Page 15 of Fumbled Into Love

“I’m willing to compromise. You can plan it so it’s something you’re comfortable with. How’s Sunday? Iknow you have an away game on Saturday in Tampa, but Sawyer said Henry should be back in the morning. Let’s do Sunday evening. We’ll take a photo, and you can post it on your social media.”

I flounder for a response. She takes my silence as agreement.

“Perfect. Pick me up at seven. You know my address. Please give me an idea of what I should wear so I don’t under or overdress,” she pauses, and I sit at a red light, stunned into silence. “Bye, Deon.”

“Bye,” I mutter before the line goes dead.

CHAPTER 4

“I want the perfect love, am I asking too much?”

Naked – Ella Mai

Nathalie

Ibuild up the nerve to text my family Saturday morning to tell them I have a boyfriend because tomorrow, Deon will post a photo online confirming I’m his girlfriend, and the fake cat will be out of the fake bag.

I am seeing someone.

The messages pop onto the screen, one after another, faster than I canread.

Santi: What?!

Gracie: NO WAY. WHO???

Deon Adams…

Santi: The football player?

Dad: He plays fútbol? Dios, Nathalie. When can I meet him?

Santi: American football.

Dad: Oh, never mind. Nathalie is not old enough to date.

Mom: She’s 26, not 13. It’s about time she had a boyfriend. Is he cute?

Gracie: OH MY GOD. I looked him up. WOWWW.

Mom: Will he be coming to family dinner?

Santi: I hope so. Does he have anysingle teammates?

Gracie: I’m going to follow him on Instagram. Tell him to follow me back.

Maybe he will come to dinner. It’s new.

I riffle through the cupboard in the kitchen for the crackers I bought earlier in the week. I gingerly shut the ancient and slightly (very) broken cupboard door before flopping down on the couch.

As I sit, Gracie’s photo pops onto my screen, her brown eyes and hair a mirror of my own. I lay a blanket over my lap to ward away the ever-persistent chill in my apartment before answering.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were dating a hottie?!” Gracie screams into the phone, and I grin at the surprise on her face. “Nathalie, he issoattractive.”

“I know.”

It’s not every day a six-foot-three football player with stunning green eyes, a blinding smile complete with dimples, and perfectly chiseled biceps asks you to be his fake girlfriend.

But besides knowing he’s attractive and plays professional football, I know little about Deon Adams. A reality Deon has gone to great lengths to achieve. I’m not sure anyone knows who hides behind the mask Deon wears.

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