9. CHAPTER 9

CHAPTER 9

“You know those brown eyes in the sun make me weak”

Butterflies – ASTN

Deon

Nathalie: The Halloween party is next weekend.

Do you have a costume idea?

Do we have to go?

Most of the team will be there, and Maren is hosting.

So, yes.

Do we have to dress up?

Is that a serious question?

Yes.

Obviously, and it has to be a couple’s costume.

No.

Yes.

And before you start to argue, remember that YOU told the media we’re dating.

People who date wear couples costumes on Halloween.

Fine, but don’t make it stupid.

You can’t see it, but I’m rolling my eyes.

I fight a rogue smile as I read Nathalie’s last message.

The last week and a half has been a flurry of moments strung together by one constant: Nathalie.

I’ve barely seen her in the last few days, and I’m slowly descending into anxious thoughts.

Is she avoiding me? Does she regret moving in with me? Am I bothering her?

She hasn’t said anything, but it’s easy to lose myself to those thoughts, especially since the silent treatment was Savannah’s favorite maneuver.

Worst of all, I had to watch our show alone in a hotel room because we had a game. The premise of the show is insane, but I enjoyed it with Nathalie. Her face lit up every time one of the men said something sweet.

It was far less interesting by myself.

I stare at the game tape, forcing myself to analyze the defense of the Carolina Stars to prepare for our home game on Thursday, but my thoughts shift back to the stunning brunette sleeping in my guest bedroom.

Our tackling moment is stuck in a loop in my mind, and every attempt to banish it has been futile. Nathalie pressed against me, every soft curve of her body from her breasts to her hips. How her eyes widened behind her blue glasses, the color pulling out the green specks in her irises. Then, the smell of her perfume hit my nose, and it was game over, the scent acting like an aphrodisiac.

I haven’t been warped about a woman since Savannah which is not settling well in my stomach.

The offensive coordinator stops the film, highlighting defensive players' positions, before ending the meeting and dismissing us. Slipping out the door, I bolt to the practice locker room to grab my bag.

“You seem distracted,” Henry hums, dropping into his seat beside my locker .

Declan stands on my other side.

“How are things at home?” Declan stretches out, blocking my path to escape. “Messy?”

“No.”

It’s not technically a lie. The shared living space is still tidy. The mudroom and Nathalie’s room are an entirely different story.

Her shoes are piled in towers in the mudroom and scattered in the connecting hallway. I’ve organized them twice, neatly lining them in rows, but as soon as I do, they somehow congregate into one massive pile again.

I had to push the state of Nathalie’s room into the deepest caverns of my mind to find any semblance of peace. Her door was open when I walked past toward the laundry room. What I saw caused my brain to itch.

Her suitcases are flung open on the floor, her clothing in haphazard piles, and the rest of her belongings are half unpacked in storage boxes. Dozens of storage boxes.

I have no idea why there are so many or why she needed them for only a few months.

Declan and Henry give me a bemused look.

“You’re a liar,” Declan says. “I know Nathalie, and there’s no way there isn’t mess somewhere.”

I may not have seen her much in the last few days, but I’ve felt her presence in the small crumbs she leaves of herself. A solitary Converse beneath the barstool in the kitchen. A tube of chapstick on the hallway table. A hair tie on the coffee table in the living room.

All reminders Nathalie was there, and I enjoy that far more than I dislike the mess .

“Has it been weird?” Henry asks, and my mind flashes to when I tackled her.

I shake my head.

“We’ve barely seen each other with our schedules.”

Henry nods in understanding. “The after-school program schedule is odd, and Nathalie covers for Sawyer so she can be home when I am during the season.”

I bite back the annoyed grunt attempting to escape. I would like to see my fake girlfriend-slash-new roommate more than in passing, so I would appreciate it if she was slightly less kind and thoughtful.

“Nice of her,” I grumble.

I have no right to claim any of her time, but I want it, nonetheless.

“She’s the best,” Declan beams before disappearing to his locker, satisfied with his interrogation.

I already know she’s the best. It’s why I am irrationally upset when she spends time with anyone else.

