by Kendall Ryan
My intercom rings, and I hop up from the couch to buzz Teddy up. He offered to give me a ride to poker night at Asher’s tonight, and I couldn’t turn down an opportunity for a few minutes alone with him before we see all our friends. Moments later, he’s at my door, rocking a pair of ripped-up jeans and a leather jacket that has me practically drooling on my doormat.
“Hey there, stranger,” I say, barely managing to keep my composure. “Are you ready for me to ruin your undefeated poker streak?”
Teddy laughs, but the look on his face is strained. “I’ll believe it when I see it. Although I may be a little off my game tonight.” He grips the back of his neck with one hand, his mouth pressing into a line instead of one of his usual lopsided grins, making me wonder what’s going on. “This insane week has me carrying all my damn stress in my back and shoulders.”
“Do you want me to rub your back for you?” I glance at my phone to check the time. “The chili dip I’m bringing still has a few more minutes in the oven, so we have a little time to kill.”
Teddy lifts one brow at me, his mouth quirking up into the smile I’ve missed. “Really? You would do that?”
“Sure, what are fake girlfriends for?” I tease, but the second the words come out, I instantly regret saying them. Teddy and I haven’t established where the two of us stand now that the threat of him losing sponsorships has died down and his team’s PR department isn’t breathing down his neck for a solution.
I pivot and head for the living room, avoiding eye contact and that whole conversation altogether. Based on the way he dodged that topic the other night, I’m not sure if he’s ready to unpack it yet either. And what is there really to say . . . we have great sex together, sure, but aren’t relationships built on a lot more than that?
While I grab a seat on the couch and get my back-rubbing hands ready, Teddy peels off his leather jacket, revealing a fitted forest-green V-neck that hugs his muscles and brings out the emerald in his eyes.
God, who gave him the right to be so damn good-looking? It’s hardly fair.
I gesture toward the floor in front of me, doing my best not to stare, and Teddy takes a seat, his broad shoulders in line with my knees. I press my thumbs into the tight muscle between his neck and shoulders, kneading at the knots as I find them. And they’re not hard to find. He was serious about carrying all of his stress here. A low groan of gratitude rumbles in his chest as my hands work across his back.
“Right there,” he says. “Fuck, I needed this.”
As he starts to relax under the pressure of my thumbs, I seize what might be one of our few moments alone tonight to ask one of the many tough questions bouncing around in my brain.
“Have you decided what you’re going to do about your grandpa?”
Just asking the question puts a knot in my stomach. I know I’m not to blame for Denver withdrawing their interest in Teddy, but deep down, I feel partially guilty. If I could have kept that tape from leaking, he could be moving closer to his grandpa before the start of next season. Instead, that chance was snatched away.
“Not yet,” he says, his voice low. “I’m going to fly down there after Wednesday’s game to check in with him. I’ll break the news then and float the idea of him moving here past him. It’s going to be a really tough conversation.”
My mind immediately jumps to my schedule for the upcoming week. Could I swing a trip to Denver on Wednesday night? Maybe Teddy could use a travel buddy. After everything he’s told me about his grandpa, I would absolutely love to meet him. Plus, an extra persuasive voice might be helpful in convincing him that moving to Seattle is a great idea.
Then again, it’s not my place to invite myself along on a trip like this. Meeting a man’s grandfather is something reserved for a real girlfriend, not a fake one. If I’m even considered that anymore. I don’t know what to think.
Are we still keeping up this charade? Or are we just friends again? Do friends give each other massages like this?
I shake the thought away, drawing my focus back to the tension in Teddy’s shoulders. They teach you a lot of things in law school, but how to transition out of a fake relationship certainly isn’t one of them.
“Sara? Are you okay?”
I must have spaced out for a second, because Teddy is looking up over his shoulder at me, his eyebrows knitted together.
“Um, yeah? Why?”
“Because you’ve been rubbing the same spot for, like, three minutes.”
