24. CHAPTER 24

CHAPTER 24

“Did you ever have someone kiss you in a crowded room, and every single one of your friends was makin’ fun of you?”

Question…? – Taylor Swift

Nathalie

I should have brought more hand warmers.

A bitter wind whips against my cheeks as I shiver in my seat, curled into Maren’s side to steal whatever warmth I can. I want to respect her personal space, but it’s this or freeze to death, and I would prefer not to turn blue. Early fall games are my favorite when the air is crisp but still warm enough to wear only a sweatshirt, not this late December tundra.

The only thing keeping my body from turning into a popsicle is the excitement thrumming through my veins to see Deon after the game .

The watered-down stadium hot chocolate melts against my tongue, heating the chill in my bones.

“I don’t know how long I’m going to make it,” Sawyer admits, rubbing her mittens together as she bounces on her toes. “I love Henry so much, but I think I love not freezing to death a bit more.”

“Yeah, I’m not doing so well either, and I enjoy the cold.” Maren pulls her beanie down to cover her ears.

We watch the game in silence, all three of us conserving our energy. The team has done well all season, only losing a game in September, and as much as I love watching them win, it’s much more fun when I’m not on the brink of frostbite.

Halftime rolls around, and Maren pops up, grabbing her things.

“I can’t do this any longer. Let's go to a bar.”

“Oh, thank god. I was trying to be brave for everyone else, but I’m not sure I’m meant for the cold. I get chilly when Henry drops the heat down to seventy-two,” Sawyer says.

Maren’s lips curl in disdain.

“Sixty-eight is a respectable temperature for a house.” Sawyer rolls her eyes. “I’ll text Jack and tell them we’re going to LongBoards,” Maren says, weaving through the crowd of people sheltering in the concourse. Maren fiddles with her phone and does a small cheer when the app dings.

“The car is heating up,” she says, “I love technology.”

The three of us run to the car, and as I slide inside, the warmth envelops me.

“This is so much better,” I say, lying down across the back seat.

“To the bar!” Sawyer cheers, lifting a fist into the air, “I’m going to eat my body weight in fried food and justify it by saying I’m replenishing the energy I lost staying alive.”

“As you should,” Maren responds, speed racing through Seattle to get to the bar.

Twenty minutes later, we’re all happily sitting inside the nautical-themed sports bar, drinks in our hands and platters of fried food on the way.

“I usually wouldn’t break the secrecy of Secret Santa,” I say, “But I need to know if you bought things for the puppy yet, Maren.”

I have Jack for Secret Santa, and I want to get him things for the new puppy Maren plans on gifting him, but I don’t want to buy duplicates of what Maren already purchased. I have a pseudo gift to give him at the exchange, but this is for after he learns about the terror of a puppy Maren picked out.

“None of the small things,” Maren pulls out her phone, bringing up a list, “I have the crate and a collar and food, but I haven’t gotten toys or treats yet.”

“I’ll get those and give them to you for Jack’s gift if that’s okay.”

I’m usually great at giving gifts, but I spent hours thinking about something for Jack, and all I came up with was plant. Not a specific plant, just plant .

“I can hide it at work until Christmas,” she says, and I mentally add ‘raid a pet store’ to my pre-Christmas to-do list.

“And you are both still able to help with my surprise?”

I’ve been planning it for weeks, and everything is beginning to fall into place, I only need them to hide things for me so Deon doesn’t find them before he’ s supposed to.

“The decorations are in my office at work,” Sawyer says, gulping down her vodka cranberry.

“You can keep the food in the fridge in our garage and sneak over to grab it,” Maren adds.

“I’m excited,” I admit, with a small blush. I’ve never celebrated a birthday with a boyfriend, well, because I haven’t had a real one, but I want Deon to feel special on his birthday.

I slowly sip my seltzer, snacking on the french fries and onion rings to avoid getting drunk and trying to wack anyone who comes close to Deon.

The game ends, and I pull out my phone, waiting for Deon to text me like I’m some love-sick girl in high school. I am love-sick, but I am a fully grown woman. I’m not sure if that makes it better or worse.

I slap it face down on the table, trying not to flip it over every thirty seconds to check if he texted me. My phone dings, and I nearly jump out of my seat, snatching my phone.

Deon: Are you still at LongBoards?

Yes. Do you want to go home?

No. I’ll come hang with you.

I unsuccessfully try to banish the wildebeest stampeding in my chest, knowing I’ll be beside him soon.

“Do you remember the last time we were in a bar together?” Deon asks, breath dancing along my skin.

“No.”

I don’t remember anything from the night we went to the bar for Henry and Sawyer’s joint bachelor-bachelorette party. I remember the Jell-O shots I took with Maren before arriving, and I vaguely remember my first Long Island, but everything after is dark.

