No More Horrible Dates

by Kate O'Keeffe

  How do celebrities do this? You never see a shot of Emma Stone scratching her nose or Amy Adams bending down to adjust her shoes. They’re always so serene and unflustered, looking every inch the perfect celebrity—pretty much the opposite of how I feel right now.

  And then the question I’ve been hoping for is called out by a female voice from the crowd. “Who are you wearing?” she asks.

  As a couple of microphones are directed toward me, I reply, “I’m wearing a dress from Erin Andrews Designs.” I feel a surge of pride and beam out at the crowd. I’m standing on a red carpet, telling a bunch of media and fans that I’m a fashion designer, and it feels so gooood.

  “Who?” she asks, and I spot a red-headed girl of about my age gawking at me.

  I step a little closer to her. “Me. I made my dress,” I explain. “I’m Erin Andrews of Erin Andrews Designs.”

  “You made your own dress?” she asks with a laugh. “What is this, dress-up day at school?”

  Thrown by her unexpected nastiness, I take a step back when someone else yells, “Why didn’t Nick buy you a dress? Is he a total cheapskate?”

  Someone replies with, “Nah, why should he bother? She’ll be replaced by the next girl soon enough.”

  “Yeah, Nick’s not exactly the serious relationship type,” another says.

  People around me laugh, and I feel the sting of disappointment tinged with a healthy dose of humiliation. I expected interest tonight, possibly a tricky question or two. I did not expect nastiness. Instead, I feel like I walked into a scene from Mean Girls with Regina and the Plastics taunting me with their derision.

  I keep smiling. I’ve got to. They’re totally right. As far as I know, Nick hasn’t had a relationship with a woman lately that’s lasted longer than forty-eight hours, which I really don’t think qualifies as a relationship at all. More like a micro-date. The mini-break of the dating world. Dating Lite. You get the idea.

  I look over at Nick, who’s handing a phone back to a woman. His eyes meet mine, and he raises his brows. I give him a thumbs-up and make a snap decision. I’m in this whole thing to get my name out there, to create a buzz around my designs. I’m not going to let these jerks get to me. No way. I am woman, hear me roar, and all those other rousing statements that make me want to fight, to be in control and focused on my destiny. (Okay, so that’s maybe a little overdramatic for the circumstances, but don’t judge me. It’s what I need to get me over the line right now.)

  I take a step closer to the crowd, put my hand on my hip, and smile out at them all. “I’m Erin Andrews, and I’m a new fashion designer. I made this dress, which is one of Nick’s favorites. What do you think?” I give a girly twirl and beam out at the crowd. I may be opening myself up for my abuse, but dammit! I’m darn well going to follow through with my plans.

  “I think it’s gorgeous,” a girl of about sixteen says. She’s like me, a non-tall, so I seize the chance to talk more about my designs with her.

  “I design clothes for those of us who may lack in height but not spirit. Drop by my website sometime and remember my name: Erin Andrews.”

  The girl beams back at me. “You look like a brunette Reese Witherspoon. She’s my idol.”

  “OMG, mine too!” I gush, knowing, just knowing, this girl is part of my tribe. “I love her. She’s so classic but sexy, too, you know?”

  “Totally,” the girl replies. “Do you only make dresses? ’Cos I don’t wear dresses much.”

  “I make everything. Well, except underwear and socks. But maybe someday.”

  “You look so beautiful in that dress,” a woman next to the girl says.

  “Thank you,” I reply with a beam.

  “Don’t listen to those horrid people,” she goes on. “They wouldn’t know good design if it leapt up and slapped them across the face. They’re just rugby-heads.”

  I beam at her. “You’re so sweet.”

  This is more like it, and those nasty, cynical, horrible people from before can go throw themselves off a tall building for all I care.

  I feel Nick’s hand on the small of my back and turn to grin up at him.

  “You look happy. Are you ready to go in?”

  My confidence thoroughly restored, I reply, “I sure am,” before I turn back to the girl and the woman and say, “It was so nice meeting you both.”

