THE INTERCOM in my living room buzzes—again—at half past seven on Monday night.
“I don’t want to talk to the press, Arthur,” I tell my doorman for the tenth time today. I lean against the wall and scrub my hand over my face. “The answer is still no comment. And if they want more than that, they can go through my publicist. Haley is in charge. I’m not saying another word.”
“It’s not the press, sir,” Arthur says. He pauses, and I hear a muffled conversation followed by a laugh. “It’s Ms. Daniels.”
Lacey.
“Send her up,” I say, and my heart drops to my feet.
I pace in front of the door, and I’m practically vibrating with nerves. With anticipation. With fear. With… with a whole slew of other emotions I’m not sure how to process, because I’m delirious, I’m hungry, and I’m in desperate need of a shower. And a good night of sleep after spending last night tossing and turning.
Today has been a fucking mess. I fielded calls from my publicist and family all morning. I ignored the stream of messages the players sent to me, three hundred emails piling up in my inbox before noon.
They’re nothing substantial. Stupid GIFs and memes of a wedding chapel. A dozen hearts and links to engagement rings. A screenshot of an order placed for an industrial-sized box of condoms with the caption, wrap it up, Coach.
I turned my phone off for good around three, wedging it between my mattress and bed frame and refusing to check it again. I shoved my laptop in there, too. I might keep them there forever.
They’ve been distracting, hours of mindless scrolling on gossip sites that think they have all the facts. Glimmers of our lives thrust into the public eye. It’s scary how many strangers care about two people they’ve never met.
I’ve wanted to talk to Lacey all day. To reach out and ask how she’s doing, but I haven’t had a second to breathe. When I stepped outside to grab lunch with Aiden, bundled up in our hoodies and jackets in what I thought was a decent enough disguise, I was bombarded with microphones and a reporter from TM-fucking-Z asking if I wanted to talk about my “whirlwind romance.”
We went right back in and ordered takeout, but I couldn’t eat the sushi we had delivered.
It’s been hours of stewing, hours of thinking—knowing—I did something wrong.
In the moment, though, I wasn’t thinking. I saw Lacey hurting, and I did something about it. A quick fix and temporary Band-Aid that comes with colossal consequences but…
I wouldn’t take it back.
That was the best kiss of my fucking life.
I’ve gone twenty-one months without having any sort of attraction to Lacey besides acknowledging the well-known fact she’s a gorgeous woman with a wicked smart brain, a kind heart, and a sharp sense of humor that has me clutching my sides with laughter almost every time she talks.
I never wanted to fuck her or touch her, but there’s a physical component now.
I know what her mouth feels like against mine. I know how soft she is and how sweet she tastes. I know that when you bite her lower lip, she arches her back and lets out a little moan. I know too many things about Lacey Daniels, and I didn’t get a lick of sleep because of them.
I’m not sure I’ll ever sleep again.
She barely has time to finish knocking before I’m opening the door and she’s there. I’ve never been so glad to see someone in my life.
“Hey,” I say.
“Hi,” she answers. She smiles, and it reaches every corner of her face. The little wrinkles around her eyes and across the bridge of her nose. Her rosy cheeks. The confident roll of her shoulders and the flip of her hair. “Can I come inside?”
“Of course.” I step back and gesture her in. We always hang out at Maggie and Aiden’s, but Lacey strolls into my apartment like she’s been here a thousand times. She surveys the foyer then heads for the living room, and I’m hot on her heels. “Can I get you a drink? Some water? Wine?”
She looks at me over her shoulder. Her hips sway from side to side as she crosses the floor and takes a seat on the couch. She kicks off her boots, leans back, and tucks her legs up under her. “I’ll take a whiskey,” she says.
“We’re diving in, huh?” I ask.
“It’s been a day.”
“I’ll drink to that.” I head for the liquor cabinet situated under a framed photo of my team at the Super Bowl in 2010. I pull out two highball glasses and unstop the decanter of amber liquid. “How do you take it? On the rocks?”
“Neat,” she says, and I glance up at her, impressed. “And I’ll take three fingers.”
“My kind of woman,” I say.
I pour two matching glasses and take the seat beside her on the couch. I hand her one of the drinks and she knocks it against mine.
“Cheers,” she says, and she downs half the contents in a single gulp.
“How are you doing?” I ask, too afraid to drink my alcohol.
“Did something bad happen?” Her eyes meet mine, and I see a twinkle in the green. “I’m okay. Today’s been a lot. I’m off on Mondays, thank god, and it’s given me time to do some damage control. I haven’t quite convinced my mother we’re not together, but I’m close.”
