42

Kassie

The Christmas Question

Okay. Ryan didn't want to have sex.

Cool - no worries. It wasn't knocking around in the back of my head at all. Not during Ryan's football practices in the early morning or my classes, or even the long, long, long shifts at the graphic design department. Not at all.

I sat at my desk and finished up another layer of the animation project when the text came through.

Mr. Intense: CLEO'S OFFICE

Kassie: Now?

Mr. Intense: YES

Mr. Intense: THANK YOU

Hell must've froze over, I couldn't remember the last time Ryan had texted me a command, followed by him thanking me. Something must've gone right in one of the hundreds of things he had to do today.

A little grin lifted up on my lips and I started to ask about it.

That's a low bar, Kassie .

He probably says thank you to everybody already .

The smile melted away and I gazed down at the phone. Yeah, Ryan probably thanked fifty thousand people a day, and kissed their babies, and signed their autographs. Him saying it to me wasn't special. Me, his coworker. His coworker who couldn't stop threatening annoying people on campus when they harassed her about a potential loss against KYU. His brash coworker that definitely made his job harder.

I sighed and pushed up from the desk.

Off to my real obligation, the six-foot-two football player with the piercing dark eyes and the jawline I loved sketching in my sketchbook and the hands—the hands .

"I've got to stop thinking about that boy's hands," I muttered and spotted Cleo down the hall. She stood next to a woman I didn't recognize. I gave a mock salute to Cleo. "Commander, I'm here to march and dig trenches."

"You're actually here to discuss the KYU viewing party," Cleo replied, amused.

"A brain-intensive activity, I don't know if I'm prepared."

Cleo snickered but I didn't get enough time to enjoy the last couple seconds of the joke. The woman next to Cleo turned around and her eyes lit up the moment she saw me.

At first, I thought she was one of the bazillion of people that trailed after Coach Lawson everywhere he went but that wasn't right. I'd never seen her before. Which was weird because there was something so…familiar about her. The dark curls, peppered with silver, and the smile. The few seconds where the smile was just half a smile before it changed to an overjoyed one…I knew that smile. I just couldn't put my finger on it.

"Kassandra," she gushed and hurried up to me.

Before I could tell heads from tails, she wrapped her arms around my shoulders and squeezed tightly.

"Oh—uh—" I stumbled to the side, surprised. "I'm—Kassie—"

"I'm Donna and—oh my god—you are just so gorgeous, look at you! Ryan wasn't exaggerating at all . Those cheekbones, my goodness. Aren't you so pretty? Let me take a look at you. Oh my—"

She pushed me back and her eyes twinkled, taking me in.

The realization hit me like a hammer.

Oh my god .

"You're…Ryan's mom," I said, my voice small.

"I'm only here for a couple of hours—did you know Cleo and Miles are getting married? I remember when I just met Cleo, stomping across the field in those heels—goodness gracious—I plan weddings, did Ryan tell you? He did? Back in the day, I just held up skirts and played the organ but now—"

My heart slammed in my chest with every word she blurted out. Donna skipped over words, blew past others, and combined a couple at a time into a kind of word soup while she talked about Cleo's wedding and the weather and how pretty she thought I was and the weather again and Ryan and how beautiful she thought I was.

I didn't say two words.

I couldn't have anyway. A hard lump settled in my throat.

"But how are your classes?" She beamed at me and ushered me over to the couch in Cleo's War Room. "When Ryan told me he had to model for an art class— model —oh, I laughed so hard, I thought I was going to spill my coffee and—oh, your classes . Kassie, how are your classes? "

I drew in a shaky breath. "They're—they're good."

"You can't let me talk over you, it's a horrible habit." She winked at me and my throat closed up again. Sneaking a quick peek to the left, she dropped her voice, like she wanted to share a secret. "We're so excited to have you for Christmas. We all can't wait to meet you."

"Christmas?" I repeated, my voice faint.

