Chapter 18
Chapter Eighteen
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Shit. “Don’t look at me like that, Brooks. It’s not fair.”
Her eyebrows knit together like she’s puzzled, because of course she’s totally without guile—at least when it comes to me. I’ve seen her in action with others like Stubby, where she’s cagey as hell.
“Whatever,” Sabien says, “you’re married in the eyes of the public either way.
” He waves aside the hella hot issue of me and Brooks actually shacking up for a few months—which has both tantalizingly pleasant implications and the overwhelmingly nasty implication of doom.
Because it’s marriage for fuck’s sake, fake or not.
Answering to someone, monogamy, compromise, and all the relationship shit I’ve managed to avoid since I was fifteen and learned my lesson.
“What are you going to tell Coach when we get back?” He asks, taking me from my doom thoughts, the frying pan where I sit now, and throwing me metaphorically smack into the fire.
I shrug, resisting the thought of dealing with Coach with all my might—much like a little kid pulling the blankets over his eyes so the monster will go away.
He says, “I’ve been ignoring the texts he’s sending me, and I’m sure he’s sent you a few, but we can’t ignore him at practice tomorrow morning.”
That snaps my focus to our predicament like the solid thud of hitting the boards in the corner with nowhere else to go.
“Shit.” I don’t want to think about it, but we’re coming up against the final buzzer on this game. Do I continue the charade and go for broke with the fake marriage, or do I come clean and cop to the entire fucking mess?
“How about a compromise, Brooks? A few weeks should do it. By then our Vega Wedding debacle should fade from social media, and our bid for the Stanley Cup will be what people are talking about.”
She considers my words, and I can see her mind working; more importantly, I can see her latch onto the idea of a compromise with relief.
“We stick with the story that we’re married for four weeks, and then we part ways.
If anyone asks, it’s an amicable divorce, acknowledging that we’re both too young. ”
“Amicable divorce?” I raise my brows at her. “I’m not familiar with the idea. Never heard of it.” Hell, my family doesn’t believe in divorces of any kind. Fuck. Panic sets in, but I hide it, pulling her close.
She nods. “Absolutely. It’s definitely a thing. Especially in our case.”
“I’m in for the fake marriage, but we’ll have to get a fake annulment.” I’m half-teasing her because, well, old habits die hard. “An amicable annulment.”
Sabien laughs, shaking his head.
Bianca waves her hand. “Whatever fake resolution you want is fine with me. Four weeks should do it.”
“Won’t that mean the end of the not-so-fake business relationship between you?” Sabien asks, being the astute person he is.
“I won’t let that happen.” My jaw tightens, and I’m as serious as the devil.
Sabien’s eyes flicker with surprise. “What are you going to do about it? This is real life, and you’re no superhero.”
“Don’t be a shithead,” I say, surprising them both.
Bianca says, “I’ve thought about that, and I have it figured out.”
I notice the very slight shake in her voice, and I’m surprised at the sudden clench in my chest. I have no intentions of letting her take the fall or in any way be harmed by my wedding ring folly or any of the fallout, fake marriage and all.
What she has figured out, I’m curious to hear, but the limo pulls to the curb at the Jet Blue terminal, and the door opens, prompting us to get out, leaving Bianca’s thoughts trapped in her head.
And leaving me far more curious than I should be about what’s on her mind.