Page 127 of The Romance Line
It’s Jenna.
Oh, shit. Maybe I wasn’t so quiet. I’m not supposed to show favoritism, even though of course I want us to win.
She smiles my way.
I whisper a quietthank you.
I bite my tongue the rest of the game, but it’s getting harder to swallow this four-letter word.
After the shutout, I’m waiting by the tunnel when Max emerges, sweaty and victorious. “Want me to get you a yacht tonight to talk to the press?”
“Yes, sunshine, a four-hundred-footer,” he says.
I freeze. But then I remind myself he’s called mesunshinein front of people before. At least I think he has? I rack my brain. Yes, he has. I breathe again.
But working with him is starting to feel like watching my own back all the time and that’s a tall order. I ask, as professionally as I can, “Can you talk to the media? Shutout and all.”
“Yes.” His eyes sparkle when he says that one word, and I bet he’s thinking of oursay yesmantra. But that’s a problem too. Everything between us means something else. Everything could trip us up.
When he finishes chatting with the press and strides back into the corridor with me, he nods toward a man with a similar jawline to his and a woman with cool blue eyes, who are waiting there along with Max’s cutie-pie nephew.
I home in on Kade. “Did you see your uncle save all those goals tonight?”
The kid beams. “I did and he blockedalllllof them.”
“He’s very good at that,” I say, then come face-to-face with the parents of the man I’ve fallen for. I stick out a hand to shake with his mother, then his father. “So great to meet you, Mr. and Mrs. Lambert.”
“It’s lovely to meet you, Everly,” his mom says, and her smile is knowing.
“Max raves about your work,” his dad says, his eyes twinkling with a secret.
My throat is tight with emotions from this simple fact—that his parents are playing along. But I wish none of us were. I wish this were real. I wish I were telling them how hard I’ve fallen for their son. What a good man they’ve raised. What a wonderful person this grumpy, broody, storm cloud of a goalie turned out to be.
But I can’t here so I smile and say, “I’m so glad. Max is great to work with.”
And I’ve never felt like more of a publicist, spinning a story, than right now.
“What’s wrong?” Max asks me later that night at his place.
“Nothing,” I say flatly as I play with the kitten, dangling a feather toy I bought Athena.
“Something’s wrong,” he says, setting a big hand on my thigh.
This man can always read me, so I sigh and let go of the toy. “I loved meeting your parents but I wanted to tell them how amazing you are. I wanted to sayyour son is incredible and he takes care of me and adores me and I adore him,and I couldn’t say that. I just couldn’t.”
His lips quirk up. “You adore me.”
I roll my eyes. “As if you didn’t know.”
“Say it again though. I like the way it sounds on your lips.”
“I adore you,” I huff.
“Still like it even when you’re irritated.”
“I just…I want to speed up time,” I admit. And I want to tell him how deeply I feel. But I don’t want to say I’ve fallen in love with him while we’reonlytogether in the dark. I want to tell him outside, under the sun, when I don’t have to hide. I’m tired of hiding. I’ve stopped hiding my scars in pole class. I’ve stopped hiding them from him. I don’t want to hideusany longer.
“Me too,” he says with a sympathetic smile, then he runs a hand down the buttons of my blouse. “But until then, I know how to pass the time.”