Chapter Eleven - Mirabelle
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Mirabelle
I CAN’T BELIEVE Henry. He thinks I obviously like Quinn? What about all the years I’ve obviously been in love with him?
I hate that word.
Obvious.
Fuck me. Except no one’s doing that, because I’m so fucking obvious about who I have feelings for!
The only saving grace is Emily getting into town tomorrow afternoon. Then, I’m out of my boy bubble and back with a girlfriend my own age, since none of my coworkers want anything to do with me. Joke’s on them; I don’t want anything to do with them either.
I stomp into the house, still irritated from my conversation with Henry in the weight room. He’s an idiot. I’m aware I haven’t exactly come out and said Hey, Henry. I have had the biggest crush on you since I was like five years old. Will you just marry me already? So granted, how is he supposed to know that I like him?
Maybe because I’m so obvious about who I supposedly like.
Idiots.
Men are idiots.
“Hey, Mirabelle?” Henry calls after me before I can disappear up the stairs and into my room. I ignored Henry the entire drive back, having shoved my headphones into my ears to make it apparent that I wanted nothing to do with him at the moment.
“What?” I ask, trying to keep the frustration out of my tone. At least I’m trying? Not very well, but I think I deserve an A for effort.
“We’re going out tonight. Dinner plans are at eight thirty, in case you want to get ready.”
Excuse me? “Were you even going to ask me, or are you assuming that I don’t have plans with say . . . maybe Quinn?” I turn around, resting my hands on my hips.
I’m highly aware I’m being a bitch, but Henry will survive.
Obvious.
His jaw tightens and he tilts his head. “Do you?” he asks, and I can read his body language like it’s another foreign language I’m fluent in. Oh, it so bothers him that Quinn might be interested in me, but not enough for him to tell me it doesn’t.
I smile playfully at Henry, enjoying the rise I’m getting out of him. I miss fighting with Bailey, believe it or not. It’s hard to fight when he doesn’t answer any of my texts or calls, and I haven’t gone home because I feel like I’m a huge disappointment to my parents right now. Everything is awesome at the moment.
“No, but I could have since you don’t care if I see him. Next time you want to plan a date, you might want to ask me first to make sure I can go.”
“You’re right, I should have,” he admits, at least having the decency to look guilty. “I’m sorry. Will you please go out with me tonight?”
I purse my lips, half tempted to say no to prove that I can. Alas, that wouldn’t mean following the agreement to fake date him, and the other part of me that is hopelessly in love with Henry—despite whatever dumb thing comes out of his mouth—is desperate to say yes. “Yes, I’ll go out with you.”
I wish he was actually asking me out.
“We’ll have fun, I promise,” Henry says, smiling as if he’s relieved, but all I hear is him saying earlier that he’s okay with me dating Quinn. It might bother him, but not enough to the point he’ll tell me not to do it. Whereas if the roles were flipped, it might actually break my heart to see him with someone else.
But . . . if I can show him how great it would be to date me, then maybe Henry will realize he cares enough to tell me not to date Quinn.
“We definitely will,” I muse, eager to dart up to my room with renewed energy that I could wow the socks— or the pants, I wouldn’t complain —off Henry.
“Thanks Mirabelle, I appreciate it.”
Oh, you shouldn’t be thanking me yet.
~
“So I asked Dad if they were going to the season opener, and he wouldn’t give me a definitive answer. I think you should talk to him,” JJ suggests through the iPad screen as I straighten my hair, trying to be careful of my finger.
“Yeah, not sure if that’s the best way to get an answer. That’s assuming he picks up the phone in the first place,” I reply, feeling my stomach twist at the thought of Dad declining a call from me. I’ve been too much of a chicken to call out of fear that they won’t answer and of what they might say if they do.
“Mira, you should call. I know it was awful, but Hunter said it’s weird at the house,” he says, munching on some potato chips. I can tell from the background noise that he’s in his dorm room.
I put the straightener down, the pit of anxiety growing in my stomach. “You weren’t there, JJ. You didn’t see how upset they were with us.”
“You know how they are, they probably need some time to cool off,” he tries to defend them, but I shake my head. I don’t want to talk about this right now. I miss them so much it hurts, but I’m not making the first move this time. I took what Uncle Owen said into consideration, but I’m not the one that owes them an apology. I need to save all my energy right now for my date with Henry.
“How’s football going?” I ask, changing the subject entirely.
JJ looks disappointed, but thankfully, he doesn’t push the topic any further. I pick up my straightener again to finish the front section of my long hair.
“Good. I’m learning a lot, but I sure am glad Uncle Owen is the one who put my training schedule together this summer. His drills were a fuck ton harder than the ones we do here. Everyone else is suffering after practices, but I feel fine.”
