11. Killian
KILLIAN
Ican’t stop thinking about her mouth.
That’s the problem. That’s the whole fucking problem.
I’m sitting at Shepherd’s kitchen island, nursing a beer I haven’t touched in ten minutes, watching Isla chat with Sutton about work while my mind keeps replaying the way her lips felt against mine.
The softness. The heat. The way she gripped my jersey like I was the only solid thing in her universe.
The way she made this tiny, breathy sound when my tongue touched hers that I’m pretty sure has been permanently burned into my brainstem.
And the worst part—the absolute worst part—is that I liked it. Not just the kiss, because fuck me, that tiny little whimper of hers is a sound I’m dying to hear again, but her.
Just her.
Isla Fallon.
The way she showed up when I desperately needed someone to calm my nerves.
The way she didn’t ask questions. She just came running.
The way she cupped my face in her hand in front of those front office suits like she actually gives a shit about me and told me to kiss her again. She wanted to make a scene…for me.
I press my thumb against my lower lip, still feeling the phantom pressure of her there.
“Earth to Killian.” Shepherd waves a hand in front of my face. “You’re staring.”
“I’m not staring,” I mutter, finally taking a sip of my beer.
“Bullshit. You’ve been doing it for twenty minutes. You’re thinking about her.” Bishop says, sliding onto the stool next to me.
Fuck.
Maybe they’re right.
“Well, can you blame me? Look at her.” I gesture to the living room where Sutton and Isla are chatting and laughing together. “I’m kind of obsessed.”
Sebastian chimes in. “I haven’t seen you this relaxed in years, bro. I mean, off-season excluded. You actually look...happy.”
I shoot him a warning look. “Don’t make it weird.”
“What’s weird about being happy?” Shepherd asks, grabbing a beer from the fridge. “You’ve been wound tighter than a drum since spring training. Now you’re all...” He gestures vaguely at me. “This.”
“This what?”
“Touchy. Affectionate. Actually, talking to people instead of just grunting at them.”
I roll my eyes. “I don’t grunt.”
“You absolutely grunt,” Bishop confirms. “It’s your primary form of communication.”
Before I can defend my grunting skills, Sutton calls from the living room. “Killian, we need you out here.”
I push off the stool and head toward the living room, my heart doing that stupid flutter thing it’s been doing all evening every time I catch Isla’s eye. She’s sitting cross-legged on the couch, beautiful in the warm light of Shepherd’s living room. She looks comfortable here, like she belongs.
“What’s up?” I ask, dropping onto the couch beside her. My hand automatically finds its way to her knee, my thumb tracing small circles against her jeans. The casual intimacy of the gesture surprises even me, but I don’t pull away.
“Sutton wants to know how we got together,” Isla says, her green eyes dancing with something I can’t quite read. “And I told her I think our story is one for the romance books!”
I feel a slight tension in my shoulders because we haven’t actually discussed what our “story” is supposed to be. We’ve been so focused on the logistics of this arrangement that we skipped right over creating a believable origin.
“One for the books, huh?” I repeat, buying time.
“Yeah,” Sutton says, leaning forward with interest. “So, I have to hear a story better than mine.”
“You mean the guarded bartender who hated pro sports falling for the gloriously handsome and benevolent quarterback for the Portland Rush football team?” Shepherd leads my brothers into the living room with a proud smile. “How can it get better than that?”
“Right?” Bishop crosses his arms over his chest. “Just how did Killian Haynes, notorious commitment-phobe, finally get snagged?”
My stomach drops and I shoot Isla a look that I hope communicates please don’t tell them about the fake dating arrangement, but she’s already grinning at me with that mischievous spark in her eyes that probably means I’m about to be humiliated.
“Listen, no matter what I say, it won’t sound as good as when Isla tells it so…” I give her knee a squeeze and pass her a knowing wink. “Go for it, Coach.”
She claps her hands and squeals and then pats my hand on her leg. “Don’t worry, I’ll skip the really embarrassing parts.”
“Wait, there are embarrassing parts?” Shepherd asks, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. “Can’t wait. Tell us everything.”
“So,” she begins, settling deeper into the couch cushions, “it all started on the flight back from Chicago last month.”
“Wait, what?” I sit up straighter, my hand tightening on her knee. “That’s not—”
“Shh,” she presses a finger to my lips. “Let me tell the story, Haynesy.”
I try to telepathically communicate that she’s about to cross a line, but she just bats her eyelashes at me like she’s completely innocent.
