MY PHONE VIBRATES in my hand and jolts me awake.
I sit up on the couch and rub my eyes. I kick off the pile of fuzzy blankets I’m buried under and stretch my arms over my head. My phone buzzes again, and Shawn’s name pops up on the screen.
“Hey,” I say when I answer. My voice is scratchy, and I clear my throat. “Hey. Hi. Are you here?”
“I’m out front. I woke you up, didn’t I?” he asks.
“What? No. I’ve been awake.” I stand up and yawn. “I’ll buzz you in.”
“You’re a terrible liar, Daniels.” He chuckles, and I smile as I press the intercom and hear the click of the lobby door locking in place behind him.
“I’m on the tenth floor. Elevators should be right in front of you.”
“I can’t believe I haven’t been to your apartment before. How is that possible?”
“Because we always go to Maggie and Aiden’s. Neutral ground. Plus, you know they have the best snacks.”
“I like the sculpture in the lobby,” Shawn says. “Very abstract.”
“What do you think it is? I say it’s a woman holding a fruit basket. Maggie says it’s a dog.”
“Wildly different interpretations, and you’re both wrong. It’s a rock formation.” The elevator dings in the background. “Kind of looks like Stonehenge.”
“What? You’re out of your mind. It does not look like Stonehenge. That’s the best description you can come up with?”
“I’ll try again another day,” Shawn says. “After I’ve had a full night of sleep.”
“You must be exhausted,” I say, and I feel guilty for inviting him over.
It was selfish of me to want to check on him after he traveled across the country, but something in his voice made me want to see him.
“Less so now,” he answers, and the elevator doors open. “What number are you?”
“Twelve. Go right, then left.”
I can hear the thud of his shoes through the phone. The swish of his coat and his quiet breathing. I count to ten, then there’s a knock on the door. I open it and find Shawn smiling, his phone still in his hand and a beanie covered in snow on his head.
“Hey,” he says, and there’s an echo in my ear.
“Hey,” I answer. “Come in.”
We end the call, and he steps into my apartment. I close the door behind him and shift nervously on my feet. I wonder what my home looks like through his eyes.
It’s much smaller than his place, and I didn’t have time to clean up before he got here. There’s half-folded laundry on the chair in the living room. Four blankets are on the couch, wrinkled and crumpled in a ball. My dinner plate is still on the kitchen table, and there are drops of tomato sauce on the counter.
I’m suddenly self-conscious. Like I should’ve put more of an effort in before he got here. Maybe I shouldn’t have invited him over at all because middle of the night rendezvous aren’t part of our normal friendship M.O., but fuck, I wanted to see him. Especially after the Titans lost.
I feel exposed. It might be because it’s the middle of the night. It might be because the lights are dim and the sky is dark. Whatever the reason, it’s like he can see every part of me. The real parts I lock away during the day.
I’m not embarrassed or ashamed. I’ve worked hard to become the woman I am. I’ve made mistakes. I’ve learned lessons and worked on myself. It’s a new milestone for me to let someone see this side of me, though—the side that doesn’t have everything together, but is trying her damn best.
“Sorry it’s messy,” I blurt out. “Mondays are usually my day for chores.”
“I like messy. It’s perfect,” Shawn says from over his shoulder, and I think my heart swells three sizes in my chest.
He walks around my apartment, nodding his head and admiring the pictures on the wall. He stops when he gets to one of me at the beach three summers ago. My jean shorts are unbuttoned. I have a bucket hat on my head, and my cheeks are as red as a tomato.
“You look happy,” he says. His fingertips dance over the glass frame, and he traces the outline of my legs. The waves crashing behind me and the sun hanging in the sky. It’s intimate, and it almost feels like he’s tracing me. “Your smile is my favorite smile.”
“What?” I walk over and stand next to him. I tilt my head to the side and study my scrunched nose. My closed eyes. My arms out at my sides like I’m a bird trying to take flight. “That’s not a smile. I look silly.”
“That’s a Lacey smile.” He looks down at me, and our gazes meet. His eyes are soft, and his mouth hooks up in the left corner. It’s slow and careful and something that stretches wider the longer he stares at me. “It’s unique and special. Just like you.”
A blush flares to life on my cheeks. “If I knew you were going to dole out so many compliments, I would’ve invited you over sooner. You sure know how to boost a girl’s ego.”
“It’s not boosting if it’s the truth,” he says, and his shoulder nudges mine. “I like this picture a lot. Can you send me a copy?”
I stare at him, my mouth hitched open and my brain about to explode. “You want a copy? Why?”