Flustered, I grasp at the quickest excuse I can find. “You had a really big knot there,” I lie. Nope. Definitely wasn’t just overanalyzing everything about our relationship. No worries here.
“Well, I think you got it.” He laughs. “How much longer on the chili dip? I don’t want to be the reason it burns.”
“Four more minutes,” I say, confirming with the timer on my phone. “Now turn back around. I’m not done with you.”
The words leave a warm, buzzy feeling on my lips after I say them. I’m not done with you. I was just referring to the massage, but the thrumming of my heart in my throat tells me maybe I meant something more. Maybe I’m not done with Teddy King altogether.
As I push against his right shoulder, Teddy lets out a grunt of discomfort that sends me recoiling back. “You okay?”
“Fine,” he says, his voice strained through clenched teeth. “That’s just really, really tight right there. Go easy on it.”
I try again, gentler this time, and he lets out a ragged sigh.
“You weren’t kidding about being tense.” I push the heel of my hand gently against his muscle, feeling it give beneath the pressure. “Maybe you should get in touch with the team’s physical therapist and book some serious massage time.”
Teddy shrugs, his muscles jumping beneath my thumbs. “Yeah. You’re probably right.” He pauses momentarily and chuckles, then adds, “But I prefer your hands on me to his. Thor wouldn’t go this easy on me.”
A flutter builds in my stomach. I want so badly to pull Teddy up onto the couch and on top of me, letting my hands cover a lot more ground than just his back. But is that what he wants? He was so hesitant to talk about this the other night, so why should tonight be any different?
And then I realize—tonight is very different.
The whole group is going to be at Asher’s place tonight, and I have no idea how I’m supposed to act around Teddy. This conversation isn’t just something I want to have. It’s something we need to have. Pronto.
I suck in a deep breath and, summoning all the courage I have in me, ask the question of the evening.
“So, I guess we should probably tell our friends our secret tonight, huh?” I say, busying my fingers along the tense spots near his shoulder blades. “Break the news about this whole fake-dating thing and tell them it was just for the press?”
I hold my breath as I wait for his response, and beneath the pads of my fingers, I feel Teddy tense up the way I was expecting him to when I mentioned his grandpa.
“I guess,” he mutters, but he doesn’t sound very convincing, and his shoulders remain firmly pressed up against his ears.
An uncomfortable silence hangs between the two of us for a long moment before Teddy shrugs my hands off his shoulders and hops up on the couch next to me. His green eyes hit me with a look so sharp, it nearly knocks me over.
“But what if we didn’t tell them?”
I scrunch my brows at him. “What do you mean? Just let them go on thinking that we’re together?”
He shakes his head, laying one hand on my thigh. Even through my jeans, his touch sends a jolt of electricity through me.
“No, that’s not what I mean.” His voice is sincere with the tiniest bit of nervousness. He scrubs one hand through his dark hair, his gaze never breaking away from mine. “What I mean is that with all the shit I’ve dealt with these past few weeks, you’ve been the one bright spot in my life. I don’t want to let that go, Sara. I don’t want to let you go.”
“Do you mea
n . . .”
“I mean I want to ditch the ‘fake’ part of this fake-dating thing. And I want to keep doing this. For real this time.”
Just as a smile starts to spread across my barely parted lips, my phone chimes. The timer. Shit. Worst timing ever.
Teddy smirks as I fumble with my phone. “So, uh, do you want to respond to that offer before or after you take the chili dip out?”
That gets a laugh out of both of us, but as for my response, how do you respond to a man who has just waved a magic wand and turned your fake relationship into a real one? Does the English language even have words appropriate for an occasion like this? What is there to say?
And then it hits me. There’s nothing to say. All I can do is kiss him till he knows I accept.
19
* * *
Biology Lessons
Teddy
Asher is hosting poker night at his place tonight. Pretty much everyone in our friend group is gathered here, either at the two poker tables that have been set up in the living room for tonight’s festivities, or at the bar stools lining the kitchen island.
