Chapter 11
Juliet
Iwas a dumb teenager with a crush on his older sister’s best friend. Parker’s words play on a loop in my mind with each step I take on the treadmill. And when I’m not thinking about them, I’m thinking the one thing I shouldn’t even be wondering.
Does he like me now?
I can’t tell if I want him to like me now because I think he’s hot, or if it’s some other reason that I don’t want to admit yet. All I know is that he’s gorgeous and now he’s my fake boyfriend.
What did I get myself into?
We run for almost forty-five minutes. It feels good.
My mind is clear as I step off the treadmill and have to walk a few steps for my body to get used to the stationary ground.
Parker stops his machine and climbs down and takes off his glasses, lifting his shirt to wipe the sweat from his forehead. I should look away, but I can’t.
His stomach is all muscle. For someone who has never played sports, he’s in extremely good shape. I don’t know why I’m surprised, but his six pack looks like it was chiseled onto his body. The shirt slides down and when he returns his glasses to his face, that stupid smirk of his appears again.
“Ready to go, girlfriend.”
I frown. “I feel like that’s a stupid nickname. Like, would you actually call me that if I was your girlfriend?”
He thinks for a moment, looking deeply into my eyes and says, “I’d call you…skills.”
My mouth drops open. There’s no way he knows about that incident unless Blair told him.
He ducks his head to hide his smile. “I’d apologize, but Blair was telling our mom and didn’t realize I was in the dining room while they were talking in the kitchen, and the story was just too good.”
“You can’t call me something that’s named after the most embarrassing moment of my life.”
He tilts his head at me. “Was it embarrassing? Because it seems to me like it’s the most Jules thing you could have done.”
“What does that even mean?”
He takes a step closer to me. I get a whiff of his spicy deodorant and sweat, and as much as that should gross me out, I go a little weak at the knees. “It means I know you, skills.”
For a split second, I’m thrown back in time to twelfth grade English class.
I’d only been partially paying attention to the lesson—my first mistake—but I thought the class was talking about athletic skills.
I blurted loudly how my soccer skills were what got me onto the U.S.
team that I’d be playing for after graduation.
The entire class laughed, and my teacher informed me that my making the team was great, but in that moment we were talking about the literary skills and tools that Shakespeare had used in his comedies.
Blair never let me live it down. I swore her to secrecy, but apparently, that secrecy didn’t extend to her mom. Not that I can blame her; if our roles had been switched, I would have told my mom too.
I remind myself to breathe, focusing on the present moment, which is a mistake because I breathe in more of him. “I think I liked it better when you called me ‘girlfriend.’”
He tosses his head back, laughing. “Too late for that. Shall we go, babe?”
I groan. Babe is worse. A million times worse. That’s what Axel called me all the time.
He notices. “Got it, skills it is.”
He wraps an arm around my sweaty shoulder. “It’s 11:11. Make a wish.”
I look up at the large neon clock that’s hanging on the wall, and it is 11:11. I close my eyes, but I’m not sure what to wish for. Eleven is my jersey number, and when we were kids—Blair and I, and if Parker was around, him too—would always make a wish at 11:11.
I wish I knew what I was supposed to do with my life. If there is more to my life than soccer. I wish—hope—that maybe there’s a guy out there for me that sees me for me, and not as a famous soccer player.
I open my eyes to find Parker looking down at me. His arm is still hooked around my shoulders, so our noses are nearly touching. “Didn’t know if you still did that or not,” he says quietly.
I nod. “Whenever I notice it’s 11:11, I do.”
He smiles, releasing me. “Told you I knew you.”
My heart falters. Is that not what I just wished for? “Guess so.” It’s all I can manage to say.
“What’s next on the agenda? Showers? Food?”
I nod. “Those both sound good.” Maybe while he’s in the shower I’ll try to talk to Blair, and if she’s still not feeling well, I’ll have to call my manager, Lily.
There are too many feelings happening inside my body right now.
I wish I was home so I could curl up under a blanket and not think about anything for a few hours.
But I don’t have that luxury here, so the next best thing will be to talk it out with someone.
Blair is always giving great advice anyway; that’s what people pay her to do.
But my feelings are also about her brother, so maybe I’ll just call Lily instead.
“Earth to Jules.” A large hand waves in front of my face.
“Sorry,” I say. “Zoned out for a second.”
“Do I need to give you the phone number of my therapist? She’s really helpful.” He says it so playfully, but I know he’s being serious. His eyes are focused, concerned.
“I’m good,” I say. A woman who’s lifting beside us grunts and Parker moves in seconds, grabbing the bar so it doesn’t fall down and smash her face.
“Thanks,” she says weakly. “I thought I could do that much weight—guess not.”
He lowers the weights into the stand. “Not a problem, just make sure when you do lifts like that you have a spotter, even if you can lift the weight. It’s always better to be safe than sorry.”
The woman nods, embarrassed.
Parker squats down, reaching for something on the ground—I think it’s the woman’s phone—when there’s a loud rip.
I twist away immediately to try and cover up my laughter, but it’s no use.
It bursts out of me, and I turn and see a huge split down the seam of Parker’s joggers, showing off his blue boxers.
“Oh my gosh, I am so sorry,” the woman stammers.
Parker’s eyes whip to mine, where I have fixed my gaze so I’m not looking at his backside. “It’s all good,” he says. “These are old anyway.”
He hands the woman her phone before doing a side shuffle toward our coats, his backside facing the wall.
“You look like Winona Ryder in Little Women,” I cackle. “When the back of her dress is covered with soot so she moves along the wall.”
