7. CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 7

“Wait, this is a mess, I could be wrong, I could be mistaken”

Perfume – Del Water Gap

Deon

S weat drips down my temple as I dip below the barbell.

“Ready when you are,” Jack calls out. Heaving the bar off the rack, I drop into a squat, allowing the burning sensation to take over my thoughts, banishing the memories of Nathalie from my mind.

Never in my twenty-eight years has a kiss felt like all else ceased to exist except for her.

It’s a problem.

There’s no happy medium in my life. It’s always been that way. I either love something fully or hate it immensely.

I picked up a football, and it became an obsession. Every waking hour was spent honing my craft to become the best. I fell in love with football, and it became my life.

Then, I fell in love with Savannah. I could have stopped playing, and I would have been content with her.

I loved her more than any football game, but she destroyed me, and I had no idea who I was without her. I grew up with her. She was my ‘one and only’, but now there is only me, football, and my cat.

A long time ago, I decided football was enough. I’ve dodged any form of physical or emotional connection because I don’t know how to separate logic from emotions.I never have, and it’s why Savannah’s betrayal left me clueless and lost.

I’ve only just let myself connect with my friends because, time and time again, they have proved their character, but even still, fear lingers. I believed my last friends were my forever people, and I haven’t spoken to them in five years.

One date with Nathalie and every emotion I’ve successfully avoided for five years is at the barricade, demanding to be heard.

I finish my reps with a grunt and slide the bar back onto the rack. The memory of her dress slowly riding up as she sprinted to the car has clouded my mind all morning. The sweet, floral scent of her perfume lingers like a balm on my skin.

Jack and I trade places, and he slides extra weight on each side of the bar.

“Showoff,” I mutter. Jack gives me a cocky grin before squatting the three-hundred fifty pounds like it’s nothing more than a bag of flour.

“How was your date with Nathalie?” he asks, lowering himself toward the floor. I spot him, though he’s comfortable with the weight.

“Fine.”

I’m not in the mood to share how a single kiss has consumed my every thought, and my life is off-kilter since I made the poor decision of announcing a girlfriend to the world and allowing my friends to convince me to ask Nathalie to assume the role.

I am far too easily peer-pressured. I put up my best fight, but I always cave, especially to Seattle Super Spies' shenanigans. I lost hundreds of dollars betting on random things on the trip to Michigan and I was suggesting rom-com movies for Henry to watch to win Sawyer’s heart.

To make matters worse, I have not dated a single person since I ended my engagement. More specifically, I have not kissed a single person in five years.

It’s why one single kiss has my head all messed up. She had me in knots with her teasing and god , her dress. I’ve seen it in my dreams the last three nights.

“That good, huh?” Jack chuckles, re-racking the weights. “You’re pretty tangled up for someone who says he doesn’t date.”

I open my mouth to defend myself when a phone rings. My head darts to the sound, where Declan scrambles to answer.

“Hello?” I tune out the conversation until he says the one name that lives rent-free in my mind. “Nathalie, slow down. I can’t understand you.”

I drop the barbell in my hands onto the rack. Declan grimaces as I reach him, collecting his things while he balances the phone between his ear and shoulder.

“Just breathe,” he says, “It’ll be fine. You can stay with me until it gets fixed. No, I won’t make you sleep on the couch. We can buy an air mattress.”

Air mattress?

With a more forceful grip than I intended, I grab Declan’s bicep, forcing him to face me. I’m struggling to pull air into my lungs, my heartbeat racing in my chest.

It’s not from the exercise.

“What happened?” I bark out, a deep-rooted fear twisting my chest. “Is Nathalie okay?”

Thoughts of Nathalie hurt or in trouble flood my brain, followed quickly by images of her in Declan’s home with her lacy underthings peppering his floor until an ugly jealous haze falls over my vision.

“She’s fine. Her apartment flooded.” Declan lifts a brow. “Are you okay?” His chin jerks to the hand at my side, trembling. I clasp my fist.

Jack stands by my side as I fight to control my reaction. She’s my fake girlfriend. This shouldn’t warrant a physical fear response.

“What’s going on?” Jack asks.

“Nathalie will stay with me.” The declaration tumbles out. Jack and Declan blink. The idea of her staying with Declan is wrong.

She’s mine to take care of. My fake girlfriend, not Declan’s.

Staying with Declan goes against every fake dating scenario I’ve created in my mind.

They all end with her dress on my floor. They’re not realistic dreams.

Declan smiles conspiratorially. “Hm…okay. Do you want to pack up her apartment, too?”