Sara and a couple of the girls—Bailey and Aubree—are in the kitchen talking. Becca is sitting on Owen’s lap at one of the poker tables, and Elise is in the kitchen stirring something in a mixing bowl while she tells a story that has the other girls cracking up laughing.
A catering service has delivered various appetizers that are warming in aluminum chafing trays, and coolers of ice-cold beer are filled to the brim. But I’m not interested in spicy chicken wings or chilled beverages right now—mostly because I haven’t been able to pull my attention off Sara for long enough to focus on anything other than what a lucky bastard I am.
The guys are mostly seated at the poker tables, and we’ve just traded our cash for chips, ready for the night ahead of us. I’m at a table with Asher, Owen and Becca, Justin, and our rookie backup goalie, Morgan. Our team captain, Grant, and another rookie center named Landon sit at the other table, not quite ready to play yet, and they’re discussing something in low tones.
“Rookie, get me another,” Asher shouts to Morgan, shaking his empty beer bottle in his direction.
Morgan flips him the finger. “How long am I going to be a rookie?” he asks anyone in the room who seems to be listening to their exchange.
“It’s your first season, bro. This is standard issue,” Owen quips back. “My first year . . .” He pauses, his mouth lifted in a wry smirk. “Actually, I’m not allowed to talk about it. It’s still a pending investigation. You know how serious management takes hazing nowadays.”
Morgan’s eyes widen slightly.
Owen is so full of shit. When he joined the lineup as our starting goalie, he had already spent a number of years playing for the minor affiliate team. The dude was highly respected for his skills in the net, and he took zero shit from anybody.
But that doesn’t stop the concerned look that flashes across Becca’s face. Owen leans down to whisper something in his fiancée’s ear, and she visibly relaxes at whatever he’s just said.
With a huff, Morgan hops up from his seat and grabs Asher’s empty bottle. “Anyone else while I’m up?” he asks, heading toward the kitchen.
“I’ll take one,” Justin says.
Asher leans close, his elbows on the felt-lined table. “I just wanted him gone so you can tell us exactly how you managed to land a girl like Sara.”
Owen grins, shifting Becca on his lap. “Yeah, was she drunk when she agreed to date you?”
Becca lightly slaps his shoulder, silently chastising him.
I shake my head, my smile unavoidable. “Laugh it up, boys. I know I hit the jackpot with her.”
My gaze strays to the kitchen again, and I spot Sara hoisting herself up onto the counter near where Elise is still working, laughing about whatever they’re discussing. Sara talks with her hands when she’s excited, and her entire face lights up when she smiles.
God, she’s beautiful. The guys are right. I still can’t believe she’s mine.
A hand claps down on my shoulder and squeezes. I blink and drag my attention away from Sara, and see that it’s Asher.
“I’m just teasing, and you know I’m happy for you. But, seriously, when did this happen? The two of you . . . you’ve been scarce on details.”
Maybe I should have grabbed one of those beers. I didn’t expect an inquisition from my teammates tonight, but I guess on some level it makes sense. I haven’t dated anyone in a couple of years now. The only meaningful relationship I’ve had is with my right hand. And, trust me, I plowed my way through lots of groupie attention.
My teammates don’t know there was always a part of me yearning for more. They don’t know that I actually love being in a relationship—love the movie nights on the couch and dinners at home, and waking up together on Saturday to do mundane errands like pushing a shopping cart through the aisles of a mega-store.
The idea that I’ve earned a shot to do all of that with Sara is mind-blowing. I can picture quiet afternoons at her place, taking her to dinner at one of our favorite chain restaurants and laughing the entire time. I can picture her meeting my grandpa Joe and making him smile. I can see a real future with her, and maybe that should scare me, but it just doesn’t. Not even a little bit.
“We’ve been friends since college. You guys know that,” I say on an exhale.
