all night because they won’t take their eyes off of you.” I picked up on the hint of annoyance laced in his tone before he knocked back a glass of scotch.
“What? No, they haven’t.”