“We were on the flight back from Chicago and Killian here had eaten something at the hotel that didn’t quite agree with him. You know how it is with athletes and their sensitive stomachs.”
I feel my face heating up. “Wait, what—”
“Shh,” she pats my hand on her leg. “I’m telling the story.”
Shepherd and Sebastian exchange amused glances while Sutton leans forward even more, hanging on every word.
“So, there we are, cruising altitude, smooth sailing,” Isla continues, gesturing with her hands. “And suddenly, Killian gets this look on his face. You know the one, eyes wide, a little green around the gills.”
“I did not—”
“Anyway,” she continues, her voice taking on the dramatic cadence of someone telling a campfire story, “There we were, thirty-thousand feet in the air, when Killian here disappears to the bathroom.”
“Standard procedure,” Bishop says with a nod as if all this really happened and he was a witness. “He’s got the bladder of a small child.”
I shoot him a death glare, but Isla’s already continuing.
“About twenty minutes pass, and I notice the bathroom light hasn’t changed.” She pauses for effect, looking around at my rapt audience. “I figured maybe he was just...taking his time.”
My brothers are leaning forward now, completely invested in my humiliation. Even Bishop, who knows this is complete bullshit, looks entertained.
“Then I think to myself, maybe we didn’t restock the toilet paper after the last flight.
So, I ask Padrick and he says he didn’t do it and I know I didn’t do it which means it’s highly probable that Killian Haynes is in the bathroom taking an abnormally huge dump with no toilet paper in sight.
” She shrugs. “I mean, what’s a guy to do? ”
“Wait, no—” I start, but she presses her finger against my lips again.
“Shh, I’m getting to the good part.” She smiles like a southern woman on her front porch with an iced tea in her hand. “Another ten minutes go by,” Isla continues, her eyes twinkling with mischief, “and I start getting concerned. So, I knock on the door. And that’s when I hear it.”
She pauses dramatically, looking around at my family’s eager faces.
“Hear what?” Sutton asks, completely invested.
“The most pitiful voice I’ve ever heard,” Isla says, her expression a perfect blend of sympathy and barely contained amusement. “Killian says, ‘Isla? Is that you?’”
I’m shaking my head, trying to interrupt, but Shepherd holds up a hand. “Let her finish, bro.”
“So, I say, ‘Yeah, it’s me. You okay in there?’ And he goes—” she drops her voice to what I assume is supposed to be an impression of me, “I need toilet paper.”
The room erupts in laughter. I bury my face in my hands, but I can feel Isla’s body shaking with silent laughter beside me.
“So, I grab a fresh roll of toilet paper from the supply closet and head to the back of the plane,” Isla says, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “I knock on the door and say, ‘Mr. Haynes, I have your supplies.’”
Shepherd snorts into his beer.
“And there’s this long pause,” she continues, “and then Killian’s voice comes through the door, all shaky and embarrassed. He says, ‘I need...more than that.’”
Sebastian howls with laughter while Sutton claps her hands together in delight. I bury my face in my hands, but I can’t help the smile tugging at my lips. This is payback for my teasing her on the plane—I just know it.
“So, I go back and grab the whole box,” Isla says.
“Mind you, I have to open the door each time to give him his supplies and my eyes are squeezed closed so I don’t…
you know, see anything. But when I close the door again I hear this…
relieved sigh that I’m pretty sure could be heard in the front of the plane. ”
The room is in stitches. Sebastian has tears streaming down his face, and Shepherd is bent over, clutching his stomach. Even Bishop, who knows this never happened, is laughing so hard he’s wheezing.
“And that’s when he asked you out?” Sutton asks, wiping tears from her eyes.
“Not right away,” Isla says, patting my hand on her knee like she’s comforting a child.
“He was too embarrassed. But later, when we landed, he pulled me aside and said—” She shifts her voice again, trying to sound like me, “Isla, I’ve never been more vulnerable with anyone in my life. Will you have dinner with me?”
I’m shaking my head, but I can’t stop the laughter that’s bubbling up from my chest. This is ridiculous. This is completely and utterly ridiculous, and yet I can’t bring myself to be mad about it.
“I had to say yes after that,” Isla continues, peering over at me. “I mean, how could I resist? A man who isn’t afraid to show his...softer side.”
“His softer side!” Sebastian howls. “Oh fuck, Kill. That’s amazing.”
“Truly…so beautiful,” Sutton says, clapping her hands. “You guys win. That’s a much better story than ours.”
