Page 46 of My Favorite Holidate

“Go Renegades!” I shout.

“Damn, this is nice,” Wesley says, then strides over to the tables full of appetizers. “Can we come to every game?”

“Yeah, it’d be great if you could get a private suite for every home game, Fable,” Max calls out as he follows Wesley.

“Athletes,” Everly says, smiling affectionately. “Food is a tractor beam for them.”

“Um, me too,” Josie says, then follows the guys.

Everly squeezes my shoulder, then says in a soft voice, “Maeve was right.”

“Oh stop,” I say, but I’m blushing.

By the end of the third quarter my voice is hoarse from cheering on the Renegades and shoutingyou were wrongat the refs when the door swings open. Wilder’s dressed in a suit, no tie. He strides in during a commercial break and comes up to me as I refill my water.

“Are you enjoying the game?”

“Yes! Thank you, boss?—”

I’m about to sayboss man, when I stop myself. He’s supposed to be my boyfriend. Would I really call him boss man here in front of everyone? “Thank you so much, sugar plum,” I say, then…fuck it. I plant a quick kiss on his cheek.

His breath catches for a second, but he clears his throat and says, “I told you that you should come to the next home game.”

That’s what he said that day in his office when we made this arrangement. When he seemed bothered that I’d watched the Thanksgiving weekend game at home alone instead of with friends. So he made it possible for me to watch this one with them. All of them.

I look around at Everly and Max, checking out thepopcorn offerings. At Josie and Wesley, her head on his shoulder in the front row, at Rachel chatting with Juliet and Elodie. This is so…generous. I don’t even know how to properly thank Wilder. “You really did this to make sure I could see the game in person?”

His smile is wry as he looks toward the glass overlooking the field with a confident nod. “It’s better in person than on TV, isn’t it?”

That’s all he says. Then he turns to leave. But I stop him, grabbing his arm, then dropping another kiss on his cheek.

“That wasn’t for practice. That was for real. Thank you.”

There’s a pause as something unreadable passes in his eyes. “You’re welcome,” he says, and I watch him go.

But then, maybe it wasn’t unreadable. Maybe it was actually that he enjoyed watching me…have fun.

15

HIS OTHER TUXEDO

Fable

On Sunday morning, my eyes are bigger than moons when the car pulls up outside a three-story, slate-gray home on a cul-de-sac in Cow Hollow. I didn’t even know there were cul-de-sacs in the city anywhere. But then, I’ve never had a reason to cruise down a street populated by nine-figure homes before.

I haven’t been able to stop gawking at this whole block as the black town car Wilder sent for me rolled through his neighborhood at the top of the city. It’s not like I’m dying to live in one of these mansions. But I am human and these homes are just so…gawk-worthy.

I step out of the car, feeling a little like a princess as the driver, in his livery cap, holds the door for me. “Thank you.”

“But of course,” he says, then sweeps out his arm toward the gated entryway. “Mr. Blaine is expecting you so the gate should be unlocked.”

Gates. Drivers. Palaces. This is all so much. The wrought-iron door groans open easily then clangs shut behind me. The front lawn boasts low hedges, neatly trimmed and decorated with white icicle lights for the season. I stride along a stone path, up the front steps, and to the doorway. On a looming black door hangs a huge wreath, the pine scent from it tickling my nose.

I lift a hand to knock when the door swings open.

It’s not Wilder. It’s his daughter, with her hair perfectly combed back into a French braid. “Oh, hi. My dad told me you were coming. I was hoping we could finish that jigsaw puzzle we started the other night.” It’s said with that trademark Blaine confidence as she waves me in.

It’s seriously adorable that Wilder enlisted his daughter to help us with our fake dating plan. And it’s seriously fun to play along with her. “Right. When I came by on Tuesday after work?”

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