I twirl the green puzzle piece between my fingers, searching for its spot within the puzzle. Gordie meows, and my head darts to the door, where I have a direct line of sight. For the last hour, I’ve been working on my puzzle of the Scottish Highlands, impatiently waiting for Nathalie to return from work.

I should be done by now, only a few dozen pieces left, but my thoughts are a flurry of blue glasses and braids and eyes the softest shade of brown.

The floorboards in the hallway creak, and my head jerks to find Nathalie waltzing out of her room, arms overflowing with bags as she waddles toward the door. Gordie weaves through her feet, batting at a dangling strap, and she stops to pet him.

“Where are you going?”

I do my best to hide my frown. An hour we could have spent together was wasted watching the door.

“Maren’s house. We moved Book Club so Declan could come.” She stops in front of the coffee table. “Oh, I love puzzles! We should do one together,” she offers, dropping her things with a thud and leaning over to tie her bright pink Converse.

Of course, she loves puzzles.

I’ve been attempting to corral my cumbersome emotions and her suggesting puzzle time is not helping my effort.

How many times did I ask Savannah to complete a puzzle with me?

The puzzles help my mind settle after a long day and keep my hands busy. I constantly fidget, needing something to do with my hands, and the puzzles help ease that.

Like other things, Savannah found my love for puzzles confusing and a waste of time.

Every memory is a knife to the chest since I realized how poorly she treated me. A woman who barely knows me has offered me more kindness and respect than the woman I thought I wanted to marry.

It’s a difficult pill to swallow.

Nathalie’s ass is high in the air as she ties her shoes, and I blink away every inappropriate thought of peeling the leggings off her body.

“Oh.”

Disappointment creeps in as I realize she’s going to hang out with her friends. I want her to stay here with me and Gordie. She can have all the fun she wants as long as she’s having it right here at home with me.

“Did you want to come?” She bites back a coy smile, and I pretend to ponder the question. “Unless you want to stay and work on your puzzle…”

I leap from the couch, scrambling for my shoes.

“Yes! I’ll come. We can do the puzzle later.”

Her laughter is a cacophony of the most beautiful sounds as she leans against the counter, watching as I hop to get my running shoes on my feet.

If I sit down, she might leave without me.

“Ready,” I yell, frightening Gordie, who darts down the hallway and out of sight.

Nathalie shakes her head as she bites her lip, and I don’t even care I’m acting like a lunatic. I am not going to waste any opportunity to spend time with her, even if it’s with all of her girlfriends and Declan, because I’m greedy for every second she offers me. Laughter comes easily, and with her, my mind is clearer.

Nathalie parks, and I help her collect the multiple bags she shoved into the back of her messy car. As she passes, my hand grazes her lower back, and she pauses, leaning into the touch before darting away.

My hand tingles as we enter Maren and Jack’s home, Nathalie leading us into the kitchen, where Sawyer and Maren whisper around the kitchen island.

Maren notices my presence, and a handful of emotions flicker over her face. First confusion, then recognition, and finally glee.

“You brought Deon,” Maren states, taking Nathalie’s bags.

“I hope that’s okay…” Nathalie trails off, head whipping over her shoulder to look at me. I drag my hand along her bicep as I pass, hoping it banishes her worried look.

I could give two shits if Maren doesn’t want me here. Nathalie does, and that’s what matters.

“It’s perfect!” Maren says with a devilish grin. “We needed another man to test the validity of that one sex scene. Deon can give his input.”

I can… what ?” I choke out, looking to my fake girlfriend for an explanation. Nathalie’s eyes grow behind her glasses, and instead of answering, she cracks open a seltzer and chugs.

“Welcome to Book Club,” Sawyer says, handing me a drink. “You’re going to need this.”

I lean back, sparkly sheet mask on my face and a drink in my hand, as Nathalie, Maren, and Sawyer scribble notes on a massive rolling whiteboard to debate who the main character is going to choose at the end of the book: the rogue prince with questionable morals, the bright-eyed apprentice with a dirty mouth in bed or the ruler of the shadow realm who’s holding the character hostage.

Personally, the second one is a logical choice to me, but there are a lot of bullet points beneath who Nathalie keeps referring to as ‘shadow daddy,’ so maybe there’s something I’m missing.

