Page 27 of Mr. Charming

“You’re welcome. I need to order pizza, and you need to call Decker. Love you.” She hangs up.

I’m still scrolling through Decker’s socials to see if he has a girlfriend, but there’s more pictures of him with my brothers than with any women. Some things never change.

I blow out a breath, and because I love to torture myself, I leave Decker’s profile and search up Tweetie. How will I ever get through an entire dinner with him next to me, let alone all these months? I know us. Something will happen, and it will send me into a tornado of despair. I have to keep repeating to myself that he’s not the one, that we just had a really long relationship, so of course we know each other so well. That’s the only reason there’s still this pull inside me to him.

I scroll, seeing Tweetie tagged last week at a club with that damn kid they call Alvin, two girls flanked at his sides.

Fuck it.

Here I come, Decker Davis, my new boyfriend, even if I have to blackmail you into it.

Fourteen

Tedi

Thankfully, Decker agreed to meet me for dinner. I’m his best friends’ older sister, and I think he was always a little scared of me when he was younger.

He suggested the restaurant, and I thought for sure I would end up at a wing place or a sports bar, but it’s a cozy Mexican restaurant nestled in a quieter part of the city.

The hostess seated me by the window after I gave her Decker’s name. As I wait for him, I admire the string lights and decorative paper banners hanging from the ceiling. The walls are painted in hues of orange, turquoise, and yellow, and there are rustic wooden shelves filled with clay pottery and small succulents. The smell of warm tortillas fills the quaint space.

I order a pitcher of sangria because I’m going to need a little alcoholic encouragement to ask my little brothers’ best friend to do this favor for me and to keep it a secret. I do not need my brothers involved in my business. It’s bad enough that every time I go home, my brothers go on and on about Tweetie, asking how he’s doing in the league. Like, read the room.

Decker walks in at exactly the time he told me to meet him here. He says something to the hostess, and she laughs, pointing him in my direction. He rocks his head back in greeting, thanks the hostess, and breaks the small distance to me.

“Tedi,” he says, stopping at the end of the table and opening his arms.

Okay, we’re gonna hug? I stand and hug him, my head buried in his chest. His cologne is a nice, crisp scent. Much better than when he was in middle school and I’d choke every time he walked by.

“Hey, Decker.” We break apart, each taking our seats. “This is a great place.”

He looks around as if he hasn’t ever been here, but smiles and waves to the older woman making the tortillas in the corner. “I love it. Found it right after I got picked up by the Colts. Not a lot of fans, and it gives me a little bit of privacy. Plus, the food is delicious.” He picks up the pitcher and pours some sangria into his glass. “Gotta love the offseason.”

After his glass is filled, he lifts it in the air, and I do the same, clinking our glasses and both of us saying, “Cheers.”

He sips, and I sip, and it’s a tad uncomfortable if I’m honest. We both begin to talk at the same time and laugh, and Decker signals with his hand for me to go first.

“I thought maybe you’d go home during the offseason.” I pick up a chip and dip it in the salsa.

“I did for about a month, but I got bored. Your brothers are busy with work and Mason, and I figured I should get used to this city, so it feels more like home.”

“It’s hard being an adult in a new city. Making new friends and stuff.” I don’t anticipate making a lot of friends while I’m here. There are practically no women in the office, and it’s not as if I’ll become new BFFs with the girlfriends and wives of the players. I represent their biggest fear—I couldn’t lock down the hockey player in my grasp.

He shrugs, leaning forward and picking up a chip. “It’s not terrible. The single guys on the team kind of all stick together. Easton Bailey is a good friend, but he’s back in his hometown in Alaska right now.”

“It’s weird to hear you talk about all these huge athletes. Well, I guess you’re one.” I lean back and laugh, remembering when he tried to play hockey with my brothers but couldn’t stand on the skates. I guess cleats were more his thing.

“It’s still a little surreal. I mean, I’ve been in the league for a while, but it’s still weird when someone stops and says my name, wanting a picture or an autograph.” He picks up another chip, scooping the salsa. “Enough about me. So, why are you in Chicago?” He places the chip in his mouth, and I debate if I should get on with it or bide my time some more.

“I’m working for the national league, down here doing a social media campaign on the Falcons. Trying to recruit all those baseball and football fans into being hockey fans.”

He laughs. “Hey, with the way our season went, I’d say you shouldn’t have a hard time. Especially since the Falcons are killing it right now. Their entire first line is insane.” He immediately realizes what he’s said, and his shoulders fall. “Sorry, I mean everyone but the left wing. He’s a complete disaster out there. Like a baby fawn on ice.”

I laugh at his attempt to make me feel better. Maybe this will be easier, since he knows at least a little of my history with Tweetie. “It’s okay. He’s still a great player, just not meant to be someone’s forever.”

His lips thin, and I hate that pitying look. Fuck it, I’m not going to ease him into this. I’ve got bribery in my back pocket. He did a lot of shit as a kid that I’m sure he doesn’t want made public.

“Speaking of… are you in a relationship?”

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