27. FOURTEEN
FOURTEEN
EDEN
“Everything okay?”
I drop my phone like it’s set to self-destruct and look up. “Yeah, sure, why?”
Brynn takes a long sip of her drink and gives me a pointed look. “Whatever message you just read made you turn as green as my matcha.”
She sits across a small round table from me, dressed in hot-pink athleisure with an oversized denim jacket slung around her shoulders. Her face is fresh of makeup, and her hair is pulled back from her face in a sleek auburn ponytail.
She looks like a model who’s just got back from a go-see.
True to his word, Alex set up this little coffee date with his sister so she can help me with strategies to protect Macon from the media.
We’re going to ride together to watch his game when we’re done—my first time watching him play as his “girlfriend.” My first time watching him, or anyone, play soccer ever.
“It’s nothing.” I swallow. “Honestly, it’s fine.”
It’s not fine.
In fact, it’s the furthest thing from fine.
Sebastian’s silence up until this point has been a relentless strain on my mind. We haven’t spoken since he told me he was considering filing for custody, and I haven’t been served any papers, so I’d somehow managed to gaslight myself into thinking that no news equals good news.
Boy, was I wrong.
“Did someone send you a dick pic?” Brynn presses. “I get them all the time on Instagram. When the girls are in bed, Leo and I sometimes go through them together and rate them out of ten.”
What an interesting activity to do as a couple.
“Do you get any good ones?” I ask, glad to keep the conversation away from the message I just received from my ex-husband.
She grimaces. “We had a solid seven once. But mostly, they never rate higher than a four. It’s weird, the guys with the ugliest dicks are always the ones most eager to show them off. And they’re always flaccid. Who wants a photo of a flaccid dick? They look like naked mole rats.”
I wouldn’t know.
I’ve never received a dick pic myself.
The sounds of buzzing conversation and clattering mugs hum around us as she sets her drink down and leans across the table. “It wasn’t a dick pic that made you freak out, was it?”
I don’t know what it is about Brynn that makes me want to confess all my troubles to her.
Maybe it’s how free she is with her own words, the warmth that radiates from her like sunlight, or the simple fact that she’s a mother like me, but I find my tongue loosening.
If anyone could understand the crippling fear I’m living with every day, I imagine it would be her.
I pick up a napkin and start to shred it. “I don’t know how much Alex has told you about our situation.”
“Just that he needs to reform his image so the stuffy-ass investors don’t have him kicked off the team.”
“Yeah.” I nod. “But our relationship is beneficial to me too.”
She tips her head in a silent question.
“My ex-husband is remarrying, and he’s threatening to file for sole custody of my son. Sebastian, my ex, thinks that because I’m single and don’t have a lot of money, I’m not in a position to raise Macon with the same level of structure and financial security as he can.”
“That’s bullshit!” Brynn winces at the volume of her voice, shooting an apologetic smile to the elderly couple who are sitting at the table next to ours. “But seriously, that’s bullshit. It was him who texted you?”
“Yeah, he wants to talk, apparently.”
“Are you going to?”
“I have to, I guess.” I release a long sigh and sag back in my seat.
“The thing is, if I thought Macon would be genuinely happier with his dad, then I wouldn’t fight it.
I want what’s best for him, even if that isn’t me.
But he hates the weekends he spends there, and he always comes home really quiet and withdrawn. ”
Her eyes glisten with genuine empathy as she reaches across to lay her hand on top of mine. “Macon belongs with you. We won’t let your shitty ex-husband take him. I can promise you that.”
I appreciate the resolve in her tone, but I can’t drop my guard enough to believe her. I wish I could, but I know Sebastian. I had to live with his singlemindedness for years. He has never been the sort to back down from what he wants, no matter who he has to trample over to get it.
“He’s probably got all the best lawyers on the case already, and it’ll be a done deal as soon as they see where we live, anyway. I sleep on a futon, for Christ’s sake.”
“Move in with Alex.” She says it like it’s the most obvious solution in the world. And it probably is in her eyes.
But how would I explain it to Macon?
It’s not like I can tell him the truth. He’s a ten-year-old boy.
He’d probably tell his best friend, thinking they’d keep it a secret, then they’d go and tell someone else, who would tell someone else, until it eventually got back to Sebastian.
The risk of him discovering our public relationship is high enough as it is.
I shake my head. “It would be too disruptive for Macon.”