His chest rumbles with laughter and he pulls me into his side.

“I was terrified of you,” he admits with a laugh and I poke his side. “You were pissed I stopped your drunken engagement, asked if I would marry you instead, and then made me promise to feed you Twizzlers like a princess.”

My jaw drops. I do not remember that at all. I throw my hands over my face in embarrassment. No wonder he avoided me.

“That’s horrifying. I can’t believe I said that.”

“Made me feel good,” he admits. “I like it when you drunkenly admit what you feel.”

Deon kisses the crown of my head and the small bubble around us bursts when Sawyer squeals, slapping the table. “Pay up, sucker!”

Maren shakes her head, dropping a twenty-dollar bill onto the table. “You failed me, Adams.”

“Failed you?” His tone is incredulous.

I’m just confused about what they bet on. I gave up on betting long ago. They all do it. I don’t have the money to bet on my friend's personal lives.

“I said you wouldn’t show public displays of affection,” she says, disappointed. “Sawyer said you would.”

I begin to laugh when Deon turns and smashes his lips against mine in a frenzied kiss that steals the air from my lungs. His lips curl into a cocky, victorious smile when he sees the shock on my face. Deon looks to Maren, whose jaw is on the floor.

“How’s that for PDA?” he asks.

Everyone at the table blinks.

That felt like fucking declaration.

A claim.

And 100% against rule number two.

“You don’t have to pretend around them,” I croak, trying to still my racing heart. They all know this is fake. There’s no need for stolen kisses or a claiming when every one of our friends knows this relationship is a sham.

I’m sure my eyes are wild and frantic but I’m entirely focused on Deon when his brows furrow and he whispers, “I wasn’t pretending.”

He spins away to speak to Jack and I whip my head to Maren and Sawyer trying to convey my utter bafflement through a single look.

Maren’s head tilts and Sawyer’s nose scrunches in confusion.

He’s not pretending? I mouth, What the fuck does that mean?

Sawyer shrugs, popping fried pickle chips into her mouth, but Maren’s eyes brighten like she’s discovered something.

“Are you excited to get your house back, Deon?” she asks, pulling his attention.

“Huh?”

“When Nathalie moves out after the auction,” Maren says, “I imagine your house will be much cleaner.”

“I’m not that mes—” I begin to protest, but Deon cuts me off, hand squeezing my thigh.

“I would call it organized chaos,” he amends and my jaw falls to the floor. I was protesting, but it was in vain because I am messy. I forget to put things away and I’m not the best at organization.

Maren’s eyes narrow on Deon and I swing to find his eyes on me. I swear there’s a flicker of longing in his gaze before it’s gone.

“So, you’re going to miss her mess?” Maren presses and I kick my foot beneath the table, hoping to thwack her in the shin.

What the hell is the Inquisition about?

No need to bring up the fact I’m moving out soon. I got the call last week that my apartment would be ready in the second week of January. They apologized profusely, saying the holidays delayed the work, but all I could think was now there was a real deadline on our deal.

It was a vague reality when they told me sometime in January.

When I told Deon he grunted and left for practice.

We haven’t spoken about it since.

Deon replies to Maren with his favorite response: a grunt.

Maren’s smile morphs into something serpentine before she switches the subject entirely. “Jack and I got into a fight last week.” Jack rolls his eyes. “He ate the last of my Cheez-Its.”

“You two are always bickering about something,” Henry chimes in. “I will never enter a Crate and Barrel with you two ever again.” He shivers as if reliving the memory. “It’s some sort of foreplay for you two.”

“Basically.” Maren shrugs.

“I really didn’t think I was going to have such a strong opinion on tableware,” Jack says apologetically and I force back a giggle.

Uh oh.

The alcohol is taking effect.

I shove a handful of stale, cold french fries into my mouth, but I fear it may be too late. Reaching across the table, I steal Sawyer’s water, chugging it in two gulps. As I’m wiping the dribble from my cheeks, Declan saunters through the door holding hands with the woman he showed us on the dating app.

His eyes search the bar and they brighten when they find us. Declan leads her through the crowd and I watch like a hawk, assessing them together as a potential couple.

Did he zing with her?

“You’re frowning,” Deon comments quietly, leaning into my space. I turn my frown in his direction and his fingers jab my cheeks. “You’re cute when you frown.” My lip jerks upward as my small smile slips out and he beams. “You’re beautiful when you smile like that.”

Turning away, I hide my blush as Declan and his date slip into the large booth. He greets us and turns to the woman, whose smile is small.

“Everyone, this is Gia.”

A chorus of greetings rings through the air and my focus lasers in on Gia’s bland, uninterested smile as Maren explains what she does for work.

