Chapter 21 White Heather for Luck #2
“That was way too close,” Tempest said, but she was grinning. “Also, Tyson and DeMarcus's bathroom is tiny. Artie elbowed me in the boob.”
“You stepped on my foot.”
“Ladies, please,” Flynn said. “You're both disasters.”
They emerged, and something about seeing Artie in my hotel room, in Edinburgh, made everything feel more real. We'd been living together for months, but this was different. This was choosing to be together even when it was complicated, and only for a few hours.
“Come here,” I said, pulling her onto my bed.
She curled into my side immediately, fitting against me perfectly. “This is nice.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. Even if your bed is tiny and probably has athlete germs.”
“My athlete germs are exclusive to you now.”
Flynn made a gagging noise. “I'm begging you both to stop.”
“You're literally spooning Tempest right now,” I pointed out.
“That's different. We're cute. You two are nauseating.”
Tempest hit him with a pillow. “Be nice. They're in their honeymoon phase.”
“Yeah, but they've only been openly disgusting for three weeks,” Flynn said. “Trust me, it gets worse before it gets better. Gryff's already said my girlfriend approximately eight thousand times.”
“Eight thousand and one,” I corrected. “My girlfriend is very patient with my enthusiasm.”
Artie hid her face in my chest. “Oh my god.”
“My girlfriend gets embarrassed easily.”
“I'm going to smother you with this pillow.”
“My girlfriend is also violent.”
She did try to smother me then, which devolved into a pillow fight that we had to keep quiet, which made everything funnier. By the time we collapsed back onto the beds, breathless and laughing, it was past midnight.
“We should probably go,” Artie said reluctantly.
I held her tighter. We'd agreed the girls wouldn't actually spend the night. Nobody needed to see their twin brother canoodling overnight. Ew.
“Five more minutes,” I bargained, pulling her closer.
“You have a game tomorrow.”
“I'll play better if I get five more minutes.”
“It's true.” Flynn held Tempest close too. “Everyone knows Kingman's play better when they're in love.”
Artie gave me a tiny nip with her teeth on my earlobe and whispered into my ear. “I heard it was when Kingman's get laid.”
“Stay, I'll make Flynn sleep in the hall and we can find out.”
She gave me another kiss. “Good try. You'll just have to dream about it. I know I will be.”
It took another ten minutes of goodbye kisses and promises to be careful sneaking back out before they finally left. Flynn and I stood at the door, watching them creep down the hallway like very giggly ninjas.
“We're idiots,” Flynn said.
“Complete idiots,” I agreed.
“Worth it though.”
“Absolutely worth it.”
Game day in Edinburgh was surreal. The stadium wasn't as big as what we were used to, but it was packed with curious Scottish fans who'd come to see what American football was all about. During warm-ups, I kept scanning the stands, looking for Artie.
“Northwest section,” Tyson said, appearing beside me. “With the other wives and girlfriends.”
“How did you—“
“Dude, you've looked at that section twelve times already.” He grinned. “Also, she's wearing your jersey. Kind of hard to miss.”
I found her instantly after that. She was sitting with Tempest and the other PALs, and making it look like she was exactly where she belonged. My number on her back, her hair pulled back in a ponytail, laughing at something Jade Clay was saying.
This was big. It was huge. It was Artie claiming her spot as my girlfriend in front of everyone, no more pretense, no more practice.
And I was going to ignore the fact that Sloane had Harry pointing directly at me as I grinned like a fool.
“Freeman,” Coach barked. “Your hamstring better be perfect.”
“Miraculous recovery, Coach,” Tyson called back, then lower to me, “You owe me so big.”
“Name your price.”
“Introduce me to one of Artie's rugby friends.”
“Done.”
The game itself was brutal. The Cincinnati Tigers had a shit offense, but their defense were hungry and mean.
But we won, 24-17, the crowd loved it, and I had the game of my fucking life.
Probably because of the very, very realistic sex dream I had where Artie was a unicorn and I was a dragon and we shape-shifted into human forms and had magical orgasms.
After the game, showered and changed, I finally made it to where the PALs were waiting. Artie launched herself at me, and I caught her easily, spinning her around while she laughed.
“You were amazing,” she said.
“I missed you,” I said, setting her down but keeping my arms around her.
“It's been four hours.”
“Four hours too long.”
“You're ridiculous.”
“You love ridiculous.”
“I love you.”
And right there, in front of teammates and PALs and a bunch of Scottish strangers, and yes, even Harry the cameraman, I kissed her. Really kissed her. The kind of kiss that made Flynn yell “Get a room,” and DeMarcus whistle.
“Well, well, that was golden. The cameras sure loved the two of you.”
Sloane appeared like she'd been waiting for us.
“Mind if I grab you both for a quick chat? Just want to get your thoughts on the international experience while it's fresh.”
Artie tensed beside me, but I'd agreed to cooperate with filming, and she had already been in my home life segments. We knew the deal.
“Sure,” I said, though everything in me wanted to tell her to fuck off.
We found ourselves in the hotel bar, Sloane sitting across from us. She started with softball questions like how was the game, how was the city, how were the fans. Normal stuff.
Then she shifted, and so did my protective instincts. I shifted closer to Artie and took her hand.
“You two make such a beautiful couple,” she said, smiling in that way that didn't reach her eyes. “It must be such a relief to finally be in a normal relationship after all that experimentation in college.”
I felt Artie's hand tighten in mine.
“Experimentation?” Artie asked carefully.
“Well, you know. You've both dated men and women. But now you've found your way to something more traditional. Stable.”
Aw, fuck.
“Bisexuality isn't experimentation,” I said, trying to keep my voice level. “It's not a phase or a waystation to something else.”
“Of course not.” Sloane said, all fake understanding. “I just mean it must be easier now. Being in a straight-passing relationship. No one questions you, no one judges. You can just be... normal.”
“We've never been trying to be normal,” Artie said.
“But you are now, aren't you? I mean, look at you. The football star and his girlfriend. Very all-American. Very traditional.” She leaned forward.
“Do you think your past relationships with the same sex were just about finding yourselves? Like, you needed to explore that side before you could settle into something real?”
The silence in the room was deafening. I could feel my pulse in my ears, anger building with each word.
“Because that's what it looks like from the outside,” Sloane continued, her voice honey-sweet and poisonous.
“Two people who went through their bi phase and came out the other side in a nice, heterosexual relationship.
It's actually quite sweet. You experimented, you explored, and you found your way back to normal.”
She smiled, tilting her head. “So tell me, would you say being bisexual was just something you both needed to get out of your system before finding real love with each other?”
Artie's hand in mine was trembling now, but I couldn't tell if it was from rage or hurt. My own anger was a living thing in my chest, clawing to get out. Sloane's question hung in the air like the challenge it was.
Waiting for us to defend ourselves, our identities, our love.
Waiting for us to give her the drama she so desperately wanted.
She wanted drama? I was going to give her fucking drama.