For the last seven years, I'd worked every Christmas for the full week. The holiday pay was always fantastic and it wasn't like my grandma or anyone else I stayed with ever really celebrated it anyway.

"I make stockings for the family . It's my favorite thing," she told me with a little wiggle of her shoulders. "Is Kassandra with a C or a K? I can start sewing—" she snapped her fingers, "just like that!"

Think of something. Say something!

"You make stockings for…all of Ryan's girlfriends?"

For a moment, Donna gaped at me, and hard laughter burst out of her. "All of what? What's my son been telling you? What other girlfriends? Oh, when he said he had someone to introduce, I thought he was playing a joke! You know him. He's very—he's bristly, isn't he?" She grinned at her choice of an adjective. "Like a porcupine. That's my baby."

I knew one thing for certain. Donna had no idea about the fake relationship contract. Zero clue. And when I'd signed the dotted line—and initialed on eighty other pieces of paper—I never, ever, ever thought I'd have to lie to someone's mother about it. I never thought she'd be so excited to see me or that she'd keep grabbing my hand to squeeze while she talked about Christmas traditions at their house.

I tried looking as normal as possible, like I wasn't getting punched in the gut over and over again.

Ryan didn't even tell his mom about the fake relationship. Personal and business, completely separate. Every day I found out that the football player was more cutthroat than I imagined.

At the beginning of the semester, I could've dealt with this. It would've been uncomfortable but I could've shrugged my shoulders through it.

Now?

There was a version of Ryan that I thought I knew, a mirror, an illusion, and it was so hard separating that from the team captain of the Romans.

"Are you a big tree decorator?" his mom asked eagerly. "We can hold off until you two drive up!"

"I—uh…"

What do I say?

I couldn't even remember the last time I decorated a Christmas tree off the clock.

Donna was so lovely and so wonderful and so warm . And even if she and Ryan were polar opposites, there were little things she did that reminded me so much of him, it was hard to keep breathing. I could lie to so many people but how could I lie to her?

I swallowed. "It…depends on Ryan's schedule."

"What do you mean?" She blinked, confused. "You'll be on winter break?"

Her not knowing about the fake relationship was one thing but I knew for a fact that Ryan had his own agenda to meet with coaches out of state around Christmas time. He wanted to take advantage of the break. And Donna had…no idea.

She doesn't know he's declaring for the draft .

That was enough. I couldn't be the one to tell a mom that her son could be moving across the country at the end of next semester. What kind of kid doesn't tell their own mom?

I can't tell her about the draft.

I can't tell her about Christmas.

I can't do this anymore.

The door opened and Ryan walked through, thumbing through a list of folders. "How early are we getting to KYU?"

I stared at him, struck.

That's all he has to say?

His eyes flickered over to the couch and he nodded to his mom and me before he turned back to Cleo, outlining the day of the KYU game, the most important thing in the world to him.

I can't do this .

"I'm so sorry," I apologized to Donna and Donna only. "There's something I—uh—I—"

"Be right back?" she suggested warmly. "Because we have to get lunch!"

No excuses offered themselves. I managed to walk out of Cleo's War Room and that was all the decorum I saved up. The moment the door closed behind me, I quickened my pace down the hall. And then I sprinted. Hands pumping at my side, sneakers squeaking on the linoleum kind of sprinting.

The door opened behind me.

"Kassie?" Ryan called after me. " Kassie? "

Shit!

Run, bitch!

I wasn't competition for a football player who ran track as an early morning warmup. He easily caught up to me. That was about as humiliating as it gets but that wasn't nearly as embarrassing as how easy it was for him to stop me, sidestepping to prevent my escape.

"Where are you going? We have a meeting."

"I can't do this anymore," I blurted out.

Ryan's face cleared instantly and he held out a hand, scanning the doors on either side of us. I didn't know what he was doing but he could figure that out while I gave him the slip.

Easier said than done.

He snagged my elbow and tugged me into the nearest empty room. With a click, the door shut behind us.