Slithering my hand across the table, I steal Henry’s cocktail and chug it in two sips.

“What are you doing?” he hisses, bewildered as I slide the empty drink back in his direction.

“I think I need to be drunk right now,” I say apologetically. I dig through my bag, searching for cash when Deon leans over and gasps.

“What the fuck is in that thing?”

His question is so loud the entire table quiets.

Oh, dear.

If they think my living quarters are bad, they’re not going to like the inside of my bag.

My head spins from the alcohol, and I bribe Deon with the first thing I can think of to let this go.

“I’ll give you a blowjob when we get home if you never speak about my bag. Ever. Again.”

His gaze darkens, and his hand lands on my thigh, dangerously close to the apex between my thighs, but he shakes his head and steals my bag.

He keeps breaking the no-touching rule, but I can’t say anything without admitting we have rules in the first place.

In ten seconds, he flickers between horror, disgust, and awe. By the handful, he drops my possessions onto the table.

“Let’s place bets,” he says, eyes sparking with humor. I whack him in the chest, and it only worsens his laughter. In one swoop, he flips my bag over, and the contents tumble out.

“That is a nightmare,” Jack mumbles, rubbing his jaw.

“I bet twenty dollars she has four or more lip products,” Sawyer says, dropping a twenty on the table.

My cheeks flame when Declan counters her bet. “I’ll say there are less.”

He drops his cash, and Deon digs through the pile, pulling out chapsticks and lip glosses one by one. There are six sitting at the table when he finishes.

Sawyer snatches the cash, and I flop back in the booth, annoyed with my friends, but when Deon smiles at me, the annoyance flutters away.

They bet on how many pieces of candy they can find and the age of my oldest receipt. Jack wins a hundred dollars by correctly guessing how many pens there are, and Declan keels over in laughter when Deon reveals there are twenty-seven hair ties.

I own the same number of Converse.

Throughout it all, the group laughs at my expense, and I laugh alongside them. My bag was due for a cleaning, and Deon is doing all the heavy lifting.

Gia, unsurprisingly, has remained quiet, sipping on her vodka soda with pursed lips.

“I’m tired,” she mutters, and with a soft smile, Declan utters goodbyes, whisking her out the door.

“We don’t like her, right?” Maren asks, saying what I believe we’re all thinking.

Henry immediately responds. “She’s not right for him. He’ll realize he didn’t zing and move on. But if he doesn’t, it will be a Seattle Super Spies intervention, don’t worry.”

I’ll admit I’m slightly uneven on my feet as Deon ushers us into the house. I flop to the floor as Gordie prances out of the back hallway and scoop him up against my chest. “You are the cutest cat in the world!” I say in a baby voice. “And the smartest.”

Deon shakes his head as he passes us and quickly returns with water.

“Drink this,” he commands, stealing Gordie from my grip, who releases a menacing meow and leaps away from Deon.

“He doesn’t like you much,” I giggle, pushing on my hands to rise. Deon grips my hips to help my balance. “Does my lack of alcohol tolerance bother you?” I blurt out. “Do you think I’m too messy?”

I want to know how he feels about me.

Drunk Nathalie is brave enough to ask.

His brows crinkle.

God, he’s so beautiful that sometimes I have to look away from him.

“No.” He guides us into the master bathroom and hands me my toothbrush, a perfect dollop of toothpaste on the bristles.

I glance at myself in the mirror, eyes widening with horror. I look disheveled and, well, drunk. Deon tenderly pushes a flyway from my braid out of my eyes, and my heart flips and twists and clenches.

He can’t do things like that.

“Do you think I’m a good fake girlfriend?” The vulnerable question tumbles out, alcohol loosening my tongue.

Maybe that’s a reason I’ve never been able to prove to anyone I’m worth choosing. I’m not girlfriend material.

Deon physically recoils. “ What? ”

I lean against the counter, gripping the countertop for balance. “I just—never mind.”

His body blocks the door frame, trapping me in the bathroom.

“Did I make you feel like that?” His throat bobs. “Because you’re by far the best girlfriend I’ve ever had.”

My stomach lurches at the confession—his omission of the word ‘fake’—and the sincerity in his gaze.

“You’ve only had one,” I say, focused on the tile floor, suddenly bashful, when his thumb tips my chin up.

“I only need the one to know you’re by far the best.”

I shouldn’t blush at his words, shouldn’t let them root into my soul and plant a delusional seed of hope, but I do. The hope grows, a small seedling fighting to blossom when he helps me to bed, clutching me in his arms as we settle beneath the covers.

For tonight, I’ll let the small seedling blossom because in the morning, I’m going to have to pull it out, root by root, and it’s going to hurt.