Chapter 13
Chapter 13
“How do I look?” I ask as I step into Darcy’s room. I’m dressed and ready for the Hawks season Kickoff Party tonight. My hair is loose and falls in soft curls over my shoulders, my makeup is done, and I’m wearing the black dress Nick liked.
Darcy looks up from her Kindle, and her jaw drops open. “You look like Cinderella, only way more chic and sexy.”
I smile at her. “That and no pumpkin for a carriage or rats for footmen.”
She laughs. “I hope not, for your sake. Although, a fairy godmother could come in handy around here.” She eyes the pile of unfolded laundry in a basket on the floor.
“Give me a twirl.”
I do as instructed because this dress is made to twirl. I know, I made it. I based the design on something I once saw my petite-sized soul sister Reese Witherspoon wear on the red carpet. With a full skirt that falls just below the knee, it’s nipped in at the waist with a very complimentary heart-shaped neckline and thick straps. Made of silk, it swooshes and sways with every movement, making me feel like, well, a chic and sexy Cinderella.
“Gorgeous,” Darcy pronounces. “Everyone is going to want to know who designed your dress.”
I feel a little flip of nerves. “I hope so. I checked my emails a moment ago, and the logo is done. It looks amazing! I’ll upload it to my site, and then we can go live.”
“Let me see.”
I reach for my laptop, pull up the image, and stand nervously by as Darcy inspects it.
“Classy, babe. Totally perfect.”
I beam at her. “It is, right?”
“Upload it now and go live.”
Adrenaline zips through me. “Okay.” I tap on my keyboard and then pause, my finger hovering over the key, ready to click. “This is big.”
“Wait!”
I almost jump out of my dress. “What? Why?”
“I want to record your big moment.” She picks her phone up from her bed. Pointing it at me, she says, “Okay, say something.”
“Like what?”
“Like how this is the culmination of your lifelong dream. How you couldn’t have done it without your amazing BFF Darcy Evans. That kind of thing.”
I shake my head and laugh. “Okay. Ready.”
Darcy nods at me, and I begin.
“This is it. The moment the Erin Andrews Designs site goes live for the very first time.” I press the key on my keyboard and watch as the little wheel circles around for a moment before a message flashes up on my screen. Congratulations! Your website is now live! I look up at Darcy and say, “We have lift-off.”
She lowers the phone and pulls me in for a hug. “Girl, you are on your way.”
“I hope so.”
“Let me take a photo of you in that dress. I’ll tag you and add your web address.”
“Awesome! Thanks,” I pull a one-hand-on-hip pose and smile as Darcy snaps a few shots.
“What’s your hashtag again?”
“#ErinAndrews. It’s not rocket science, babe.”
She taps on her phone and then looks back up at me. “Done,” she says.
The door buzzes, and a shot of nerves and excitement whizzes through me. I tell myself it’s because tonight is a big night in the Hawks calendar, and Nick and I are going to be on display as a couple for the first time in a big, official way. I know it’s a whole lot more than that. I haven’t seen him since yesterday’s gorilla-gram, and my feelings for him have grown and grown.
I push the button to unlock the front door, dash into my room to collect my purse, and do a last-minute check of my reflection in the hallway mirror as Darcy materializes beside me.
“That must be Nick,” she says.
“Yup.” A fresh wave of nerves floods over me.
She beams at me. “You got this. Just remember, mention Erin Andrews Designs at every turn and get photographed as much as possible. This is your big moment to get your name out there.”
I give a firm nod. “Got it.”
There’s a knock at the door, and I take a deep, steadying breath before I pull it open to see Nick standing in the doorway. He’s dressed in a black tux, his crisp white shirt showing off his olive complexion, his lips curved into an easy smile. My belly gives an involuntary flip, my heart contracting in my chest.
“Hi,” I say as he beams at me.
“Hi,” he replies, his eyes skimming over me. “You look—”
I smile shyly, my belly flip-flopping like crazy. “You, too.”
“The dress … works.”
“Thanks.”
“I guess we should—”
“Yeah. We should.”
Darcy, who I had completely forgotten was with us in the hallway because I was so focused on Nick, breaks the moment. “Well, you two kids have a great night, now, and remember the midnight curfew, Cinderella.”
“Curfew?” I ask.
“Just kidding,” she laughs.
“See you later, Darce.”
Nick stands back for me to walk through the doorway. “After you.”
“Such a gentleman,” I tease as I breeze past him.
“You know it,” he replies.
In the elevator we stand in silence, sharing occasional smiles.
“You really do look beautiful tonight, Ernie.”
“And you look like a Hollywood star.”
He chuckles. “You’re just used to seeing me in sportswear.”
“Yes, that’ll be it. It’s not that you look good or anything.” My tone has more than a touch of sarcasm.
The doors slide open, and we walk through the lobby and out onto the sidewalk.
“I’m driving tonight,” he announces as we reach his truck. “No drinking for the reformed Nick Zachary.”
“I hope that doesn’t mean I can’t have a glass of champagne, because I need my reward. It took me almost two hours to look like this.” He opens the passenger door, and I giggle. “You’re pulling out all the stops tonight, aren’t you?”
