24. Give This Girl a Badge
GIVE THIS GIRL A BADGE
Maeve
“So, please say we get to go ring shopping with you. Like really soon?” Leighton’s sea-blue eyes sparkle mischievously as she grabs her tea from the counter at Doctor Insomnia’s on Tuesday morning.
Everly, Josie, and Fable are already sitting at a table in the back, waiting for us. As I snag my chai latte, I glance at the clock on the wall—I’m meeting Asher in thirty minutes, but I have to see my girls first.
“So we’re all going ring shopping together?” I ask it while meeting Leighton’s gaze since I know she prefers being able to see someone’s face when they’re talking to her.
“Yes. Because we need to make sure he gets you a proper, big, gaudy diamond. You’re married to an athlete, after all. Even though it’s a”—she stops to lower her voice—“you know what marriage, you can’t be seen with small bling.”
We reach the group and sit down, and Fable gives a long, emphatic nod. “She’s right. You need the biggest.”
I gesture toward the billionaire’s girlfriend, rolling my eyes playfully. “Says the woman who will probably have a fifty-carat diamond when her man proposes.”
“I should hope so,” Josie chimes in, taking a sip of her coffee.
“If Wilder Blaine doesn’t give you the biggest rock in the history of the world, I’ll eat my Louboutins,” Everly adds, then looks at me over the top of her mug.
“But seriously, emerald cut? Princess cut? Solitaire? Or maybe a sapphire or ruby?” She tosses her head back.
“Gah! I can see them now—sparkling before my eyes.”
“And are you taking me with you?” Leighton asks again, far more into this ring-shopping idea than I’d expected.
She always seemed a little more, I don’t know, badass with her black clothes, multiple ear piercings – including a pair of flower studs she wears every day—as well as flower tattoos on her arms. “You actually want to go ring shopping?”
“Don’t sound so surprised.” Leighton waggles her fingers.
Her nails are a bright shade of copper. Silver bracelets jangle on her wrists.
“I like shiny things. I’m a boudoir photographer—of course I’m into all things romance, especially jewels.
Oh, you two could even do a couples session.
Married couples are doing those more. Dating couples. It keeps the spark alive, they say.”
“But this isn’t a real romance,” I remind them.
Turns out they knew before I even did. Everly first heard news of our wedding on social like the rest of the world.
But that makes sense since she’d be tracking team news.
Before I went to my catering gig the other night, I told them everything over FaceTime—the marriage pact, the wedding, and why we’re staying married.
“Not a real romance?” Fable stares at me, doubt in her eyes. “Keep telling yourself that.”
“Now, now,” Josie says, cutting in and giving our redheaded friend a knowing glance, “just because one person in our friend group wound up in a fake-romance-turned-real doesn’t mean that’ll happen again.
” Josie coughs for effect. It’s a pointed reminder—Fable ended up falling for her fake romance with her boss over the holidays.
“It’s not going to be like that with Asher. The ring is for show. Because we’re friends. Just friends,” I insist, but then why do I want to shop alone with him? Maybe because it is fake? Maybe because if they go along, it’d feel too real? I’m not sure. “This is just...”
I’m not even sure how to label the unexpected marriage of convenience to my best friend.
In Vegas, saying I do was fun. Now we’re stuck together for at least a few weeks as…
what exactly? A cover-up? A solution to both our problems?
A viral hitching? My thoughts whirl with all the ways our temporary arrangement feels like it doesn’t belong to us but to the world.
“It’s just…what?” Fable presses gently, seeming to sense my hesitation. “I mean, you did have that kiss after the auction.”
And many more kisses in Vegas. The hottest kisses of my life that ended with a surprise O.
I part my lips, tempted to tell them everything that happened in the hotel room on the couch. But I stop myself. What’s the point? It won’t happen again. It can’t happen again. But also, that detail—the way I felt falling apart with Asher—feels too private. Too personal.
“It’s just a performance for a few weeks,” I say, speaking only of our fake marriage now. “It’s a rom com without the rom. A make-believe match.”
“That’s a good name for a book,” Josie says, a gleam in her eye.
“I bet it already is a book,” Leighton adds, setting down her mug. “Or a movie.”
“Why don’t you sell your life rights, Maeve?” Josie teases. “You always live your life in full color, and it ought to be on screen.”
I pause for a moment, letting her observation sink in, like a coda to the words my mother shared in her final days.