“Yeah, I guess you’re right.” Her lips slant. “It’s something to think about, though. And don’t worry about your ex’s lawyers; we’ve got some pretty good connections of our own, you know? Alex will get you lawyered up, no problem.”
My eyebrows shoot up. “He’d do that for me?”
She throws her head back and laughs. “Honey, my brother is the most overbearing and protective asshole there is when it comes to the people he cares about. Of course he will.”
But he doesn’t care about me. Not really. I’m a means to an end.
Every interaction we have in public is a lie. A carefully curated one to convince the world that we’re in love. Any display of care and protectiveness he’s shown me has been a part of that.
It wasn’t real. It will never be real. But I should take Brynn’s conviction that Alex cares about me as a good sign that we’re selling it well. I must be a better actress than I thought.
Maybe I’ve picked up a thing or two from watching Macon’s performances.
Brynn glances down at the time on her phone and gasps. “Shit, we need to get going. Macon and your sister are meeting us at the stadium, right?”
I nod, throwing on my coat and leaving the lingering unease of our conversation behind me.
Sebastian can get fucked. We’ll have our “talk” another time, when I’m not about to step in front of seventy thousand fans and pretend to be in love with the captain of one of the most successful teams in MLS history.
Brynn grabs my arm as we’re leaving and levels me with a look of utter sincerity. “I know it all feels scary right now, but I know my brother. Just keep doing what you’re doing, and let him handle the rest. Everything is going to be fine.”
As per Brynn’s advice, Macon should stay in the family suite during the game. Hidden safely behind reflective glass, my son chomps down on a hot dog, happily oblivious to whatever is happening on the pitch—which, as of right now, is only warm-up drills.
“My God, I thought watching hot men run around in shorts would be way more fun than this.” Aspen collapses down into a plush, theater-style seat with a huff.
She’s right.
Watching players dribble a ball around some cones while a balding man blows a whistle at them is surprisingly tedious.
Brynn, who’s changed into Leo’s jersey and now wears the number seven across her back, grins. “Don’t worry. It gets more interesting.”
“Really?” My sister raises a brow.
Brynn wrinkles her nose. “Well, it does if they’re winning. It sucks for everyone if they lose.”
I look through the ceiling-high window that overlooks the pitch and try to find Alex amongst the sea of men.
“Look for number seven.” Brynn nudges me, standing and dusting off her jersey. “I’m going pitch-side for a minute to kiss Leo good luck. He gets real pissy if I don’t. You wanna come with?”
And have nearly a hundred thousand people staring at me? No thanks.
I shake my head. “I’m good here.”“I wasn’t really asking.” She rolls her eyes. “Come on. Alex Wolfe has just hard-launched his new girl, so all the fans are gonna be desperate to get their eyes on her.”
Yeah, that’s what I’m afraid of.
When I was considering the deal with Alex, I spent so much time thinking about how the public exposure would affect my son that I forgot to think about how it might affect me.
But it’s too late to ponder on it, because Brynn grabs my hand and drags me out the door to the grandstands. She doesn’t slow her pace as we fly down the stairs, uncaring that I’m one slip away from a bone break. It’s only once we’re pressed against the barrier that she finally releases me.
In fact, the moment she glimpses her husband, she forgets about me entirely.
Like beacons drawn to one another, Leo zeroes in on her. He lights up like a damn firework, an enormous smile splitting his face, and I wonder what it must be like to be on the receiving end of such bold and obvious love.
I wonder if I’ll ever get to find out for myself.
Leo breaks away from the group he’s with and nudges Alex to follow him. I do my best to keep my heartbeat in check as he jogs toward me, strands of hair slipping free from his signature topknot.
His cleats squeak to a stop on the turf. The cold has stained his cheeks red, making his impeccably straight teeth appear an even brighter white. It’s almost unnatural how perfect they are. Scratch that. It’s definitely unnatural. He’s paid for those choppers, I’m sure of it.
“Do you have veneers?”
He chuckles. “Hello to you too, beautiful.”
“Well, do you?”
He rubs the back of his neck. “I may have taken a trip to Turkey in my early twenties.”
Of course he did.
“You’re judging me, aren’t you?”
I leave the question unanswered. It isn’t that I’m judging him; it’s just that knowing his mouth costs more than my monthly rent is a sobering reminder of how utterly unequipped I am to be doing this with him.
It doesn’t help that he’s frowning as he takes in my outfit—a red sweater and light-wash jeans embroidered with little pink cherries.
“What are you wearing?”