“Did you want to ask Nathalie if she agrees with the arrangement?” Jack asks.

I scoff. Of course, she’ll agree .

“It’ll be fine,” I say. It’s difficult to describe the tightness in my chest, knowing she chose to call Declan instead of me when she needed help. It shouldn’t bother me. I’m not that kind of person to her. It’s something I should be okay with. Unfortunately, I am not.

I was never that person for Savannah. When I had a bad day, she was the only person I wanted to see. Being with her could settle whatever was floating around in my mind. She always chose her friends when she was upset. We were supposed to be each other’s shoulder to lean on. Instead, I leaned on her, and she slept with someone else.

“Alright,” Declan draws out the word, causing the hair on my neck to rise. “But prepare yourself for tears.”

Nerves flutter in my chest as I bang on the door. An unannounced arrival may have been a bad idea.

I regret my rash decision as her door flies open, and a body slams into mine, tiny arms wrapping tightly around my waist.

Fuck my rash decision. If this is how Nathalie hugs Declan, she is never getting close to him ever again. These types of hugs shouldn’t belong to him, one where I’m the only reason she’s still standing.

I sigh, leaning into the embrace when her body stiffens and jerks back.

Wide, bloodshot eyes blink up at me.

“You’re not Declan.”

Nathalie’s usually immaculate braids are falling apart, large pieces hanging around her face. Her eyes are red-rimmed from crying, and the tip of her nose is a soft shade of pink. Her lips are plump, likely from chewing on them, and I quickly avert my eyes.

“No. I’m not.”

She looks around me into the hallway. “Where is he? Parking the car?”

I bite the inside of my cheek. “He’s not coming.”

“What? Why? I’m supposed to stay with him.” Her cheeks flush, and she spins away, stomping through the small layer of water on her floor.

“You’re going to stay with me,” I say, entering the apartment.

Nathalie spins, and she’s…angry? I was not expecting that. The water sloshes, and she’s right in front of me, eyes narrowed.

“Excuse me?”

I wring my hands together. I was prepared for tears, not wrath.

“Well…” I’m floundering for a logical way to say I was jealous when you called Declan, which is wildly out of character for me—but a frequent feeling around you—and I stopped using my brain. “I thought—”

What did I think? Nothing. Nothing except how my fake girlfriend should stay with me and not with Declan. All I’ve wanted is to be someone's shoulder to lean on, and it upsets me Declan is her shoulder, and I’m not.

“It would look…odd if my girlfriend was living with my teammate instead of me. Bad optics?”

Nathalie pauses in a puddle of water in her kitchen and spins. Water flies and splashes. I squirm beneath her baffled look.

“You care that much about the optics?”

Her question is full of confusion, but I can’t tell her that it’s her I care about far more than I should.

I dodge her question, instead saying, “Just let me help you pack.”

Nathalie’s shoulders slump, and she begins to sniffle.

“All my stuff is wet,” she wails, tears tracking down her cheeks.

The urge to hold her overwhelms my rational thought as I drag her into a hug, casting soothing circles on her back. Her anger slumps away, shoulders sagging in my grip.

A wave of comfort washes over me as Nathalie's arms wrap around my waist; there's a sense of security in this moment I’ve lacked for the last five years.

Physical affection has always held comfort for me, but I don’t know how to share that with someone without growing pesky feelings, so I’ve refrained entirely.

The whole reason I adopted my cat, Gordito, was to have someone to cuddle with. When I went to the shelter, the big black ball of fur screamed, ‘Cuddle Buddy.’ Turns out, he’s evil and only hangs out with me when he’s pouncing at my feet at night or stalking me like prey.

“Sorry,” she mumbles against my chest, fingers gripping the back of my shirt. “It’s a nice offer.”

“Is that a yes to staying with me?”

My body vibrates with hope.

Her head bobs, banging between my pectoral muscles. I lean my cheek against the crown of her head, savoring the soft smell of jasmine.

“Good. Let’s get you packed.”

Nathalie peels away, her eyes watery but with a soft smile on her face.

“Converse first,” she says, leading us to the hallway closet. The door slides open, and my jaw drops at the sheer number of shoes. Dozens of Converse topple each other in a pile, the bottom half soaked with water.

This is going to take a while.

The bags hanging off of Nathalie’s shoulders fall to the floor as she gasps in the entryway of my home. I’ve never lived with a woman who wasn’t my sister or mom, and I have no idea what to do or say or where to stand.

I’m nervous. She makes me nervous.