  “You too, and I’ll be sure to check out your designs,” the woman replies as people around her begin to call Nick over for more selfies.

  I wait once more as he poses, impressed by his patience and dedication. He smiles for every shot, as though this is the best day of his life and he can’t imagine anything better than having his photo taken.

  “Give your new girl a kiss, Nick!”

  “Yeah, come on, guys. Show us a kiss!” someone else shouts, and the crowd begins to clap and cheer.

  I raise my hands. “Lipstick,” I reply with a shrug, hoping that will be enough to put them off.

  It’s not.

  “Come on, Nick. Kiss her!”

  My belly doing summersaults like it’s in Cirque du Soleil, I glance nervously up at Nick.

  He’s smiling at me, his eyebrows raised. “I’m game if you are,” he says.

  “Oh, I…” I search my brain for a reason not to kiss him. I come up with nothing. Well, not nothing, exactly. I want to kiss him. Really, really want to kiss him. Not just for the cameras, not just for Project Weka. For him.

  And now, standing here beside him as he smiles that smile at me and the crowd bays for us to kiss, everything about us feels very, very real.

  “Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!” the crowd chants.

  I glance down at Nick’s lips. They’re parted slightly, the edges curved gently into an easy smile. I lift my eyes to his, my heart beating like an enthusiastic bongo player, those circus performers in my belly doing a high-octane trapeze act.

  “Are you game?” he murmurs.

  Am I game to kiss the guy who I can’t get out of my head, the guy who is so much more than I thought he was, the guy who threw on a costume and danced around my office to make me feel better about my mom? My heart knows what it wants, and my body aches for him. But my head? My head is a mess. Am I game to kiss the guy who’s got the reputation of a heartbreaker, the guy who I’m only with to fix his reputation as a total party boy?

  It’s a battle between heart and head, and in the end my heart is the clear winner.

  I want to kiss Nick. I want to be with Nick.

  Maybe it’s time I showed him what he’s come to mean to me.

  In one bold move, I step closer to him, reach up, and place my hand on his shoulder. “I’m game,” I reply, my voice wobbling.

  He responds immediately by slipping his arm around my waist. He pauses, smiling at me before he bends down and brushes his lips gently against mine. It’s a soft and tender kiss, and as our lips touch I breathe in his delicious scent and feel his arms pull me in closer to him. My head begins to spin and everything around us melts away. It’s him and me, no one else.

  This may have started out as make-believe, but what I feel for him, these new feelings that have only begun to grow, are very, very real. As we stand together, locked in our embrace, I know that all I want is to be with him, to make him mine.

  Chapter 14

  With my heart banging against my ribs, I melt into our kiss as the crowd around us lets out a cheer. They may have got the kiss that they wanted, but I got totally bowled off my feet.

  Everything about him draws me in, and with all that we’ve shared, it feels so right to be in his arms. I know I never want this to end.

  Trembling, I lift my gaze and see Nick’s soft eyes, his lips curved into a tentative smile, and I feel a rush of exhilaration, joy, and need so intense, my knees give way and I stumble.

  He steadies me with his big hands before I end up toppling over and making a complete spectacle of myself. “Don’t worry. I’ve got you,” he murmurs in my ear.

  Embarrassed, I reply, “Thank you.”<
br />
  “It seems every time I touch you, Ernie, you end up almost falling over.”

  “Oh, I’m sure it’s these shoes. They’re super high, that’s all,” I jest with a small grin.

  “Shoes, huh? So, it’s got nothing to do with kissing me?” His eyes are dancing because he knows it has everything to do with kissing him, just as I do, too.

  “You got me,” I reply, and we share a smile.

  “Nick! Over here!” someone yells, and our spell is broken.

  He plants a light kiss on my forehead. “A couple more selfies and we’ll go in, okay?” he says.

  “Sure,” I reply.

  He gives me a quick squeeze before he poses with another group of fans, and I stand watching him, his kiss still on my lips, my mind whirring with what this could mean for us.

  Although it was for the cameras, there was truth in the way he looked at me, in the way he touched me. I know with certainty he cares for me as more than just his girlfriend for the media. More than just a friend.