“You could stay after practice with some of your teammates to run those drills and help strengthen your team? It could get you some playing time if your coaches notice?” I suggest, running my brush through my hair, satisfied to see the bright blonde strands looking extra smooth and silky. All my time in the sun this summer helped brighten my natural color.
I grab my mascara wand, touching up my lashes to get all the clumps out.
“Actually, that might be a good idea. Who knew you had them,” JJ teases, and I flip him off with a smile.
“Screw you. I have plenty of good ideas.”
“Oh yeah? How is fake dating the love of your life going for you?” he muses, and I feel my cheeks flush. It’s not going how I imagined it would.
“Shut up, JJ. He’s not the love of my life.” Unless he is. “It’s going fine. We’re arguing a bit more than I thought we would, but other than that it’s going well.” I step out of the camera frame to get dressed. I smooth my dress down, looking in the mirror. It’s a black satin halter top dress that makes me look like I’m definitely not twenty. The open back is dramatic and is one of the reasons I bought it during my shopping spree after the fire. I thought Henry’s head was going to explode when the packages started arriving, but I don’t think he’ll complain after he sees what I’m wearing tonight.
“Goddamn, Mira, you’re pulling out the big guns tonight. What have you been arguing about?”
“Hair up or down?” I ask, my nerves finally starting to hit me. What if I look like I’m playing dress up? If Henry laughs at me, I might simply never recover.
“Leave it down. You ignored my question. What are you arguing about with Henry?” JJ repeats his question, and I roll my eyes, slipping on the tennis bracelet Dad gave me for my sixteenth birthday. It survived the fire since I wore it to work that day, but I’ll eventually need to go to the beach house to get more of my things. The bracelet sparkles on my wrist and is the perfect addition to my outfit, distracting from the bandage on my finger.
“He’s an idiot.” JJ tries to stifle a laugh, and I sigh, brushing my hair one more time. I have to look perfect. “Henry thinks I’m interested in his friend, Quinn. Said it was obvious I have feelings for him, and all I want to do is smack Henry upside the head while telling him how obviously in love with him I am. Instead, I asked him if it bothered him, and he said no. Maybe I’m the idiot for asking a question, knowing the answer wouldn’t be the one I wanted to hear.”
“You’re not an idiot, Mira. Are you interested in Quinn?” JJ asks, popping more chips into his mouth, crunching loudly.
“Would you stop eating so loud? It’s annoying,” I grumble, avoiding this question. I’m not interested in Quinn, but I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing letting him flirt with me.
“Dude, you will never believe what just happened outside with this girl,” a different voice says in the background, causing JJ to turn.
“Hey, I’m actually on the phone with my sister, can you tell me in a minute?” JJ asks as the phone is yanked from him as a guy with light brown hair fills the screen.
“Your sister is hot,” he says, his eyes growing wide in surprise. This must be JJ’s roommate, Asher.
“Give me the phone back,” JJ complains, but it’s a nice boost for my ego.
“Are you single?”
I laugh shortly, shaking my head. “I’m afraid not.”
“She’s dating Henry Price, which I know you know because you asked me if he was going to come to one of our games this season since he’s dating my sister.”
Asher winks at me playfully. “If you ever decide to dump him, will you promise me I’ll be your first call?”
“Asher.”
“Dude, shut up, I’m hitting on your sister,” Asher says, talking to JJ.
“As amusing as this is, I do have to go. Love you, JJ. I’ll call you later,” I say, hanging up because if I don’t finish getting ready, Henry and I will be late for our reservation.
I slip into my new black stilettos, grabbing the small black purse I bought for the sole reason of matching this dress. I do a little spin, satisfied with how I look, even if I’m overdressed for the occasion.
I feel like I’m going to throw up. Is it too late to cancel?
Henry has his back to me, but he turns at the sound of my heels on the hardwood as I finish descending the stairs. His hazel eyes widen, slowly trailing down my figure, and I clutch my bag to hide the shaking of my hands. Henry’s mouth parts, and he sucks in a sharp breath.
Meanwhile, I’m rendered just as speechless.
He looks good—dangerously good, in fact. Henry’s white button down has a few open buttons at the collar, and his black sports coat fits perfectly, hugging him in all the right places. His chocolate hair is somewhat styled, but it still looks like he’s been running his fingers through it.
I laugh nervously, adjusting my bag as he continues to stare at me. At least I can tell by his attire that I’m not overdressed. “Are you ready to go?” I ask, since I’m not sure if he’s going to say anything.
My question seems to jolt him out of whatever is going on in his head, and I think I’d give anything to know what he’s thinking right now.
“Yes,” he answers, his voice low as he twirls his keys in his hand.
With the way he just eye-fucked me, I would have thought I’d at least be told you look nice, Mirabelle , but I guess not.