Follow your dreams. It was as if she was speaking to the deepest part of me that she alone understood—the part that has bold, wild, too big dreams. The truest part of me ever since I was little.
I’ve never been the shy one. I’ve never been the wallflower.
I’m the one who climbs the highest trees, who swings from branches, who jumps into rivers.
I’m the one who tries the zip lines too, rides the upside-down roller coaster, dives headfirst into the crashing ocean waves.
But that’s not always the healthiest way to adult, is it?
Maybe I need to turn down the volume on me from time to time. Like my exes have always told me.
“Look, you know I want to go shopping with all of you. But,” I say, stopping to meet all of their gazes, these women I love deeply, “maybe it’s best I don’t make too big a deal of the ring shopping.
I don’t want to get caught up in things.
You know me. I get invested. I get too interested.
I can’t let that happen with a fake relationship. ”
My heart sinks a little saying that, but my friends nod and murmur in understanding.
“I get that,” Leighton says, practically, but then seems to drift off into a memory for a beat, adding, “We can’t always have what we want.”
I give her a curious look. “Something going on?”
Leighton quickly shakes her head, but her fingers drift to one of those flower earrings. “No. Sorry. I didn’t mean to steal focus. I’m just saying I understand and no worries on the ring shopping. Do it your way.”
“Just send us pics after you get it, okay?” Josie asks.
“Obviously,” I say, and I love that they accept my answer. I’m glad, too, that I finally understand why I want to go alone with Asher. So I don’t get too caught up.
I glance at the time then shift gears, my stomach swooping as I think about the brunch looming closer. “We have to meet with the team owners soon. Any tips for that? That’s where I could really use the help.”
Before anyone can answer, footsteps grow louder, then I feel a presence behind me.
I turn just as Asher reaches us, and my breath catches.
My eyes roam up his tall, rugged frame. It’s the first time I’ve seen him since Saturday night at the party.
Have his shirts always hugged his muscles just so?
Has his grin always been that lopsidedly sexy?
Has his thick hair always looked so invitingly tousled?
My fingers tingle with the desire to touch him.
“Hi,” I say, too breathy. Too excited.
“Hey,” Asher responds, scanning the table. Five women, one man. “Hey, Fable, Josie, Everly, Leighton. Everly, good to see you again. Leighton, how’s everything going with your photography? Maeve said your business is growing a lot? The studio work and the sports photography?”
“I did. And I’m keeping busy. Thanks for asking,” Leighton replies brightly, twirling her cup of tea. She’s doing more than keeping busy—business is booming for her, especially in boudoir, but she’s also shot a few promo events for the Sea Dogs.
He shifts his gaze to Fable. “Fable, fantasy baseball season coming up?”
“You know it, and I might even let you into my league,” she shoots back with a grin.
“Hold a spot for me. I can’t wait. And Josie,” Asher adds, turning to my librarian friend. “Your love of lists is rubbing off on Bryant.”
Josie pumps a fist. “It’s all part of my master plan.”
Holy shit. Asher just acknowledged each of them individually.
That’s not new—he’s always been thoughtful and considerate.
But now, it feels different. Like I’m seeing him in a new light.
Most men admire women, want them, date them, but many don’t always see them as people.
And here’s Asher, taking time to genuinely connect with my friends about their interests, and warmth spreads through my chest, like that honey-hazy feeling I get when I start a new painting, that glow of inspiration that lights me up.
Asher turns to me, his gaze softening. “Did you have a good time catering on Sunday?”
Catering? I can barely remember catering. My chest is tingly, and my head swims with new ideas and possibilities. With images of him and me, all over again. Him and me, not stopping. I’m at a loss for words, and Josie jumps in.
“We were just helping Maeve with some tips,” she says playfully. “She asked us for some.”
Asher arches a brow, intrigued. “What kind of tips?”
“Marriage tips.” Josie pats the empty chair.
“I asked for tips on the brunch with the owners,” I point out, finally managing to snap out of my thoughts, then gesture to my outfit.
I’m normally all about cute skirts—either short denim or long and flowy, but today I went a little fancier, just in case.
Slacks. Gasp. I paired them with an orange and white polka dot blouse, so at least I’ve got a little splash of color.
“And we just decided we’ll give you marriage tips,” Josie says.
I sigh.
Asher slides onto the chair, playing along. “Lay it on me.”
Fable’s grin turns wicked. “We have a lot to teach you, Asher.”
Where are they going with this? No place good. “And I’m officially terrified.”