Page 94 of The Player's Obsession

“Oliver, we’re meeting your family for breakfast at the hotel.”

He groans. “Go without me.”

“No, I’m not the one they want to see. I’m your plus-one.” I don’t know why I say this. Maybe it’s because I’m getting tired of being a fake girlfriend with benefits. We do everything together and live like a married couple, but how long do I wait for him to admit he has feelings for me?

“They’ll understand,” he mumbles and buries himself under the covers.

“Your mother wants to see you.”

“She’ll want wedding details.”

“Are you avoiding her?”

“Just delaying the conversation. Trust me, she’ll get excited, and we’ll have to make decisions.”

“You got us into this. You said in a month we’d be over the fake engagement. Besides, you’ve already paid me what you owed me.”

I can afford a new apartment in a gated community now. Work is going well, and Carlo has been missing in action.

The doorbell rings.

“They’re here,” he groans.

“What?”

“Mom knows I sulk after a terrible loss, so they are here.” He throws the cover back and leaps from the bed. “I’ll take a quick shower and meet you downstairs in ten.” He takes off for the bathroom like the Roadrunner. I half expect to hear him say Beep Beep.

Still smiling, I hurry downstairs and open the door.

Michael and his parents are standing there with their arms filled with pastry boxes and Styrofoam food containers.

“Penelope, I’m sorry we didn’t call ahead. We knew Oliver would be wallowing in bed, so we brought breakfast. He needs to get up,” Emily says from behind a stack of pastry boxes she’s carrying.

“You’re right. Please come in. He’ll be down in a few minutes.”

Emily heads straight for the kitchen with Michael right behind her.

“Theo, can I help you?”

“If you can take two containers off the top, that would be great.”

I do as he asks. The containers are warm to the touch.

“Where did you get the food?”

“We own a house not far from here, and the country club has breakfast.”

“Mom, Dad,” Oliver says as he hurries down the steps to hug his parents.

He and Michael slap each other on the back as they head to the kitchen.

“Sorry about the game, bro,” Michael says.

“Yeah, me too. We’ll be back next year.”

“Maybe we’ll both make it there. Wouldn’t that be funny?” Michael says.

“It would be epic,” Oliver says as he grabs utensils and plates from the cabinets. I grab orange juice and glasses and put on a fresh pot of coffee.

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