“Are they always like this?”

Declan huffs, a pink sheet mask on his face.

“This is pretty tame,” he says, popping a gummy bear into his mouth and extending the bag. I snatch a few, and he continues. “Nathalie and Maren tried to act out a fight scene once, and both ended up with bruises.”

Nathalie spins at the sound of her name, and when our eyes lock, her smile blooms and firecrackers explode in my chest. She skips over, stopping to stand between my outstretched legs, looking down at Declan and me on the floor.

“Are you two talking about me?”

“No,” I say.

“Yes,” Declan responds at the same time. My arm darts out, and I smack his chest. “Shit, that hurt.”

“The code, man.”

“Oh, right.” He looks at Nathalie. “No, we weren’t talking about you.”

Nathalie’s eyes narrow, and she wobbles, tumbling toward me. My arms dart out, grabbing her hips to steady her as her hand lands on my shoulder.

The blood drains from my face as my gaze levels with Nathalie’s pelvis.I squeeze my eyes shut, but the dirty thoughts fill my mind until I have to force air into my lungs. Nathalie giggles, and the sound is a shot of serotonin.

Her hands leave my shoulders, and I make the mistake of opening my eyes. Nathalie gives me a beautiful, drunken smile .

“I think I’m a little tipsy,” she whispers, and Declan barks out a boisterous laugh.

“You’ve had six seltzers. You’re riding a fine line between tipsy and drunk,” Declan says.

Nathalie sticks out her tongue at Declan but focuses on me.

“I don’t always get tipsy,” she says, slightly swaying.

I tighten my grip to keep her standing and raise an eyebrow, leaning forward.

“I vividly remember having to feed you french fries because you tried to go shot-for-shot with Maren. She is eight inches taller than you.” Nathalie bites her lip, pulling my gaze to her lips. I know what it’s like to kiss her, and I want it again and again.“There was also the drunken proposal I had to stop…” I trail off. “Admit it, Nat.”

“Admit what?”

“You’re a lightweight.”

She scoffs but sways ever so slightly, proving my point.

“Tell him he’s wrong,” she demands, pointing at Maren and Sawyer. “I don’t always get tipsy at Book Club.”

“Yes, you do,” Sawyer says, falling onto the couch. “Then you spend half an hour monologuing about the fall of romantic gestures in everyday life, and then Declan drives you home.”

“I like ‘monologue Nathalie’,” Maren says, “She’s insightful.”

Maren winks in my direction. I return a look of bafflement.

Why is she winking at me ?

Maren slides into an armchair, pulls out a laser pointer, and aims it at the whiteboard.

“Now, we have much to discuss. The book ended on a cliffhanger, and we don’t know what man she’ll choose.”

“She’s going to pick the Shadow Daddy,” Nathalie says, spinning in my grip and plopping onto the floor between my legs.

I stop breathing.

My eyes dart to Declan, who’s focused on the whiteboard, but I’m freaking the fuck out. Nathalie sighs and leans back into my chest, the crown of her head right below my chin.

She scoots so our entire bodies are flush, and that’s when I’m confident this is a dream, and any minute I’ll wake up alone in bed.

Maren and Sawyer debate an easter egg the author left in the book, and I catch Declan’s attention, flicking my eyes downward to gesture to my fake girlfriend, who chimes in on the conversation as if her small action hasn’t sent every nerve in my body on high alert.

Declan laughs at the look on my face.

“You’ve never noticed how touchy she is?” I frown, and Declan huffs. “I have never met someone who likes physical affection more than Nathalie.” Declan misreads my scowl. “She doesn’t mean anything by it. It brings her comfort.”

The issue isn’t the touch; it’s what it does to me.

It muddles my thoughts and quickens my breath, making it infinitely harder to navigate this insane situation because I can see myself growing comfortable with her.

Because she makes it so damn easy.

The teasing, the casual touch, and the nights watching dating shows are what I’ve craved for the last five years. It was missing from my last relationship, only I didn’t realize until I met Nathalie. Her friendship has been more fulfilling than my entire relationship with Savannah.

The difference between her and me is she can separate her emotions from physical touch, but I can’t. My emotions are connected to everything I do and all I am; I’ve just done the best I can to hide it.