Several heads nod around the table.
“Well, back then, we were . . .” I clear my throat. “. . . casual for a little while. Then she went away for the summer and came back dating someone else. Figured I had lost my shot.”
Becca frowns like the idea of that is the saddest thing she’s ever heard.
“Over the years, I’d start dating someone, and then Sara would be single. And then by the time my relationship had run its course and I was single again, she’d have met someone. I guess this is the first time in forever that we were both single at the same time, and it was time to make my play.”
“Aw,” Becca murmurs, watching me with rapt attention.
Here’s a weird thought: If I hadn’t been pushed by LaShonda, would we still be here?
Yes, I decide almost immediately. The words I’ve said to the guys are one-hundred percent true.
“That’s awesome, man,” Asher says, lifting his bottle.
I’m kind of surprised by his reaction. In all the years I’ve known him, I always assumed he was allergic to monogamy. But based on his reaction, he seems genuinely happy for me. For us.
Justin and Owen are grinning at me, and Becca looks so happy, she could burst.
“Morgan, get Teddy a beer,” Asher orders as soon as Morgan’s ass touches his seat.
With a groan, Morgan is up and moving toward the kitchen again while I chuckle.
After I’ve endured several hands of poker and lost sixty bucks, I push myself up from the table.
“You done?” Asher asks.
I nod. “Someone can take my spot.”
After I use the bathroom, I go to find Sara. She’s seated at the other poker table, deep into a game herself, and I stand behind her, placing one hand on her shoulder, my thumb stroking the nape of her neck.
She tilts her chin, smiling up at me. “Hey.”
“Hey, cutie.”
There’s a large stack of chips in front of her, and her hand is flush with face cards. The only players left in the game at this table are Sara and Grant.
I’m starting to wonder if there’s anything she’s not good at. Because so far, keeping her calm under pressure, showing resilience in the face of a scandal, and kicking ass at poker seem like the tip of the iceberg. Although we’ve known each other for years, we’ve only been dating for real for a couple of hours, and I love the fact that there’s so much more I’ve yet to discover about her.
When Grant calls and they both reveal their hands, Sara lets out a little shout of happiness.
She’s just won. Sliding all the chips from the center of the table toward he
r, she grins.
Grant mumbles, “Good game,” and then pushes back from the table.
I chuckle, watching her count her winnings. “Nicely done, babe.”
She gazes up at me, her blue eyes sparkling. “That was fun.”
“Glad you enjoyed yourself.” I lean down and place my lips at her temple.
“Is Grant, um, going to be mad at me now?”
“’Cause you just kicked his ass? No. He’s normally a grumpy bastard. Don’t let it bother you.”
“I heard that,” Grant calls from across the room, and I only chuckle.
“You ready to get out of here?” I ask.
Sara nods and slides up from the table, grabbing her stacks of chips. She cashes out with Asher, turning in the chips for some real green, and then we say our good-byes. I can’t help but notice the curious glances our friends are casting in our direction as we head out, hand in hand.
I open the car door for Sara and watch her slide in. “Were the girls firing off questions about us while you were in the kitchen?”
“Not really, why?” I can hear the surprised smile in her voice.
I shrug. “The guys were. They wanted to know how a loser like me managed to snag a girl like you.”
She turns to face me in the dimly lit interior of my car, her expression curious. “What’d you say?”
“That I’d knocked you up, and so you were stuck with me.”
“TK!” She slaps my thigh playfully.
“Kidding, babe.” I take her hand from my thigh and bring it to my lips where I kiss the back of it. “Maybe someday, though . . .”
Her gaze flashes to mine, and even though it’s dark outside, I can see the heat in her eyes.
I didn’t think I’d be ready for kids anytime soon, but it’s not a mental image I’m hating, to be perfectly honest. Sara and me chasing after a little tyke, sharing warm looks and soft laughter. Sara and me making a home together . . . a family together.