Chapter 29 Tytus
Chapter twenty-nine
Tytus
When the server tops off my water again, I mutter a thank you and greedily snatch it from the table.
I should have hydrated and eaten before coming out tonight. But I was too fucking anxious to get here, and I was too focused on ensuring Sawyer would be by my side.
She wasn’t in her usual seat during the game.
That alone had me nearly unraveling.
Thankfully, I kept my shit locked down. Then I channeled all my anger and frustration into kicking Northeastern’s ass.
Atty scored today, and Swayzee, the fucker, earned himself a hat trick. For as much as he irks me, he’s a damn good hockey player.
The guys all went out after the game, but once again, I declined. I have yet to celebrate with the team after a win. Although I might have considered it tonight if not for this dinner.
So far, the evening has consisted of all my least favorite things: small talk, small portions, and false charm that takes a fuck ton of energy from me.
But Sawyer’s here.
And the evening seems to be finally winding down.
Nicole is still going on about a big marketing push that ties into season ticket sales for next year. It’s a topic I couldn’t care less about, but I feign interest anyway.
It will likely be another two years before I officially join the Galaxy roster. Maybe more. So much of my personal timeline depends on what Sawyer wants to do in terms of advancing her degrees. Not that she or the suits across from us know that particular detail.
I push my dessert plate out of the way and subtly crack my neck.
“You’ll be featured across all social media platforms that day. Then, at the end of the week, we’ll launch the preorder for your Georgia Galaxy rookie jersey,” Nicole explains.
Though I’m not listening as well as I should be, I’ve got the gist of what they want from me.
The plan is for a person from the media team to visit Holt to get photos and video soon.
They’ll get a media pass from the school, and the team will be in touch with the athletic department to reserve time for a dry land photoshoot.
“Will the jersey for the photoshoot be purple?” Sawyer asks, her eyes bright as she picks up her after-dinner coffee.
Like the fucking gem she is, she’s been carrying a lot of the conversation tonight.
I’m so grateful she’s here.
It’s not that I don’t care about what Clark and Nicole have to say. If anything, I’m too interested and really fucking nervous. Add in the sheer exhaustion that sets in after a game, and I’m lucky I can keep my eyes open.
Thank fuck tomorrow’s a true day off. I have nothing to do and nowhere to be. And I fully intend to entice Sawyer to stay in bed with me all day.
“That’s not really something I’m supposed to disclose,” Nicole answers.
Sawyer shrugs. “Fair. Figured it couldn’t hurt to ask.” She takes a bite of her cheesecake, and when her mouth closes around the fork, she emits a quiet little moan.
Fuck.
Why does watching her eat dessert get me hard?
Scratch that.
Doesn’t matter what she’s doing. Everything about her—her sweet apple scent, the way the light makes her hair look like fire when it hits just right, the enthusiastic noises she makes when she’s excited or enjoying herself—does it for me.
My naughty little wife.
It started as a ruse. I’m committed to making it our reality.
With all the blood diverted to my cock, a sort of warm, sated wooziness settles in my bones.
My mind is calm. My anxiety at ease.
My only issue at the moment is the hard-on pressing into the zipper of my pants.
I shift in my seat, subtly adjusting myself.
Sawyer side-eyes me, then smirks.
She knows what she’s doing, riling me up with cheesecake of all things.
“Petit diable,” I whisper, leaning over and pinching her thigh under the table.
She smiles wider, her eyes flashing with triumph.
“That said,” Nicole continues, drawing our attention back to safer territory. “If you happened to see the sample, then that’s out of my hands.” With a mischievous grin, she slides her phone across the table.
My focus flits to Clark.
Is this okay? Is this some kind of test?
He chuckles and shrugs. “She’s the boss.”
Sawyer snatches up the device, looks at the screen for all of two seconds, and squeals.
“Ty!”
Clutching my bicep, she waves the phone in my face. She’s beaming. Giddy. She squeezes my arm again and again, and with each compression, two little words flash in my mind.
My wife. My wife. My wife.
“Look at it. Oh my gosh. Purple with silver thread! Look at the little stars!”
I can’t help but smile. Her enthusiasm is contagious. Though I obey, peering over at the phone, I don’t bother looking closely. All I want to look at is her.
Still grinning, Sawyer passes the phone back to Nicole. “Thank you for showing me. Are you allowed to tell me exactly when they’ll go on sale? I want to put a reminder in my calendar so I don’t miss it.”
I tug Sawyer’s chair closer to mine and drape one arm over her shoulder. “I’ll get you one, mon ange. Don’t stress about it.”
Nicole offers a sly smile. “I can’t share the launch date yet, but yes, Tytus will receive a package beforehand with a few jerseys. We’ll reach out in advance to confirm the sizes.”
“See?” I assure my girl, casually playing with the ends of her hair. “Already taken care of. One for me and one for you. If there’s an extra, we’ll give it to Atty.”
She beams up at me, her amber eyes sparkling.
“The hope is that you’ll model it for the media team when they come to town for the photo shoot. Maybe take a selfie and snap a few candids for socials,” Nicole hedges.
Inwardly, I groan. But on the outside, I smile and nod.
I give Sawyer’s shoulder another squeeze and say, “Not a problem. My wife is great at making content. We’ll get you what you need.”
Sawyer goes rigid beside me.
The table falls silent.
Yet I’m still grinning down at my girl like an idiot.
Several seconds tick by before I realize my error.
Fuckin’ A.
Rather than refute my claim, Sawyer remains frozen, shell-shocked, the delighted playfulness of a few minutes ago a distant memory.
“Your wife?” Nicole asks in a hushed whisper.
Clark leans in, elbows on the table. “You two are married?”
Sawyer stays silent, gaze focused ahead, unblinking.
Shit.
I shouldn’t have said that. It just slipped out. And now my girl has gone catatonic. I’m going to have to clean this up. And fast.
Clearing my throat, I sit up straighter. “I didn’t mean—”
Clark lifts both hands. “No judgment on our end. I assumed from your chemistry that you were in a relationship. Honestly, the PR team and front office will be thrilled.”
Thrilled? Really?
My gaze volleys between Clark and Sawyer. I ache to console her, but I have to fix this first. “Come again?” I ask the man across from me.
He waves to our server, indicating he wants the check.
Nicole laces her fingers on the table in front of her and leans forward, smiling.
“Lots of the guys on the team are married,” she explains. “One of our biggest PR concerns is how a rookie will handle the pressure and prestige of the league. From experience, those who come in with a committed partner seem to transition more easily.”
Makes sense.
Though it doesn’t make up for my slip.
Nor does it ease my worry about the girl sitting beside me, ashen and silent.
Sawyer hasn’t uttered a word or let a single emotion register on her face.
I blow out a breath. I can smooth things over tonight. For now, I’ll sit back, play it cool, and count the minutes until we can say our goodbyes and I can make this up to her.