Admitting I crave touch—admitting I’m starved for a connection with someone—gives another person power and control to take when they want and give when it suits them.

Nathalie’s body shakes, pulling me back to reality. Her hand lands on my thigh, and she brushes her palm back and forth in a soothing motion.

“What do you think?” she asks, head leaning back against my chest. Her glasses tip onto her forehead.

“About?”

I wasn’t listening, too busy compartmentalizing her touch, reminding myself it means nothing .

“You’re the only one who didn’t read the book, so you get the deciding vote on who the main character will choose: shadow daddy or rogue prince.”

“No one wanted the nice guy?” I ask.

Maren scoffs. “He’ll probably die in the next book. Make your choice, Adams.”

“Pick the rogue prince!” Sawyer cheers, “He reminds me of Henry when he’s dressed as Westley.”

Sawyer is obsessed with The Princess Bride, and for the last two Halloween’s since I’ve met them, she and Henry have dressed as Westley and Buttercup. I don’t anticipate it will be different this year.

“He’s going to choose the shadow daddy,” Nathalie says, her confidence off the charts. “He has to, or else I’ll release Gordie into his room tonight with catnip.”

Sawyer’s nose scrunches, blonde hair bouncing as she snags a cookie. “Not fair.”

“You brought Henry to Book Club three times in a row to vote on your book choice,” Maren counters, and Sawyer glares at her.

“I choose the shadow daddy.”

Sawyer sighs in defeat, and Maren focuses on Declan and me. A tremor of fear runs through my body at the intensity of her gaze.

“In the last book we read, there was this scene,” Maren starts, “where the woman was pressed between two men, and they both enter her.” I choke. Declan makes an odd sound beside me. Nathalie spins in my lap. “The problem I have is they supposedly tower over her.”

“This is what you read at book club?” I hiss at Declan, who’s pale.

“Sometimes…It was a why-choose romance.”

What?

“ It means there are multiple men and one woman,” Sawyer clarifies. “But the whole issue isthey were standing when they…”

“Started to fuck,” Maren finishes for Sawyer, who flushes a deep red. I’m right with her. This is not a conversation I’m comfortable with, especially not when Nathalie’s still touching my thigh, her hand far too close to my waistband.

Thankfully, she’s not leaning against my chest anymore, or the hard-on I have would be pressed against her ass.

“I-I don’t understand why I’m needed for this.”

“You and Declan are about the right height to test the logistics.”

Declan and I respond at the same time. “No.”

Nathalie pouts, taking another sip of her seltzer. Her cheeks are rosy from the alcohol, and as she pushes her glasses up on the bridge of her nose, I know I’m fucked because she’s going to ask me, and I won’t be able to tell her no.

Not when she smiles at me and touches me with a gentleness I’ve never experienced.

I sigh in defeat and shift to Declan.

“What happens at book club stays at book club?” I ask, needing verbal confirmation that what's about to happen never leaves this room.

“You’re going to do it?”

Declan has every right to act shocked. This is wildly out of character for me, but what he doesn’t realize is Nathalie is quickly worming her way past every defense I have.

I nod, gesturing for Declan to rise. We stand side by side and wait for directions.

“I cannot believe you’re agreeing to this,” Declan mutters under his breath as Maren moves his body like he’s a puppet. I glance at Nathalie, who plays with a braid as Maren maneuvers us into position.

I can only describe Declan's smile as downright gleeful.

“Oh, we are totally talking about this,” Declan says as Nathalie slides between us.

“What are you two going to talk about?” she asks, brows furrowed, as Sawyer grabs my waist and shoves me right into Nathalie.

Sawyer chuckles.

“We need to see where you line up,” she says in response to my glare and stands beside Maren, their arms crossed as they survey the scene.

I stare into Declan’s blue eyes, wildly uncomfortable with what’s happening. Nathalie wraps her arms around my torso .

“What do you guys think?” she asks, leaning against my chest. “Do you think it’s realistic?”

Sawyer hums. Maren shakes her head.

“No,” they conclude at the same time. “Not without some bending.”

“That’s what I thought,” Nathalie hums before flipping, bending forward, and shoving her ass against my pelvis.