Somehow, I didn’t consider the living we would be doing together when I made my offer. I never lived with Savannah. I offered and asked and, at one point, begged, but she was adamant she wanted her own space.

Turns out, her own space was used to cheat on me, and I only found out when I tried to surprise her.

We packed her belongings up in silence, except for the brief question or direction. Nathalie was sullen on the drive, and I spent the time trying to find something to cheer her up.

I nearly broke out my Gollum impression to see her smile.

Now, we’re in my home, and my offer to share living quarters is becoming very, very real. How am I supposed to explain my pantry organizational system without sounding like I’ve lost my mind?

“Oh, wow.” Nathalie creeps deeper into my home, stopping in the living area. “This is…shocking.”

“What is?”

“It’s so homey.” I lift a brow, and she continues. “You own art and a massive couch and…” she trails off, eyes locked on the kitchen. “Is that an industrial stove?”

“Yes.” Her jaw falls, and I force back a laugh.

“It’s so clean, too.” She laughs, the sound throaty and raw from her bouts of crying earlier. “I was expecting more of a bachelor pad if I’m being honest.”

“Bachelor pad?” I don’t hide that I am mildly offended. A bachelor pad would not have a butler's pantry with individually labeled baskets.

After my signing bonus hit my bank account, I drove myself to The Container Store and bought every item that sparked my interest. Some players buy cars or jewelry. I chose a more practical route. I even splurged on the OXO grip lock storage containers. And they say money can’t buy happiness.

“Yeah, like a camping chair sitting in front of a television in the living room and a mattress on the floor with gray sheets you’ve probably had since college.”

I frown in disgust.

“Who the hell would want to live like that?”

Sounds like the inside of a fraternity.

“Some of the men I’ve hooked up with have,” she hums, and I blink. I do not want to know about the men she’s slept with or their questionable cleanliness.

“Those aren’t men. Those are boys.”

Nathalie pauses, but before she can answer, a blur of black fur darts out from the back of the house, and I curse, hauling Nathalie to the side. Gordito creeps toward us.

There’s only one way this will go.

Poorly.

“You didn’t tell me you have a cat!” Nathalie exclaims, crouching down and extending her hand.

Oh no. He’s going to attack her, and then shit is going to hit the fan. As much as he terrifies me, I have a soft spot for the monster, and the last thing I can handle is having to euthanize him.

“Get back!” I scream. “He’s not a friend—” Gordito slowly walks to her outstretched palm and rubs against it. An odd noise escapes him, and I jump back, fists raised and ready to fight.

“Is he…purring?”

Humor swims in Nathalie’s brown eyes.

“That is what cats usually do.” I focus on Gordito as she fights back a laugh.

“Not that cat.” I don’t think I’ve ever heard him purr. All he does is terrorize me and perch atop his cat tower like the king he is.

“What’s its name?” Nathalie asks as she scratches behind Gordito’s ear. I’m on high alert as her hand glides down his back, prepared to drag her back and run us away as fast as humanly possible. Instead, the purring grows louder, and he flops down on the ground, displaying his stomach for her to rub.

I’ve never once seen the asshole's stomach, and here he is, flaunting it for Nathalie. He’s trying to replace me.

“Uh…His name is Gordito.”

I stare at the situation in awe. If you asked me what was more likely to happen, this or an alien abduction, I would have chosen the abduction with zero hesitation.

The sounds he’s emitting grow louder, and Nathalie plops onto the hardwood floor, all of her attention focused on my cat. As she coos and whispers compliments at him, the green little monster dances in my chest. He’s been far too frequent a guest in my life lately.

“ Oh, qué lindo, Gordito, ” Nathalie coos, the words foreign, but Gordito releases a battle cry, and Nathalie’s eyes widen behind her glasses.

“Do you speak Spanish?” I ask, creeping away from my cat before he can take his anger out on my toes.

“A little…Deon, I don’t think he likes his name.” Gordie meows loudly in agreement. “You have to give him a new name.” Nathalie looks at my cat with nothing but adoration in her eyes. “How about Gordie?”

I glance between her and the cat. Gordito—Gordie—peers up at me, vengeance in his eyes. Shivering, I take a step back.

“Yeah…uh…Sounds good. I’ll drop your bags in the guest room.”

Scurrying away, I leave Nathalie to fend for herself. Honestly, Gordie loves watching me squirm. He feeds off my discomfort, and knowing the girl I am attracted to and now fake dating is living with us is the feast of a lifetime for him.

I drop the bags on the bed and spin to find Nathalie standing in the doorway of the room across the hall.

She turns, eyes wide.

Oh, shit.