“I have photos in my wallet of the people I care about. Maggie and Aiden. Maven. My family. I don’t have one of you. This one would be perfect.”
“Oh.” I tuck a piece of hair behind my ear and my head bounces up and down in a chaotic nod. “Yeah. I’ll send you a copy. I’ll give you an accordion full of photos, if you want.”
“What about a photo of us?” he suggests. “I haven’t posted you on my social media yet.”
“Why would you want a picture of me on your social media when you’re going to have to delete it in a few weeks?”
Shawn shrugs. “My publicist said it would probably be good PR. Might make your hospital director believe you when you tell him you’re bringing me to your gala.”
“Right. Of course. That makes sense. Do you—should we take one right now?” I ask, and my voice catches in the back of my throat.
He turns to face me, and the softness in his eyes is replaced with heat. There’s a fire behind the gray, the start of a blaze that threatens to burn me alive. “If we take one right now, people will know I’m over here when it’s late. After hours. When we should be sleeping.”
“It would make sense that a couple would see each other late at night,” I say, and I’m not sure I’m talking above a whisper. “When else would we…” I trail off, and I snap my mouth closed.
His smile turns wicked. He bends down and crowds my space. “Finish that sentence, Lacey girl,” he murmurs in my ear, and I shake my head.
“I don’t want to. I shouldn’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because it could get me in trouble,” I say.
“Were you going to say when else would we fuck?” he asks. He plays with the ends of my hair and twirls a strand around his finger. “That’s the best part of a relationship, right? Getting to fuck whenever you want.”
I think we’re playing a game again, but this time, I’m going to be the one to crack. I’ve stopped breathing. I’m going to spontaneously combust, and my time of death is going to be just after two in the morning. It’s the only outcome of this, all because my best friend is looking at me and saying fuck in a way that makes me want to squeeze my thighs together.
Preferably with his head between them.
“I haven’t… it’s been…” I swallow and fan my face. My body has never felt so hot or so close to turning into a dangerous inferno. “Give me your phone.”
Shawn hands over the device without being told twice. I pull up his camera and frown when I see his head cut out of the frame. He laughs, rich and deep, and drags me to the couch.
“Sitting is better,” he says as we fall onto the cushions.
“Maybe if you weren’t a giant, then we would fit better,” I laugh.
“We fit just fine. Come here.” Shawn picks me up and sets me in his lap. He leans me back against his chest and takes the phone from my hands. “My arms are longer.”
I’m too distracted by solid muscles and firm lines to grin. I’m caught off guard by his hand cupping my neck and his cheek pressing against mine. It’s intimate—far more intimate than we’ve ever been—but it also feels right.
“You going to smile for me, Lacey girl?” he asks, and this man has to know what he’s doing, right?
He has to know he’s taunting me in a way that makes me want to straddle his thighs and kiss him senseless. To pull him into my bedroom and find out what he looks like under the light of the moon. I’ve never, never, had thoughts like this about Shawn before, but now I can’t stop.
His hands under my shirt.
His breath warm on my naked body.
His laugh in my ear when I come, a gentle encouragement as he gets me there.
Damn him. Damn him for being seductive without even trying. Damn him for making my imagination run wild. A vision of a tattooed arm around my naked waist flits through my brain, and I have no clue what to do.
“Smile,” I repeat. “I can smile.”
My lips split into a grin. My hair is unbrushed and my eyes are heavy, woken up from a deep slumber a few minutes before, but I look happy. My cheeks have color. You can see my teeth and the little wrinkles around my mouth. Shawn’s smile matches mine and he snaps away, photo after photo of us saved on his phone.
“There we go,” he breathes out, and a sensation in my chest twists and turns. “Perfect.”
I’m not sure anyone has called me perfect before, but when Shawn says it, I believe him.
His hand falls away from my neck. I scoot off his lap and onto the plush cushions. “Would you like some tea?” I ask. “Water? Something stronger?”
He looks up from his phone. His gaze bounces to my legs, then back to my face, and his throat bobs as he swallows. “Tea would be great. Thanks.”
I all but run into the kitchen and turn the kettle on. I fumble with the mugs on the top shelf in the cabinet and nearly bring the whole shelf down on me. I wait for the water to get hot and peek around the corner to make sure Shawn hasn’t gone anywhere.
He’s still there on my couch, phone in his hand and a small smile on his lips.
Gosh, he’s beautiful. I think I could stare at him for hours.
“Milk? Sugar? Honey?” I call out, and my voice is half an octave too high. I clear my throat and shake my head, rattled by the last five minutes.
“However you take it,” he answers.