“Inconceivable is more like it,” I mutter to Isla, but I can’t keep the smile off my face. The way she told that story with such conviction and dramatic flair is honestly impressive. She didn’t even flinch when Bishop, who was literally sitting behind me on that flight, could have called her out.
But he doesn’t.
He just laughs along with Isla. “Seriously though,” Bishop says, settling onto the arm of the couch, “I’ve never seen you this relaxed around anyone during the on-season. I think Isla’s good for you, bro.”
The sincerity in his voice catches me off guard. I glance at Isla, who’s suddenly looking down at her hands, a slight flush creeping up her neck.
“Yeah, well,” I say, trying to deflect, “she amuses me. Even when she’s completely humiliating me in front of my entire family. I guess I need more laughter in my life.”
Isla looks up at me and something passes between us that I can’t quite name.
It makes me feel emotions that have nothing to do with embarrassment and everything to do with how she makes me feel human in a way no one else ever has.
I catch Bishop watching me with that knowing look he gets when he thinks he’s figured something out.
He gives me a subtle nod, and I know what he’s saying without words.
She’s the real deal.
And it’s true. This woman who just made up an elaborate, embarrassing story about me to my entire family—and somehow made it feel like the most natural thing in the world—might be exactly what I need in my life.
Not just for the front office, not just for appearances, but for me.
And it’s a damn shame this isn’t the real deal, because I have to admit, flirting with Isla is both easy and fun.
“You know I’m going to get you back for that, right, Coach?” I whisper, my lips brushing against her ear.
She shivers against me, and I feel a surge of satisfaction at her reaction.
“Promises, promises,” she replies, her breath warm against my neck.
I pull back just enough to stare her down. “Oh, I don’t make promises I can’t keep, Coach.”
“Killian,” Shepherd calls from the kitchen. “Get in here and help me with this chicken before it all burns.”
Reluctantly, I stand, but not before pressing a kiss to Isla’s temple. It’s a small gesture, one that’s becoming a habit, and I’m startled by how natural it feels. Like I’ve been doing it for years instead of weeks.
As I head to the kitchen, my phone buzzes in my pocket. I pull it out to see a text from Harper.
Harper
Saw the photos from Bellamy’s. Front office is talking. This is good. Really good. Just...make it last, okay? Don’t do your usual disappearing act after a month.
I frown at the screen. Harper’s known me since I was drafted. She’s seen me cycle through more women than I can count, each one lasting just long enough to get bored before moving on to the next distraction.
Me
This isn’t like that. It’s different.
Harper
Different how?
It’s fake.
It doesn’t mean anything.
It’s just a means to an end.
I’m doing what I have to do to stay in Portland.
I hesitate, glancing at Isla again. She’s laughing at something Sebastian said.
Me
She’s different.
Harper
Isn’t that what you always say?
Me
No, because usually I don’t give a shit. This time I mean it.
I pocket my phone realizing I just got a little defensive about someone talking about my girl.
My girl.
I look out at the living room again, where Isla is now talking about going thrifting with Sutton, and for the first time in my life I can see a greater picture.
I can see Isla in the kitchen cooking meals with me.
I can see her on my couch watching whatever guilty pleasure we want to enjoy in the off-season.
I can see her at the field cheering me on…
or rather heckling me even ten years from now.
I can see Isla Fallon in my life.
The thought actually knocks me backward and I drop the tongs I had in my hand.
“You good?” Shepherd asks, eyeing me.
“Shit.” I grab the tongs off the counter and flip the pieces of chicken in the pan. “Yeah. Sorry. I’m good.”
“Who was that? Your text.”
“Harper,” I tell him. “She’s been on my case about cleaning up my act and she’s not sure she believes Isla is the real deal. Pisses me off that she doesn’t trust me.”
Shepherd chuckles next to me, his voice dropping so only I can hear. “Oh, she’s the real deal. No doubt about it.”
I glance at him sideways. “What makes you say that?”
“Because you haven’t looked at anyone like that since...” He trails off, then shrugs. “Ever, actually. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you look at someone the way you look at Isla.” He smiles and nudges me with his elbow. “A relationship looks good on you, Kill.”
A pang of guilt shoots through my whole body that I’m lying to my brothers about this whole thing.
That rather than being honest with the three men in my life I trust the most, I’ve chosen to string them along in this whole ordeal as well.
They’re going to be so pissed when they find out none of this was real.
I just have to hope they’ll understand I’m doing this for them.
To stay in Portland.
To live out my life and my career with the people I love most.