  He returns to my side. “We should get inside, don’t you think?”

  “Sure.” I slip my hand into his, and we share another smile.

  This feels amazing!

  “Can you walk now, or are you still swooning?” he says with a cheeky grin that has my belly doing flips.

  I let out a giggle. “Definitely still swooning here, but I’m an expert in walking. I’ve been doing it for some time now, you know.”

  “I’d noticed that,” he replies. He waves at the crowd, and we make our way down the red carpet and in through the double doors.

  Once inside, a band is playing some gentle pop music, people are chatting and laughing, and the whole place is decorated with large swathes of white material that reach across the ceiling, meeting at a huge chandelier in the middle of the room.

  We come to a stop at the edge of the crowd, and Nick turns to face me. “So.”

  I bite my lip as our gazes lock. “So.”

  “We kissed.”

  “We did.”

  He hesitates for a moment before he says, “Can I ask you something, Ernie?”

  “What is it?”

  “Just now, outside,” he begins.

  “Yes?” My heart is banging like a carpenter’s hammer with a nail.

  He bites his lip, his eyes on mine, and it suddenly hits me: he’s just as nervous as me. “I don’t quite know how to ask this.”

  I egg him on, wanting to hear him say it, hoping I’m right that he feels it, too. “Just say it, Nick. Please.”

  He swallows. “It wasn’t just for the cameras.”

  My breathing shallow, I shake my head slowly. “No. It wasn’t.”

  I watch as his face breaks into a smile, and I return it, as happiness creeps up from my toes, pushing my nerves away. In their place, I feel a newfound confidence—in him and in myself. I know he feels this too, and I want nothing more than to tell him. “I’ve…I’ve been thinking about you a lot lately,” I say.

  “Me too. All the time, actually.” He taps the side of his head. “You’re stuck in here, and I can’t seem to get you out.”

  “Do you want to? Get me out, I mean.”

  He shakes his head and steps closer to me.

  “Me neither.”

  He slips an arm around my waist, and a massive grin busts out across my face. Inside my tummy, the circus performers are back, doing their acrobatics.

  “The fake becomes real, huh?”

  “The fake becomes real,” I echo.

  He leans so close to me I can see the speckles of gray in his brown eyes, and I inhale his delicious Nick scent.

  Oh my.

  My heart does double time as we lean into one another and our lips meet once more. His touch, his scent, the way his arms are holding me tight, all of it feels incredible.

  “I did not see this happening,” I murmur.

  “It wasn’t in my plan, that’s for sure. But I’m glad. You’re one in a million, Ernie.”

  “Hey, you two! Get a room.”

  I drag my gaze from Nick to see one of the Hawks players slap Nick on the back, a big grin on his face. “This is a family show, man.”

  “Tito!” Nick replies as he does one of those manly handshake-slash-hug things with him. “Looking smooth. You know Erin, right?”

  “Of course I know Erin,” Tito replies as he gives me a quick hug. “She’s my Sponsorship Manager for the Wickham account. We go way back.”

  “Hey, Tito.” I smile at him. Tito is one of the only players I’ve always liked. Somehow, he dodged my blanket disdain for all sports pros, probably because he’s a committed husband and father of two cute kids, and always has a smile on his face. “How are you tonight?”

  “Not as good as you two by the looks of things.” He waggles his eyebrows at us suggestively, and I blush.

  Nick wraps his arm around my shoulder. “What can I say? I’m a lucky guy.”

  I beam up at him.

  “You are all over the media right now,” he replies. “What’s the crap nickname they gave you?”

  “Nerick,” Nick replies.

  Tito shakes his head. “Man, that sucks.”

  “I know, right?” I say.

  “Ah, well. You don’t get to pick these things. Remember the nickname Smithie and his wife got when they first met?”

  Nick and I shake our heads.

  “It was Smoochie. They mixed Smith and Michelle up and somehow got that.”

  “I think Smoochie is better than Nerick,” I say. “Nerick sounds like a brand of chemical cleaners.”