I pour the piping hot water into the mugs. I add the tea bags, a splash of milk and a touch of honey to each before returning to the living room.
“I made chamomile, so you aren’t still awake in three hours,” I say. “I hope that’s okay.”
“Sounds good to me,” he says. He takes the mug and sighs contently as his fingers wrap around the warm porcelain. “Thank you. This might be the highlight of my day.”
“My tea isn’t that good, so I guess your day was that bad?” I ask, and I take a sip of my drink. “We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”
“No, I—” Shawn stops talking. He sits up and looks around. “What’s that noise?”
“Oh.” I set down my mug and grab a blanket to fold. “I put on some classical music before you came over. You said it helps you decompress, and I thought it might be nice after the loss. I’m sure your head’s been going a mile a minute since the game ended.”
He blinks at me. “You put on music for me? The music that I like?”
“Yeah,” I say, and I’m painfully aware I might have severely overstepped a boundary he shared with me in a moment of regret.
“Lacey,” he says, and his voice is ragged and strained. “This is—thank you. I’ve been looking forward to seeing you all night, and this… this is…” He swallows and scrubs a hand over his face. “I’m really happy right now.”
“You are? You don’t look really happy. You look kind of constipated.”
A laugh bursts out of him, and he shoves his drink onto the table next to the couch. He holds out his arms. “Can I hug you?” he asks, and I’ve never nodded so adamantly in my life.
I move toward him, and his palms settle on my hips. I rest my chin in the crook of his neck, and my hands grab a fistful of his shirt. “Talk to me,” I whisper, because I’m desperate to make sure he doesn’t carry these burdens alone. “You don’t have to be perfectly put together around me, Shawn. You can let it out. You’re allowed to be a little broken. I won’t think any less of you.”
“Today was horrible. The loss sucks, yeah. But the guys acted like they’ve never played a game of football before in their lives. Dallas was swinging at people. My quarterback thinks he messed up when it’s my fault we ran the ball instead of kicked. I had to listen to a reporter try and blame the loss on my relationship with you. And to top it all off, I read some of the comments on social media after the game, and they’re all shitty. Saying we should dismantle the team. That I’m overpaid. That you’re a distraction and women have no place in sports.” He exhales, and the sigh tickles my forehead. “It’s a lot.”
“What can I do to help?” I ask. “Right now, what can I do?”
“Nothing. Being here with you is enough.” He runs his fingers through my hair, and I let out a sigh. “It’s nice to have something to look forward to when I get home. This is exactly where I want to be. Exactly what I need.”
“The guys will bounce back,” I say softly. I trace the outline of one of his tattoos—a bouquet of pretty purple flowers, right below his bicep—and drag my nails down his skin. “Fuck that reporter, and fuck the people on social media. So what if the game didn’t go how you thought it would? Big deal. Everyone made it on the plane healthy. Everyone made it home in one piece, and the good news is you can start again tomorrow. You can adjust. That’s why the Titans hired you—because you know how to problem solve. You know how to fix things. I don’t know much about football, but I know your heart and your drive. I know you’re going to lead those guys to their best season yet.”
“Maybe I should hire you as our sports psychologist. I believe every word you just said.”
“Good.” I poke his chest, and his muscles flex under my touch. “It’s the truth.”
“I brought you something.” He reaches into his pocket and jostles my shoulders. He pulls out a magnet, and I grin. “It’s a California burrito.”
“What is a California burrito?” I ask. I take the gift from him and run my fingers over the grooved edges. “It looks massive.”
“It has fries in it instead of beans and rice,” Shawn says. “It’s a San Diego staple, and a total artery clogger. L.A. has them too, but they’re not nearly as good.”
“Fuck my health. I want one now.”
“We’ll go and get one. I know a place in the city that does a decent replica. I’ll take you.”
“I’d like that,” I whisper.
We settle into quiet. A symphony of violins and cellos works its way through the living room, and I don’t dare speak again. Not when Shawn’s breathing levels out and his hold on me loosens ever so slightly. I think he fell asleep, exhausted from the day and six hours of travel, until he sighs in my ear.
“Thank you,” he whispers. “Thank you for being my friend. Thank you for… for being a safe place for me. Thank you for letting me be here. I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.”
It’s vulnerable and earnest, such a juxtaposition from the coach who threw a headset at the wall after the game and nearly told a reporter to fuck off. This is who the real Shawn Holmes is—a man with the kindest soul and the gentlest heart.
He pulls me close—closer to him, so we’re almost fused as one. I smile and close my eyes.
Our relationship might be fake, but I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else either.
Here with him is magic.