“Same.” I swirl the liquid around and bring the glass to my lips. I take a small sip and relish in the bite of harshness on my tongue. “I gave the guys today off. Half because I’m mentally exhausted, and half because I didn’t want them to give me shit. You should see some of the things they’ve sent me. I don’t know how they don’t have second-hand embarrassment from the crap they’ve said.”
“Ah. So that explains the Just Married flower arch down in your lobby. There are roses everywhere. I crushed about a hundred petals on my walk to the elevator,” Lacey says, and my mouth pops open. I’m going to kill them. “Just kidding. I would’ve kicked it down.”
I laugh. “You and me both.”
“Fuck the patriarchy.”
“Hear, hear.”
“I’m not showing up under the most selfless pretenses, though,” she admits. She finishes the rest of her drink and sets the glass down on the table to her left. She props her elbow up on the arm of the couch and cradles her cheek in her hand. “I want to talk to you about something.”
“What’s up?”
“The kiss. Or, more aptly, the aftermath of the kiss.”
The blood drains from my face. I knew this was coming, a conversation that needed to be had about the mistake we made. Her words echo in my ears and I turn my glass around in my hands, staring at the grooved edges instead of her.
“I’m sorry, Lace. It was stupid, I know. I shouldn’t have—”
She interrupts me by lifting her hand, and I stop talking. “I’m not mad. It’s in the past, and we can’t change the past. Besides…” she dips her chin, and her assuredness drops. Wavers around the edges and turns bashful and shy. “It was a good kiss.”
I blow out a breath and throw back the rest of my drink. I might need four more. Fuck, maybe I need the whole decanter.
“It was a very good kiss,” I agree, and my voice catches in my throat.
“I have a favor to ask. The hospital has our annual holiday gala in December. It’s a big fundraising event with a silent auction and an open bar. They rent out one of the Smithsonian’s,” she starts.
“Which one?” I ask.
The question catches her off guard. Derails the speech she has planned. Her fingers trace the outline of one of the square decorative pillows propped under her thigh, and she smiles. “The Museum of American History.”
“My favorite. I love the Sesame Street stuff. I was a big fan as a kid.”
“Really? I can’t picture you doing anything except catching a football and yelling into a headset.”
“Picture it. I was in front of my television every Thursday to watch the new episodes with a bowl of Cheerios. I needed a place to turn my mind off and just be a kid, you know? People were talking about the high school team I’d play on when I was ten. Where I was going to go to college when I turned thirteen. The NFL before I even took an algebra class. I didn’t have a lot of chances to grow up like the rest of the kids my age. When I saw Big Bird and Elmo, it reminded me I was allowed to have those childish moments. I was allowed to still be figuring everything out.”
“It was your safe space,” she says softly. She adjusts her position on the couch and turns her body to face me. Her knee presses against my thigh, and I hate that I want to reach out and touch her. “Just like classical music.”
“I never thought of it that way, but you’re right. My thoughts are constantly in overdrive. I like places that… that calm me. That bring me back to earth. That let me know it’s okay to make mistakes because I’m human, just like everyone else, and I’m going to mess up.”
We lapse into silence, but it’s the comfortable kind. The quiet between two friends who are contemplating, considering and pausing for reflection. I so rarely get these moments, a career in a fast-moving sport where it’s nearly impossible to blink without missing something important. But against the leather of my couch and with her by my side, I’m content.
“It feels wrong to ask for my favor now,” Lacey says. “It’s selfish.”
“You? Selfish? Impossible.”
“You haven’t heard what I’m going to say.”
“Doesn’t change my opinion. You facilitated a program where children without insurance can get general pediatric care and immunizations, Lace. There’s not a selfish bone in your body.”
She huffs. We’re sitting so close, I can feel her exhale on my skin and down the line of my neck. It slips underneath my T-shirt and lodges behind my ribs.
I really want to touch her, and I don’t know why.
“The holiday gala at the hospital,” she says. “Tickets just to get in cost two thousand dollars a chair, and that doesn’t include any of the bids on items people donate. My boss decides who his favorite employees are by what they bring to the silent auction. The more valuable the item, the more you get on his good side. It’s all about the money to him. There’s this job opening I’d be perfect for, but he hasn’t filled it yet.”
“Your boss sounds like a dick. Want me to buy the hospital and fire him? Replace him with someone who actually cares about his employees?” I ask.
Lacey laughs. “Yeah. Okay. Like you have that kind of money.”
I tilt my head to the side and stare at her. “I do have that kind of money.”
“Thanks for the offer, but a hospital close to going into debt doesn’t sound like the best investment.” Her chuckle is feeble, and she shakes her head. “I was wondering if you—if we—could play into this charade of us being in a relationship. And maybe you could donate some one-on-one coaching sessions for the auction? Just a couple of hours. It would help the hospital, and only be until the new year.”
