Chapter 41
HER MEN
Hayes
“I need a photo of this. You two look like twins.” The declaration comes from Ivy as she enters the kitchen from the bedroom that weekend, smirking at me, then at Stefan.
“We do not,” I say, plucking at my newish burgundy golf shirt.
Stefan stares down at his navy one, scoffing. “If we do, it’s because you dressed us, sweetheart. You picked out these clothes.”
“And I had fun,” she says, squaring her shoulders as she closes the distance between us. She bought me this shirt yesterday, since I didn’t have one that fit. I’ve bulked up over the summer and haven’t grabbed a new one yet. “And you both look good.”
She smooths a hand over the collar of my shirt even though it doesn’t need smoothing.
I stare at her hand on me. Looks too fucking right.
Feels too good. Too bad she stops to tap her finger against her lips.
“Maybe I should even do a new post titled How to find a sexy golf outfit secondhand. Pretty clothes for—”
She stops short. I can hear my men forming on her lips, but then she swallows it.
I glance over at Stefan, and something warm sparks in my chest. Not for him, of course. But for…I’m not sure. Maybe moments like this? With the three of us together? Is that what I’m longing for?
Maybe.
We feel like a team in some strange way, getting ready for the event together. But before I linger too long on that thought, I nod toward the couch where a wrapped gift waits for…our woman.
“And since you picked our clothes, we get to pick yours,” I say.
“We are excellent at shopping too,” Stefan, my partner in crime, adds.
Ivy gestures to the flouncy red dress she’s wearing, shooting us a quizzical look. “I already picked my dress. I’m not golfing, so I don’t have to wear golf pants.”
I step forward, tugging up the skirt of her dress. She’s wearing white cotton panties. “Did I say we got you a dress?”
Her lips part. “Oh.”
Stefan heads to the living room. “We got you something we can play with later,” he says, then returns with a white box with a red bow.
When she opens the box and tugs out a pair of red lace panties with a tiny wearable vibrator built into the fabric, her breath catches.
“Put it in your purse. We’ll tell you when to put the panties on,” Stefan says, then dips his hand into his pocket, brandishing the remote and handing it to me. “And then we’ll decide when to turn you on.”
With a glossy look in her eyes, she complies, tucking the gift inside her purse where, I hope, it’ll set her on fire all day long.
We leave, and Ivy looks like she’s already turned on.
* * *
We arrive together at the golf course, but I feel off. It’s strange to step out of my car with my wife and my buddy. I feel like a liar. Well, I am a liar. I’ve been faking everything.
Have you, though, man?
That’s the thing. After the valet takes our clubs out of the car, then drives off to park it, we walk to the clubhouse, but I feel like I’m faking something. And it’s no longer the marriage to Ivy.
It’s the truth of who we are behind closed doors.
I hate kissing her goodbye at the entrance to the clubhouse when Stefan’s not doing the same.
This course is owned by Wilder Blaine, who also owns the Renegades football team in this city.
The billionaire has a young daughter, so he wanted this place to be more family-friendly and he added a mini-golf course for kids.
Since Ivy doesn’t play regular golf, she made plans with Trina to play mini golf while we’re here, but I feel like shit watching her walk away after kissing her.
This is the opposite of the warm feeling I had in my chest at home. This is something I never expected. Something I’m not even sure how to deal with.
Except…maybe I do know how to deal with it.
Head-on.
I steal a glance at my college friend, the team captain, the guy I’ve come to know in all the ways. We head on over to the golf carts, where the valet sent our clubs. I glance around, making sure the coast is clear. We’re alone on the path. “Stef,” I begin.
“Yeah?”
But what am I saying? What am I asking? How the hell do I do this?
We stop on a grassy hill several feet from the carts. “She doesn’t feel like just mine,” I blurt out, because fuck it, sometimes you just have to rip off the Band-Aid.
He smiles, slow and easy. “That so?”
“She really doesn’t,” I say, dragging a hand through my already messy hair.
This is so hard, opening myself up. I don’t want to be like my dad. Don’t want to wear my heart on my sleeve. Don’t want to fall and get hurt.
But something shifted when Ivy fell on the ice.
I shifted.
I power through, no matter how uncomfortable I feel voicing my emotions.
No matter how much easier it is to be cold, I try to be the opposite.
“It’s hard to think about this ending tomorrow night.
There’s no wedding to go to anymore,” I point out.
That was one of the reasons Ivy and I were staying married.
The plan was to peter out after these public appearances, including this one today, then quietly get divorced.
“She doesn’t need a wedding date,” Stefan says, open-ended, waiting for me to supply the next link in the logic chain.
The first day I met Ivy, I volunteered to be her date. Now, that she doesn’t need my plus-one-ing, I feel at loose ends. I feel like I’m wearing the wrong size shoes, but I have to keep walking in them.
“So,” I fill in Stefan’s blank, “it’s this and the game night tomorrow.” I want to stop time so I don’t have to ask the next question. “What happens then?”
Stefan doesn’t answer in his usual rapid-fire style. He pauses, pinning me with a thoughtful gaze, then says, “I think you should ask yourself that question.”
Goddammit. He’s right. But he’s also a good friend, so he adds, “What do you want to happen?”
I’m starting to figure that out. Ideas form in my head, but are they ready to make landfall?
“What about you? What do you want? You’re so…chill with everything.”
With a laugh, he claps my shoulder. “We’re in different places. I’ve known all along what I want.” Hearing it feels like a punch to the jaw. “I just…want it more now.”
I wince, rubbing my hand along my beard. Who do I blame for that blow—Stefan, or the realization I have yet to face?
I swallow before I can speak past all the foreign feelings. “I think I do too,” I admit.
Damn, that was hard.
But necessary.
Stefan grins, big and broad. “Welcome to the club. Now let’s go kick some fucking ass on the course.”
He doesn’t ask what’s next, or where do we go from here. Sometimes you have to take these realizations in bite-size chunks.
It’s time to hit the links.
We’re teammates on the course, which seems fitting. What I like best is when we come out ahead at the end and Jessie strides up to playfully chide us. “Don’t you know you’re supposed to let the team owner win?”
Stefan chuckles. “Somehow I don’t think you’d want that ever.”
“You’re right. I don’t,” she says, then nods to the restaurant. “Let’s head inside.”
As we walk there, she says to Stefan, “I hear you’re up for Sportsman of the Year for The Sports Network.”
“I am,” he says.
“I’ll be there to see you accept it. It’ll be an honor for one of my players to win.”
“You do like winning,” Stefan says. It’s fascinating to watch him hold his own with her. I admire that about Stefan—his ease in any situation. His calmness. His confidence. He’s a man who knows what he wants.
“I like winning fairly, so I’ll have to challenge you two to another round,” she tells him. Then to me, she adds, “Now, let’s find your wife.”
Your.
That word, like the kiss at the clubhouse, feels off. Once Jessie and I find Ivy and head inside, Stefan’s not at our table, and that seems wrong as well.
It feels wrong the whole time I’m there with Ivy, chatting with Jessie and taking pictures.
It feels wrong as Ivy chats with Jessie’s friends and colleagues, then with Trina, Ryker, and Chase.
And it feels wrong when the luncheon winds down and photos are snapped, and Parvati asks if she can post them on social on Monday.
That feels like the worst part of all.
“Actually, I’d like a pic with Stefan in it too,” I say.
I don’t tell her why. But I collect him for the photo and it feels exactly right. After Parvati takes the picture, it’s time for the silent auction, so I turn to Stefan. “Now would be a good time.”
He turns to Ivy and whispers in her ear. I watch her breath hitch, then she clutches her purse tightly and heads to the ladies’ room.