We’re walking toward the door as Quinn lets himself in, his jaw falling immediately open. “Holy hell, you look amazing.”
Okay, that’s a much better reaction.
I smooth the dress down, smiling brightly at Quinn. “Thanks.”
“Are you two going out tonight?” he asks, glancing at Henry before refocusing on me.
“Yeah,” Henry says, sticking with one-word replies.
“I can go change quick, and I’ll join you,” Quinn says, but now I’m confused. I thought with both of us dressed up, it was fairly obvious we’re going out on a date. I look to Henry, trying to figure out what the right thing to say is, but Henry shakes his head, taking the lead.
“Sorry, Q. You’ll have to try the restaurant another time. It’s only me and Mira tonight,” Henry says. His next move pretty much stops my heart when he grabs my hand, lacing our fingers together to pull me past Quinn before he can say anything else.
He’s holding my hand.
Henry fucking Price is holding my hand because he’s jealous.
He opens the passenger door of his car for me, and I slide into the seat, careful not to flash him as I get in. I drag my fingertips over the smooth leather interior after he shuts the door. “Where are we going?” I ask Henry, trying to distract him from the fact Quinn tried to crash our date. I’m not mad about how Henry responded, but I do feel slightly bad that Quinn walked in at that exact moment.
“It’s a surprise,” he says, directing a slanted smile my way.
“Apparently, you’re full of surprises. Makes you pretty mysterious,” I tease, hinting at how the media has wrongfully stereotyped him as this mysterious bad boy. However, our previous plan—with the addition of the relationship—seems to be having a better effect on his image than we anticipated.
Henry chuckles, and I hope that means he picks up on my reference. I know he’s under a lot of pressure, but he never gets to . . . be . Part of my plan is to make our PR stunts environments Henry can just exist in. “I thought you were supposed to help make me less mysterious?” he questions, and I roll my eyes.
“That’s the goal, but I’m excited for what we have planned on Saturday. I think you’ll actually have a good time.”
He raises an eyebrow, appearing skeptical. “You sound awfully sure of that.”
“Well, you get to play with puppies, so who wouldn’t be happy about that?”
“I thought Owen promised there would be no holding puppies?” he asks, his eyes glimmering with amusement. Did he not read the schedule Stacey sent him a few weeks ago?
“No, he said holding puppies wouldn’t interfere with football. We’re simply combining the two,” I say. “To celebrate the first game of the season and what not, we’re hosting a Puppy Bowl Saturday with a local animal shelter to help with adoptions, and for every touchdown you throw Sunday, Uncle Owen has offered to donate five thousand dollars.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. Uncle Owen’s a huge animal lover. But the real kicker is that if you throw any interceptions, you’re donating seven grand per interception.” That was my idea. He shouldn’t have pissed me off earlier. It was only supposed to be five thousand per interception, but I suggested to Stacey that seven might make the public be more forgiving toward him if he does throw an interception.
“So they get more money if I suck? How the fuck is that fair?” Henry shakes his head like it doesn’t make any sense to him.
“Just let me finish,” I interject, laughing at his reaction. “If we win the game, the stadium has agreed to donate a percentage of every ticket sold to the animal shelter.” Which is a lot of fucking money—that was my idea, too. Actually, the entire thing was my idea, but that’s not important. It’s a tax write-off for them, and good press, so it’s a win for everyone involved.
Henry’s face softens for a moment, redirecting his attention back to the road. His hands are loosely gripping the steering wheel, a picture of assuredness as he drives a car that costs more than some people make in a year. I wonder what his hands would feel like if he put them on me? What would the calluses on his hand feel like scraping over my skin? Does he like to be gentle or rough?
“How much of this was your idea?” he asks, connecting the dots together, pulling me from my explicit thoughts about his hands. God, I’m a mess.
My cheeks flush and I glance down at my hands. Is it dumb that it gives me butterflies knowing he can tell I helped with it? “I submitted it with my application for the internship, but I never thought they’d actually use it.”
“It’s a great idea. They’d be dumb not to use it. I’ll have to make sure I’m on the top of my game so it’s Owen’s wallet that’s hurting and not mine.”
“Either way, I get to play with puppies so I’m happy, but if I were you, I’d try not sucking on Sunday,” I tease, smiling as I’m rewarded with a smile in return. That’s exactly how it feels when he smiles— like a reward . As much as I like his slanted half-smiles, it’s the ones that transform his whole face that make my heart skip a beat. I wish Henry would smile like this more, but if he did, I don’t think it would feel as special when he does.
“Shit, maybe we should have gone to play with puppies tonight instead of going to dinner.” He shakes his head as if scolding himself.
“I’m excited for dinner. I like food,” I say, but honestly, I think I’d like anything as long as Henry is the one next to me.