I look down at myself. I didn’t think what I’d picked out this morning was particularly egregious, and I’d even taken into account his team colors, but given the borderline annoyance on his face, I must have missed something fundamental.
“You’re not wearing my jersey.”
Oh.
“Was I supposed to?”
“Obviously.” He snorts. "How else is everyone going to know that you’re mine if you don’t have my name written on your back?”
I reckon the zoomed-in photo of him eating my face in the press might be a tip-off.
Cocking my hand on my hip, I level him with a glare. “That would have been a good piece of information to have before the fact.”
I’ve never been to a soccer game before, much less as the significant other of one of the players.
Alex flicks a glance over his shoulder to where a group of fans is filming us on their phones, then he reaches over the barrier to take my hand.
Oh, right. I’m supposed to be acting like I’m in love with him.
“I sent one to your place.” His thumb brushes across my wrist. “Didn’t you get it?”
I force a swallow. “I thought it was for Macon. He’s wearing it, if that’s any consolation.”
“It was for you, but that’s my bad. I should have sent two.” He chews his lip in thought, an idea forming behind his drawn brows.
“Oh, well, never mind, there’s always—hey, what the hell are you doing?”
I gape in horror as Alex grabs the hem of his jersey and tears it over his head. He thrusts it toward me, his muscles rippling beneath the tight squeeze of his compression shirt, and I thank God he’s wearing one, because if this situation were occurring without it, I can’t be sure of how I’d react.
I fear his abs pose a grave danger to my sensibilities.
“There.” He grins. “Problem solved.”
My fingers twist into the red fabric, and I bring it to my nose with a suspicious sniff. It smells of him. Dizzyingly so.
“It stinks.”
Of man. And sweat. And pheromones that I guess my body must approve of, because there’s an unmistakable pulse of something between my legs that I’d rather ignore. I can’t wear this for the next ninety-something minutes. It’d be a hazard.
Alex, however, isn’t fazed at all. “Sucks to be you, but I can’t pretend that I don’t enjoy the thought of you covered in me all day.”
Somebody kill me.
He jolts his chin to the shirt in my hands. “Well, what are you waiting for? Put it on.”
My gaze swings around the stadium. Tens of thousands of people staring straight at me—or, at least, it feels that way.
The fans Alex spotted before are still filming us, and Brynn and Leo are doing nothing to disguise how they’re staring at us like we’re the best piece of entertainment they’ve had since Brynn’s last unsolicited dick pic.
“You want me to get naked?”
“Yes.” He doesn’t stutter. “But not here. Just put it on over your sweater.”
I guess the decision isn’t mine to make, because he’s picking the jersey back out of my hands and pulling it over my head.
I haven’t been dressed this way since I was a child, and I can’t say it’s a great feeling doing it for the first time as an adult in front of such a large audience, but hell, maybe it looks like a cute moment to outsiders, I don’t know.
The potency of his scent is even worse now.
So much so that I switch to breathing through my mouth, lest my baser instincts take over and make me behave in a way I’ve only ever done in dreams. It’s a self-preservation tactic that doesn’t work, though, because the moment I feel the fabric brush my skin, I get the strangest urge to hump something.
I knot the jersey at my waist, and pray the color of my cheeks doesn't match the shade of the shirt.
“Happy now?” I croak, my throat dry as sandpaper.
“Extremely.” Alex whistles low, motioning me with his finger to turn around so he can get a good look at the number seven now emblazoned across my back.
I risk a glance at him over my shoulder, finding his gaze heated and trained on my ass. It should piss me off.
But it doesn’t.
I hate how much I like the way he’s looking at me. Like I’m something worth desiring. Like I’m someone worth wanting.
Leo claps him on the shoulder, and the moment is lost. “We’ve gotta go, bro. Game starts soon, and you need to get a new shirt.”
Alex nods, eyes locked on me. “Do I get a kiss for good luck?”
A kaleidoscope of butterflies breaks out in my stomach.
Get a fucking hold of yourself, girl.
He doesn’t wait for a response, or maybe the forceful swallow I make is answer enough, because his fingers meet my chin and drag me toward his lips.
The kiss is short. Chaste, really. He doesn’t even attempt to slip his tongue inside my mouth, which is unexpected, given that I know him to be quite the opportunist. But I can still taste him there…even as I watch him walk off the field with Leo to the locker room…
Even as the game starts…and the first half ends…
Even as ninety minutes turns into ninety-eight…
I feel him there. The ghost of his lips on mine. And the promise of more to come.