He gives a cheeky waggle of his eyebrows. “Anything for my girlfriend.” He climbs in his side. “I am allowed to be nice to you. It’s not all about Project Bird, you know.”
“Project Weka, because they’re sneaky,” I correct.
He turns to face me. “Whatever it’s called. I like you, Erin, and I want to do nice things for you.”
I bite down on my lip. “You do?” I reply, embarrassed that my voice is suddenly breathless.
His lips curve into a soft smile, his gaze locked on mine. “I do.”
My heart hammers, and things begin to flutter in my belly. Nick likes me. He likes me! My smile threatens to take over my whole face as unadulterated joy rushes through me. I knew there was truth in his touch, in the way he looked at me, in the way he shared himself with me. That gorilla-gram wasn’t just for show. It was because he genuinely likes me.
And then it hits me afresh. All my reservations, all the reasons not to let myself fall. I dig my nails into my palms. He’s the Wild Boy of Rugby, a different girl every night of the week. Liking me means nothing. I’m a passing fancy, a flash in the pan with a hundred girls lined up to take my place.
I clear my throat and say brightly, “Well, now that you like me, we can fool everyone all the better.”
Something passes across his face. “Right. Got it.” He presses his lips into a line before he says, “I guess we should get out there.”
“I guess we should.”
He pulls the truck out of its parking space and joins the stream of traffic. It doesn’t take long for us to get downtown, and we chat easily about our day as we zip along.
After waiting in a crawling line of traffic outside the venue, Nick pulls the car up out front, and a valet in a red jacket immediately arrives by his door. I turn to see another valet standing at my door, ready to open it, and I can hear the sounds of the gathered crowd cheering outside.
Nick places his hand on mine, and I fight my instinct to curl my fingers through his. “You ready for this?” he asks.
I look out the window at the red carpet stretching along the ground, the crowds of people, the press, and other rugby pros with their partners. “I think so.”
“Everyone is going to know your name after tonight.”
My belly twists. “That’s the whole idea, right? Operation Fix Nick’s Reputation is a go, and I’m the girl for the job.”
He laughs as he gives my hand a final squeeze. “I guess.” He pushes his door open and immediately the valet on my side opens mine. The muffled sounds of the crowd amps right up, and lights flash around me in seizure-provoking bursts.
Nerves shredding me, I step out onto the curb, and Nick arrives at my side. He envelops my hand with his and shoots me an encouraging smile. “You got this.”
We walk hand in hand down the carpet as people call Nick’s name. He turns and places an arm possessively around my waist, and we pose as the loved-up couple we’re meant to be. I feel my anxiety slip away and even begin to enjoy the experience. It’s not every day you get to dress up and have your photograph taken on the arm of a sports hero.
“This is Erin Andrews, my girlfriend,” Nick announces to a surge of interest from the crowd.
“You make a cute couple,” a woman in the front row says.
“We think so,” Nick replies as he beams down at me, his eyes soft and loving.
I swallow a rising lump in my throat.
“How’d you meet?” someone else calls out.
“Through work,” I reply, my confidence bolstered. “I work for the Hawks, only I don’t spend quite as much time running around with a ball in my hands as Nick does.”
“Or at all,” Nick adds, and people laugh.
“Can I get a selfie with you, Nick?” a boy of about eleven asks.
“Sure!” He takes the kid’s phone and leans down to pose with him.
I wait as he poses for selfies with a bunch of other fans, feeling thoroughly self-conscious until someone calls out, “Hey, Nick’s girlfriend. What’s your name again?”
I turn and smile in the direction the voice came from and say, “I’m Erin Andrews.”
The flashes continue, and I don’t know which way to look. I turn one way and pop a cute pose then another, but the flashes are coming from all around me. I’m not even sure if they’re photographing me or not, so I stand there, trying to look like I belong and feeling anything but.
How do celebrities do this? You never see a shot of Emma Stone scratching her nose or Amy Adams bending down to adjust her shoes. They’re always so serene and unflustered, looking every inch the perfect celebrity—pretty much the opposite of how I feel right now.
And then the question I’ve been hoping for is called out by a female voice from the crowd. “Who are you wearing?” she asks.
As a couple of microphones are directed toward me, I reply, “I’m wearing a dress from Erin Andrews Designs.” I feel a surge of pride and beam out at the crowd. I’m standing on a red carpet, telling a bunch of media and fans that I’m a fashion designer, and it feels so gooood .
“Who?” she asks, and I spot a red-headed girl of about my age gawking at me.
I step a little closer to her. “Me. I made my dress,” I explain. “I’m Erin Andrews of Erin Andrews Designs.”
“You made your own dress?” she asks with a laugh. “What is this, dress-up day at school?”
Thrown by her unexpected nastiness, I take a step back when someone else yells, “Why didn’t Nick buy you a dress? Is he a total cheapskate?”
Someone replies with, “Nah, why should he bother? She’ll be replaced by the next girl soon enough.”
“Yeah, Nick’s not exactly the serious relationship type,” another says.
