Total pages in book: 138
Estimated words: 133682 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 668(@200wpm)___ 535(@250wpm)___ 446(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 133682 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 668(@200wpm)___ 535(@250wpm)___ 446(@300wpm)
“Oh stop! I’m not the HR department. More like the head of matchmaking deflection.”
“And when we beat Brady in the Christmas games, you’ll have reached the department of revenge.” I saw how her eyes lit up at Bibi’s go-get-em words. Not only is this fake romance an opportunity to show her and her ex how a woman should be treated, it’s a chance to beat that jackass in the games.
“Looks like I just ordered myself a Christmas boyfriend,” she says, shimmying a little at the prospect of revenge. “I’ll take twenty-five days of this gift, thank you very much.”
I wish I could unwrap the gift of her. Undo a silky ribbon, let it fall to the floor, then…
I steer away from the almost filthy thoughts and do a mental one-eighty, reverting to my default gear—work. “I’d like to see the holiday shirt you made, after all.”
Following my focus shift, Fable shows me a pretty design with a cut-out neck and “Renegades” emblazoned in a retro font, filled in with silver and red bling. It’s festive and stylish. At least, I think that’s what Mac would tell me.
“What do you think? My projections say it’s on trend,” Fable says.
“I approve,” I say.
The next style she shows me has a more masculine cut and neck, with no glitter. I approve that one too.
Carefully, she folds the shirts, then under her breath, she says, “Thanks…wild child.”
But no. That won’t do. That’s Bibi’s term. “Don’t call me that.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I meant—I like sugar plum better from you.”
“You do?”
“Does that surprise you?” I ask, wishing I didn’t enjoy getting to know these little details of her so much.
“A little.”
I need to shut up. I need to stop enjoying this. This thing between us is all a ruse—a ruse meant to help both of us. That’s it.
I focus on the plan for the stockings. We’ll fill the stockings with the shirts, a box of holiday chocolates from Elodie’s, a gift card, and the employees’ Christmas bonuses.
When we’re done, Fable’s gaze strays to the windows overlooking the field, empty now since it’s an off day. “Did you see Hendrix’s fourth-quarter diving catch yesterday?”
The team played Phoenix in the early afternoon. Mac and I watched from the owner’s suite before she went to her photography class. “I swear he was parallel to the ground and still caught it,” I say, proud of my players and their skills.
“What a game,” she says with a happy sigh. “I watched it at home. Took my mind off things.”
A pang lodges in my chest, chased by anger. Brady’s why she needed a distraction. I really can’t stand that asshole for hurting Fable. “I’m glad you had something to distract you.” But then I replay what she just said. Hold the hell on. “Why didn’t you come to the game? You usually do.” She’s told me she likes to watch from the stands with her sister or her friends so she can cheer the loudest.
She shrugs. “Everyone was busy,” she says with a smile. A forced smile.
I burn inside again. I’m not sure I believe her excuse. I suspect she didn’t go because of that fuckwit. “Then you should come to the next home game.”
I’m about to offer her coveted fifty-yard line seats when she says, “I’m sure I will. I have tickets.” She shifts gears immediately. “And we have a lot to do before then with all this holiday gift planning. I love giving out gifts. Do I get to help you hand them out before the break like a good little elf?”
I go with her change-up. “Will you wear that cute little elf costume?” I ask before I can think the better of it.
Her lips curve in a grin. “Of course I will.”
I stare at her for a long moment. Damn, she’s beautiful. But I’ve thought that about her before, and I won’t let errant distractions stir me from my plans. In fact, I really ought to return to the fake dating plans rather than worrying about where she’ll watch the next game from. “We should work out some details. If we need to be seen together publicly before the wedding.”
“Good point. We probably will.”
“I’ll give it some thought. And then, at the cabins, you can stay in another room and—”
A buzz from my desk interrupts me as Shay speaks through the intercom. “Your father is on line three.”
“We can talk details later.” Fable waves me off, and I don’t know if I should hug her or shake her hand. As if she senses my unease, she lets herself out quickly, and I don’t have to choose.
Shame though. Especially since I’d have preferred the former.
Chin up, I head to my desk, take a fortifying breath, then steel myself. “Hello.”
“Hi, son,” my father says, and I hate that he calls me that. For so long, I’ve felt like the adult in the relationship, parenting him. It sounds so wrong to be called his kid. “Great game this past weekend,” he adds. “I told you Hendrix was the best receiver money could buy.”