“You want us to date?” I ask, and I blink at her.
“Pretend to date,” she clarifies. “Not for real. Just until the gala.”
I stand and head back to the liquor cabinet. I grab the decanter of whiskey and pour myself another glass—fuller this time, and the liquid nearly spills over the rim. It’s going to give me the courage I need to propose my idea, the one that just came to me while I stared at her and talked about my childhood.
“I’d be open to that, if you’ll do something for me in return.”
“Anything.”
“You come home with me for Christmas. You meet my family so they can get off my back about my love life. And, to sell that, you’ll have to come around the stadium more. Attend a couple of team functions. That kind of thing.”
“Wow.” She blows out a breath and runs her hand through her hair, twirling the ends around her fingers. “I was not expecting that.”
“Both my sisters come home for the holidays. They have big families with kids and partners. I’m happy showing up by myself, but I stick out like a sore thumb at the dinner table. With this news coming out that we’re allegedly dating and I’m settling down… it got my mom’s hopes up. I know it’s a lot to ask. You can say no; I won’t be mad. I guess I’m thinking if we’re on this train we might as well ride it.”
Lacey is silent. She looks over her shoulder at the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves on the far side of the room. Her eyes move to the Christmas tree in the corner, the real one Maven forced me to buy even though it’s not Thanksgiving yet. She lands on the photos hung on the walls, the happy memories of childhood and my career displayed in three dozen four-by-six glass frames.
“Okay,” she says. “But I have a couple of conditions.”
“Let’s hear them.”
“First and most important: this doesn’t change our friendship. If at any point either of us feel weird or uncomfortable, we take a step back. I don’t want to compromise the almost two years we’ve spent getting to know each other as friends just for a holiday gala or family dinner.”
“Agreed,” I say. “What else?”
“We tell Aiden and Maggie it’s fake when we see them on Thanksgiving. I don’t want to lie to them.”
“Or Maven,” I add.
“No physical affection unless it’s necessary,” she continues. “Physical complicates things, and we’re going to have a lot on our plate. We don’t need complicated.”
“I’ll get on board with the physical affection boundary, but if we’re going to do this, we’re going to be exclusive. We’re not dating other people, real or fake. No one touches you but me.”
Her throat bobs, but she nods in agreement. “Fair. That could be messy.”
“Especially with this media circus on us,” I say.
“We need to set an end date,” she says. “A hard stop where we know this arrangement will be over, so there isn’t any confusion.”
“New Year’s,” I suggest. “It’s after the holidays. We’ll both get what we want out of this, then go our separate ways.”
“Separate ways as fake romantic partners,” Lacey says. “Our friendship is non-negotiable.”
“Would you miss me, Daniels?” I joke.
She turns her head, and our gazes meet. There’s apprehension behind her eyes, the courage she fostered when she waltzed in here in a slow demise. Her chin dips, and her eyelashes flutter closed, then open.
“Yes,” she says, so soft I almost miss it. “I would.”
The three words lodge themselves in my chest. Nestle right against my heart in a spot I want to protect and keep safe. It’s an ache, almost. A bruise that won’t go away.
“You’re never going to get rid of me, Lace,” I say. “We’re friends for the long haul.”
Lacey lets out a breath, and her smile is tentative, hesitant. I find myself wondering how I could make her grin again. “Good.” She checks the silver watch clasped around her wrist and stands. “I should get going.”
I rise to my feet. “I’ll see you at Thanksgiving, right?”
“Right. I’m bringing pumpkin pie.”
“God.” I groan in anticipation of the homemade dessert she bakes for the holiday. She brought one last year, and I licked the crumbs clean off my plate. The dollop of whipped cream, too. “I’m going to gain ten pounds.”
“Wouldn’t kill you.” She holds out her hand and wiggles her fingers. “Pleasure doing business with you, Holmes.”
“And you,” I say.
Her palm is dwarfed by my massive hand, and we shake our arms up and down until a laugh bursts out of her and she pulls away, untangling our limbs and walking backward to the door.
“We’ll talk more soon?” she asks.
“I’ll text you tomorrow,” I promise.
“Looking forward to it.”
“If there are any reporters still lingering around, Arthur will keep you inside until you can grab a car home.”
“Where’s the fun in that?” Lacey asks. “I’m going to tell them we had raunchy sex and give them all the salacious details. Food was involved. Balloon animals, too.”
“Balloon animals? What the hell would you do with balloon animals?” I ask.
Her smirk is infectious, lightning to my system. “I don’t know, Shawn. You’re a smart guy. Be creative,” she says, and I hear her cackling all the way down the hall.