“Very funny,” he grumbles, tying his coat around his waist to cover up the ripped pants. His cheeks are red, and I bet if I reached out and touched them they’d be flaming.
“Maybe if your thighs weren’t so jacked that wouldn’t be a problem.” I laugh. “Ripper.”
His eyes blaze. “Ripper? What am I, a serial killer now?”
“Of pants, you are.”
He reaches for me, pulling me into him so my arms are stuck between us, then he tickles my side. I squeal, trying to break free, which only makes him tickle me more.
“I take it back,” I giggle-shout. “Let me go!”
He releases me immediately. “If you’re going to call me ripper, you’re going to get tickled.” He’s slightly out of breath. I am too.
“Fine, I’ll have to come up with something else. And you should come up with a better nickname too. Jules is just fine, you know.”
“But everyone calls you Jules. I’ve got to have something that’s special.”
“And skills is what you came up with? I should tickle you to get you to stop.” It’d be a great idea if he weren’t almost a foot taller than me and a wall of muscle. I’m strong, but I don’t think I would win a tickle battle and he knows it.
“I’d love to see you try.”
I run at him, but he catches me, scooping me up in his arms. “Hey, no fair.”
“Life isn’t fair, sweetheart. Plus, you can keep me warm on the walk back to the cabin.”
“You cannot seriously think that you’re going to carry me back to the cabin!” I shriek.
His hazel-brown eyes meet mine, filling me with warmth that has nothing to do with his strong arms around me. “I’ll put you down if that’s what you want. But if you try to tickle me, I’m picking you up again.”
I slowly move one of my hands closer to his side, where I know he’s always been ticklish. “And what if I tickle you now?” I ask.
He nearly drops me, trying to get away from my fingers.
“Two can play at this game, ripper.” I laugh.
“You’ll pay for that, skills.” And with that, he chases me out of the gym, through the lobby, and into the winter wonderland that leads to our cabin.
But I’m faster.
We missed the breakfast with Santa this morning, thanks to me sleeping in. I’m usually a morning person, but I think with everything going on this week with the event, plus Axel being here, my brain needed more time to rest than usual.
After we’ve both showered and I check in on Blair, who’s sound asleep when I peek in her room, Parker and I decide that we should go sledding, one of the activities the resort offers. But when we get to the sledding area, there are so many people.
“Should we find something else to do?” I ask, taking in the line. There are too many people for me.
“Only if you want to,” he says, but he doesn’t seem thrilled about all the people either.
“I’d rather go do something than stand in line to go down the mountain on a tube.” While it does look fun, I’m not sure it will be worth it.
“Let’s go see what else the lodge has to offer,” he says, and we head back toward the lodge.
“Thanks for being such a good sport about this,” I say. “I know we said that we were going to do everything on the list and all the charity event activities and everything, but…”
“It’s a lot?” he asks.
I nod.
“We could go watch a Christmas movie back at the cabin,” he suggests.
My heart rate slows back to a normal pace.
“Watching a movie sounds perfect.” I want to do everything the resort has to offer—I do.
I haven’t seen half of the athletes or Mr. Mynt since the VIP meet-and-greet event that first day, but I’m exhausted.
I don’t love being so out in the open either.
I need my time to recoup, to have time to myself or with people that I care about.
Playing soccer professionally has been incredible, I love being with my team and playing the game.
I love hearing the fans cheering for us in the stands.
But interacting with the fans? With people?
Sometimes that’s just too much. And it feels silly right now that I’m feeling like it’s been too much when we haven’t done that much this week.
“Is Elf still your favorite Christmas movie?” Parker asks, breaking me out from my thoughts.
“You know it.”
“It’s a classic,” he says.
“What’s your favorite?” I ask. “I feel like I should know that, but I don’t think I do.” Guilt swarms my body. I don’t know him as well as he knows me and I hate that. Wait, why do I hate that? I shouldn’t hate that.
“The Muppet Christmas Carol,” he says, oblivious to the guilt that’s eating me.
“Seriously?” I ask.
“One of my favorites, but probably the best version of A Christmas Carol there is. I watch most of them every year. One of the professors in my department hosts a marathon the Saturday before Christmas and plays pretty much every version there is at her house. She has an open invitation to everyone she knows. Come whenever, bring a treat, stay as long as you’d like.
Last year, she had a schedule of when each version would be starting so you could plan accordingly. ”
“That sounds like some serious dedication.”
He shrugs. “It’s fun. A lot of people from the department come, along with her neighbors and family. It’s a day full of cozy Christmas movies and good times.”
“And you’re missing it this year,” I say, feeling guiltier than ever now.
“It’s all good. I can watch them anytime.”
“But it’s not the same experience. We should definitely watch the Muppet version and another if you want to,” I say quickly. “I don’t think I’ve actually seen that version.” Or any version of A Christmas Carol, actually. My go-to movies this time of year are The Santa Clause and Elf.
“Only if you want to,” Parker says, looking sheepish.
“We can have our own movie marathon today,” I say. “Maybe we should go get popcorn and other treats from that store so we can stay in the rest of the day.”
“That sounds great.” His shoulders relax a little, and I wonder if he needs a break from festivities as much as I do.
“I can run to the store if you want to figure out the TV in the cabin and if we can login to the streaming platforms or if we need to connect a laptop to it. I’ve got mine, and any cords we’d probably need. ”
This makes me smile. “Of course you do.”
“I am a professor after all; gotta be prepared.”
“For a movie marathon?” I ask.
He grins at me. “Always.”