People around me laugh, and I feel the sting of disappointment tinged with a healthy dose of humiliation. I expected interest tonight, possibly a tricky question or two. I did not expect nastiness. Instead, I feel like I walked into a scene from Mean Girls with Regina and the Plastics taunting me with their derision.
I keep smiling. I’ve got to. They’re totally right. As far as I know, Nick hasn’t had a relationship with a woman lately that’s lasted longer than forty-eight hours, which I really don’t think qualifies as a relationship at all. More like a micro-date. The mini-break of the dating world. Dating Lite . You get the idea.
I look over at Nick, who’s handing a phone back to a woman. His eyes meet mine, and he raises his brows. I give him a thumbs-up and make a snap decision. I’m in this whole thing to get my name out there, to create a buzz around my designs. I’m not going to let these jerks get to me. No way. I am woman, hear me roar , and all those other rousing statements that make me want to fight, to be in control and focused on my destiny. (Okay, so that’s maybe a little overdramatic for the circumstances, but don’t judge me. It’s what I need to get me over the line right now.)
I take a step closer to the crowd, put my hand on my hip, and smile out at them all. “I’m Erin Andrews, and I’m a new fashion designer. I made this dress, which is one of Nick’s favorites. What do you think?” I give a girly twirl and beam out at the crowd. I may be opening myself up for my abuse, but dammit! I’m darn well going to follow through with my plans.
“I think it’s gorgeous,” a girl of about sixteen says. She’s like me, a non-tall, so I seize the chance to talk more about my designs with her.
“I design clothes for those of us who may lack in height but not spirit. Drop by my website sometime and remember my name: Erin Andrews.”
The girl beams back at me. “You look like a brunette Reese Witherspoon. She’s my idol.”
“OMG, mine too!” I gush, knowing, just knowing , this girl is part of my tribe. “I love her. She’s so classic but sexy, too, you know?”
“Totally,” the girl replies. “Do you only make dresses? ’Cos I don’t wear dresses much.”
“I make everything. Well, except underwear and socks. But maybe someday.”
“You look so beautiful in that dress,” a woman next to the girl says.
“Thank you,” I reply with a beam.
“Don’t listen to those horrid people,” she goes on. “They wouldn’t know good design if it leapt up and slapped them across the face. They’re just rugby-heads.”
I beam at her. “You’re so sweet.”
This is more like it, and those nasty, cynical, horrible people from before can go throw themselves off a tall building for all I care.
I feel Nick’s hand on the small of my back and turn to grin up at him.
“You look happy. Are you ready to go in?”
My confidence thoroughly restored, I reply, “I sure am,” before I turn back to the girl and the woman and say, “It was so nice meeting you both.”
“You too, and I’ll be sure to check out your designs,” the woman replies as people around her begin to call Nick over for more selfies.
I wait once more as he poses, impressed by his patience and dedication. He smiles for every shot, as though this is the best day of his life and he can’t imagine anything better than having his photo taken.
“Give your new girl a kiss, Nick!”
“Yeah, come on, guys. Show us a kiss!” someone else shouts, and the crowd begins to clap and cheer.
I raise my hands. “Lipstick,” I reply with a shrug, hoping that will be enough to put them off.
It’s not.
“Come on, Nick. Kiss her!”
My belly doing summersaults like it’s in Cirque du Soleil, I glance nervously up at Nick.
He’s smiling at me, his eyebrows raised. “I’m game if you are,” he says.
“Oh, I…” I search my brain for a reason not to kiss him. I come up with nothing. Well, not nothing , exactly. I want to kiss him. Really, really want to kiss him. Not just for the cameras, not just for Project Weka. For him.
And now, standing here beside him as he smiles that smile at me and the crowd bays for us to kiss, everything about us feels very, very real.
“Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!” the crowd chants.
I glance at Nick’s lips. They’re parted slightly, the edges curved gently into an easy smile. I lift my eyes to his, my heart beating like an enthusiastic bongo player, those circus performers in my belly doing a high-octane trapeze act.
“Are you game?” he murmurs.
Am I game to kiss the guy who I can’t get out of my head, the guy who is so much more than I thought he was, the guy who threw on a costume and danced around my office to make me feel better about my mum? My heart knows what it wants, and my body aches for him. But my head? My head is a mess. Am I game to kiss the guy who’s got the reputation of a heartbreaker, the guy who I’m only with to fix his reputation as a total party boy?
It’s a battle between heart and head, and in the end my heart is the clear winner.
I want to kiss Nick. I want to be with Nick.
Maybe it’s time I showed him what he’s come to mean to me.
In one bold move, I step closer to him, reach up, and place my hand on his shoulder. “I’m game,” I reply, my voice wobbling.
He responds immediately by slipping his arm around my waist. He pauses, smiling at me before he bends down and brushes his lips gently against mine. It’s a soft and tender kiss, and as our lips touch I breathe in his delicious scent and feel his arms pull me in closer to him. My head begins to spin and everything around us melts away. It’s him and me, no one else.
This may have started out as make-believe, but what I feel for him, these new feelings that have only begun to grow, are very, very real. As we stand together, locked in our embrace, I know that all I want is to be with him, to make him mine.