Page 65 of Perfect Boy

“Rude,” Sutton murmurs just as Watson takes a seat in the recliner, pulling me down onto his lap.

“Sorry.” He shrugs. “You can go back to watching that weird-ass show shortly.” His hand splays on my thigh as he pauses. “We have something to tell y’all. Something that can’t be repeated. Ever.” He looks from Hunter to Sutton. “You have to swear what we tell you stays here in this house.”

“Who did you kill?” Hunter laughs, but then when he sees how serious our faces are, his eyes widen. “What the hell is going on? Did you actually, like…kill someone? I can’t keep a secret like—”

“Hush, babe,” Sutton says, putting her hand over his mouth. “What is it?” she asks, directing her attention to me. “What’s going on?”

We glance at each other nervously, as if trying to decide if telling them is the right thing to do. But finally, we dive into all of the details of what brought us to the conclusion to get married. And I don’t think either one of them says a word or breathes until we finish explaining it all.

What I don’t add in is the fact that I’ve fallen in love with my fake husband. Or that now, my biggest fear isn’t going back to live with my mother.

It’s being pulled away from Watson.

Watson

My eyes sweep around Ryann’s room, which is now supposed to be both of ours. I scattered a few of my pictures, some of my hockey shit, and a drawer full of my clothes. Oh, and a brand-new toothbrush she grabbed for me at Target on the way home. I wanted to go in with her, but she told me she had women stuff to buy and I wasn’t allowed.

After the realization we needed to move my shit in today, Ryann missed class. But thankfully, it’s a class she shares with Sutton. And since Sutton was going there right after we told her everything, she said she’d take notes.

Ryann walks up to me with her hands behind her back. “Before you head to practice and I head to dance…I have something for you.” She blushes, and it’s adorable. “It’s not much. Especially compared to everything you’ve given me. But…anyway, I hope you like it.”

She’s so nervous, and I fucking love it because, normally, it’s me who’s nervous, being around her. Not the other way around.

Pulling a frame from behind her back, she hands it to me. Taking it, I look down at the now-framed photo Zoey took of us getting married. Ryann doesn’t look happy, but she doesn’t look sad either.

She just looks scared.

And me? I look like the luckiest fucker in the world. Because even in that moment, even before we spent time together, I knew I wanted her.

“I figured, you know, what newlywed couple wouldn’t have a picture of themselves on their wedding day?” She fidgets with her hands, wringing them together.

“I love it,” I whisper, still staring down at it. “Thanks, Tiny Dancer. Really. Thank you.”

She might not think it’s much. But to me, it’s everything.

23

Watson

Walker attempts to score, only for me to block it—again. And when LaConte announces practice is over, I think everyone is relieved. I pull my helmet off, wiping the sweat from my forehead. Between Walker, Hunter, and Link, I got a fucking workout today.

“Gentry,” Coach calls as everyone else heads toward the locker room. “I want to see you in my office after you’ve showered. Because you smell like sweaty ass and my office is too fucking small for you to stink it up.”

“Yes, sir.” I nod, following Link off the ice.

“Someone’s fixing to get their ass chewed out,” Link chimes. “Good luck with that, brother. He’s scary when he isn’t mad. Let alone when he is.”

Hunter turns, giving me a concerned look, and I shrug. Whatever it is, I’ll find out soon enough. Deep down, I know that Coach likely caught word that I’m a married man now. And, yeah, I’m sure he’s fucking confused. And probably nervous that I’ll be distracted.

A few days ago, I moved in with Ryann. And even though the investigator hasn’t shown up again to question us, I know he will any day now. And I’m ready for it.

No man is going to show up at Ryann’s house and take her away from me. No fucking way.

“Close the door behind you, Gentry. This won’t take long,” LaConte grumbles when he sees me lurking by his door. Pulling his reading glasses off, he sets them on his desk.

Closing the door, I take a seat across from him. “You wanted to see me, Coach?”

“I’m not one for the gossipy shit that comes with coaching a bunch of toddlers. So, I’ve ignored the whispers about this.” He pinches the bridge of his nose. “But once a man who claimed to be an immigration officer investigating your supposed wife showed up in my office today, I could no longer ignore it. And after all the shit with Huff lately, my ol’ ticker can’t handle much more.” He blows out a long, exasperated breath. “Did you run off and get hitched, Gentry?”

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