  Tito lets out a laugh. “Hey, catch up with you soon, ’kay? I think we’re at the same table, and I’m sure my darling wife will want to quiz you, Erin.”

  “I’ll look forward to that,” I reply with a note of sarcasm.

  “Ah, she means well. She’ll just want the inside scoop. Catch you soon.” Tito walks off and is quickly replaced by another team member and his wife.

  I know this is our first big public appearance. I know we’re meant to be presenting a unified Nerick front. Right now, but I couldn’t care less about any of that. I’m so busy thinking about being with Nick. Him and me alone.

  “Hey. I’m Angus, and this is Pia,” he says as he shakes my hand.

  Pia greets me with a smile and tells me she likes my dress as Nick and Angus talk amongst themselves.

  “Thanks,” I reply. “I designed it myself.”

  “You’re a fashion designer?”

  I resist the urge to tell her that I’m trying to break into the field and instead smile at her and reply, “I am. Erin Andrews Designs. You should drop by my website and check it out.”

  “I’ll find you on social media, and you can send me the details,” she replies. She loops her arm through mine. “Us WAGs have got to stick together, you know. You know, Wives And Girlfriends. One of the wives got a skincare line I use, and one of the other wives runs a hair salon downtown. She does highlights for half price for me, and I’m sure she could do the same for you.”

  Feeling instantly part of an exclusive club—with perks, no less—I beam at her. “That sounds great. Thanks, Pia.”

  “Babe?” she says, touching Angus on the arm. “Did you know Nick’s new girlfriend here is a fashion designer?”

  Angus turns his attention to me. “Cool. Do you do guy’s stuff?”

  “Not yet, but maybe someday.” I reply happily.

  Nick winks at me, and I grin back at him. Although this thing between us is so very new, it feels incredible to be here with him, chatting with team members and their partners about my fashion designs.

  Pia unhooks her arm from mine and looks around the room. “They’ve gone all out on the place this time.”

  “It looks great, and it is surprisingly elegant for a rugby team party,” I reply with a laugh.

  Nick quirks an eyebrow. “We’re not all he-men, you know,” he says as a group of guys count down from five to one in unison, and a large guy in a tux chugs
his entire pint of beer before the group breaks into cheers. He gives my hand a squeeze. “Okay, there may be an element of he-man going on from time to time.”

  “An element?” I tease.

  “That’s just Bulldog and his cronies,” Angus says. “They’re the party boys. All single and big on the booze and partying hard, right, Nick? You’ve spent a few evenings with them lately.”

  Nick’s jaw tightens. “Not for a while.”

  “Yeah, but you have done, right?” Angus persists. “All that crap in the papers about you being the bad boy of rugby.”

  “The Wild Boy of Rugby,” Pia corrects helpfully.

  “Yeah, that’s the one,” Angus says with a chuckle.

  Nick shifts his weight, looking visibly uncomfortable. “It’s all in the past, man. I’ve moved on.”

  I move closer to Nick and take his hand in mine. “Shall we go find our table?”

  “Sure,” Nick replies, his features relaxing.

  “Great to meet you two,” I say to Pia and Angus.

  “Come over and meet all the girls later,” Pia says. “They’ll want to know all about your designs.”

  “I’ll be sure to do that.” I lead Nick away.

  “You’re good at this, did you know that?” he says.

  “At what? Schmoozing?”

  “Definitely the schmoozing, but I was meaning more being able to tell when I need to go talk to someone else.”

  I stop and turn to face him. I place my hands on his chest and gaze up at him, enjoying our closeness. “It’s all part of the service. You’ve got my back, and I’ve got yours.”

  “I like the sound of that.”

  As our gazes lock, we share a smile. Any fears I may have had have evaporated around us. I’m dating Nick, and it feels nothing short of incredible.

  Chapter 15

  The following morning, Darcy and I are at Cozy Cottage Café, sipping our Lapsong Souchong tea and working our way through the three-tiered stand of treats before us when Sophie arrives at the table. She’s wearing the Cozy Cottage High Tea tee that makes her look a little like a Barbie doll (in a good way, of course), a smile on her pretty face.