I nearly leap out of my skin.

“How about now?” she asks, grabbing onto Declan’s shoulders for stability.

The blood drains from Declan’s face. Maren snickers and Sawyer hums.

“It looks like it might work,” Sawyer says, before gasping. “Wait, what about the scene where one is holding her while they…”

“Fuck,” Maren finishes when Sawyer trails off again. “And then the other guy comes up behind her. Let's try that one, guys,” Maren declares.

Nathalie stands, head bobbing between Declan and me. Her eyes are wide and bright behind her glasses, and all the conversation of sex positions is making my joggers uncomfortably tight.

She shimmies her leggings up her hips, the tight fabric forming to her ass perfectly, and I nearly keel over. This is all too much. Too much touching. Too many smiles. Too much blood rushing straight to my dick.

“Which one of you wants to hold me?” She asks as if we’re discussing coffee orders and not role-playing a sex scene she read in a book.

I’m about to tap out—throw in the towel and head home to my puzzle—when Declan says, “I can hold you. ”

Oh, hell no. Not happening. Before I can think logically, I’m lifting Nathalie into the air, my hands resting on the globes of her ass.

Nathalie giggles, a drunken yet adorable sound, as she re-adjusts her glasses. Her arms wrap around my neck, breasts pressing against my chest.

It means nothing. It means nothing. It means nothing .

I mentally chant the mantra when she leans closer and drunkenly whispers, “You smell so nice.”

Is it hot in here?

It feels hot.

“Okay, now Declan, you need to stand against her back and pretend to jackhammer into her,” Maren advises, sipping on a seltzer.

“Nope. No.” I twist my fake girlfriend away from Declan.

No one will be doing any jackhammering in her direction. Absolutely not. This is my line.

“Deon, stop moving!” Nathalie yells, “This isn’t a part of the scene.” Her lips are inches away from mine as we jostle around. She grips the back of my neck, nails digging into my skin. I avoid looking into her soft, brown eyes because if I do, I will cave.

Her knuckle tips my chin up.

Damn it.

Nathalie’s cheeks flush a deep red as she clasps my jaw and leans in close.

“When we get home, will you show me your label maker?”

I perk up, all thoughts of jackhammering and Declan and jealousy fading away at her curiosity about my label maker.

“You want to know about my label maker?” I ask, voice low. The muscles in my lower stomach clench, a soft buzz of pleasure coursing through my veins .

Why the fuck am I turned on at the prospect of showing her my Brother P-Touch label maker and printing labels together?

She pulls her lower lip between her teeth and nods. I’m lost in the warmth of her gaze when I hear a screech, followed by, “Now, Declan! While he’s distracted!”

I peer over Nathalie’s head, where Declan is half a foot away, gyrating his hips in an odd spinning motion.

“Well?” Nathalie asks, “Realistic or not?”

“This one is definitely realistic,” Sawyer says, popping a Cheez-It in her mouth. “It’s kinda hot,” she mumbles, and Nathalie cackles, sliding down my chest and stumbling onto the floor.

“You used my label maker as a distraction.”

There’s no use hiding my disappointment. I know it’s boring and nerdy, but I’m not used to someone caring about what brings me joy.

Nathalie’s face scrunches.

“No, I didn’t.” She sways, trying to put on her Converse’s. I lean down and slide on her shoes, quickly tying them. She holds my shoulder, and I force back the unwanted emotion clogging my throat. “I really do want to see the label maker.” She smiles conspiratorially. “It’s adorable.”

“Oh?”

I rub my chest to dispel the way her complement settles deeply in my chest.

“Yeah.” Her smile grows larger as she rapidly nods. “Can you teach me how to use your label maker after we do a puzzle? I want to label all of my things .”

As I grab her bags and say goodbye to our friends, I shift the hard-on I’ve had all night, covertly trying to cover it with the tote bags. Only when I spin, Declan is leaning against the counter, eyebrows raised.

I lift a brow, challenging him to say something.

Instead, he nods.

We don’t speak about this.

Not about the way we re-enacted a threesome.

And we most definitely will not discuss how I got a boner when my fake girlfriend mentioned her interest in my label maker.