“I like food too, so we must be a perfect match.”
I don’t know if Henry is aware of what his words do to me, but they make my heart soar. Even if he’s joking, we are a perfect match.
I play with the edge of my dress as I try to think of a response, rolling the satin fabric between my fingertips.
Lately, I think we’ve spent too much forced time together, and it’s had a negative impact on our friendship. It’s nice to willingly spend time together tonight—well, I guess we’re only going on a date because we’re fake dating, but still. Actually, that sounds wrong. It was nice of him to ask to spend time together . . . not that he asked, of course, but he eventually did so after the fact.
Henry breaks the silence in the car as we’re stopped at a red light, halting the racing thoughts inside my head. “You look great, Mirabelle,” Henry says, and I turn in surprise.
“Thank you,” I say, smiling at him as my heart does flips in my chest. “You look nice too.”
The music playing faintly in the background fills the comfortable silence in the car, but my nerves from earlier reappear in full force as Henry pulls up to the valet at one of my favorite restaurants. The front of the building is swarmed with paparazzi, all beginning to take pictures of Henry’s car, the bright flashing of the cameras dimmed by the tint of the windows.
“I’m sorry. Stacey must have called them. I told her earlier we were going out tonight so she didn’t keep you late at the stadium. We can go somewhere else if you want?”
“It’s nothing I’m not used to,” I reassure Henry who is starting to look pale. It makes me feel slightly better that he’s nervous too. “The whole point of this is to be photographed together, so Stacey did the right thing. We might as well put on a good show for the cameras, right?” I ask, resisting the urge to reach over and grab his hand.
“You’re the best,” he says appreciatively, but the tension in his body remains coiled as he looks at the restaurant.
I flip a small piece of hair dramatically, hoping it’s enough to distract him. “I know.”
Thankfully, he laughs, and pulls up to the valet, climbing out of the car smoothly. I have enough time to take a deep breath and exhale as Henry opens my door, offering me his hand. I smooth my dress, climbing out in a manner that ensures I’m not flashing my goods at anyone, focusing entirely on Henry as the flashes in the background begin at a rapid rate.
If I hadn’t been in the car with him a minute ago, I would think he does this all the time with how calm he looks now. It’ll probably be in our best interest if we start traveling everywhere with sunglasses on us at all times to help with the bright lights. This reminds me of how I couldn’t go anywhere after the London games without someone shoving a camera in my face.
A hint of anxiety threatens to surface, but I can’t let it. Part of this world is faking it until you make it.
My heel catches in a crack in the pavement, sending me tumbling straight into Henry, who catches me easily and helps me straighten up. Believe it or not, it wasn’t intentional, but it is the perfect photo opportunity. I lift my head to look at him, grateful he didn’t let me fall on my ass.
His bright eyes drop to my lips, and my breathing hitches at the potential lying in our position. After all these years of pining for Henry Price, he might finally kiss me.
I tilt my head up in anticipation as his chin dips, holding my breath.
Please kiss me.
Please please please.
And then my heart sinks at the flicker of hesitation in his eyes, and I know he isn’t going to kiss me.
So I kiss him.
I curl my hand on the back of his neck to make it easier to meet his full lips as I rise up on my tiptoes, pressing my mouth softly against Henry’s. It only takes half a second for Henry to react, but his arm resting on my lower back tightens to pull me closer to him.
Fireworks explode in my chest as I lose track of everything around us, reveling at how right this feels. Henry’s hand slides into my hair, holding me in place as his mouth moves firmly against mine. It might not be real, but it sure as hell feels like he’s enjoying kissing me. It definitely doesn’t feel like he thinks he’s kissing a piece of cardboard.
A low rumble sounds from his throat as Henry devours me, and instead of stealing all the air from my lungs, it feels like Henry has brought me to life.
I fight against every instinct in me that wants to part my mouth and deepen the kiss, but instead, no matter how difficult it is, I pull away. The sense of wrongness is immediate, but I can’t give Henry everything the first time we kiss, I have to leave him wanting more.
If that wasn’t everything, then I’m a little nervous to find out what everything will feel like. My heart feels like it’s about to beat out of my chest.
Henry looks . . . well, I’m not quite sure what his expression means, but his hand falls slowly from my hair as he stares at me, his devastatingly handsome face illuminated by the flashing of the cameras. This isn’t the time or place to ask Henry about it either.
I compose myself, patting his chest playfully as I look over my shoulder at the photographers, winking at some of them. I wonder if they can tell how quickly my heart is hammering inside my chest, or how that kiss just changed my entire perspective of what a kiss is supposed to feel like. “Now that you all got your money shot, do you mind leaving us be to enjoy the rest of our night in peace?”