Page 84 of The One I Want
“What does that mean?”
“On an app like that, you have to find your niche. Some people dance. Some are funny. Some give tutorials. I tried a few different things, but nothing felt right. So I gave up.”
I hate saying that out loud. I honestly thought I could do it. I knew it was going to be hard work, but at least it was going to be hard work I controlled.
“Anyway,” I say, wanting to change the conversation. “That’s my sad job history.”
“I’m sorry. For what it’s worth, I think you’d be great at something like that.”
“You’re just saying that because now you have to.”
He laughs. “I don't have to say it. You’re charismatic. You’re beautiful. You’re funny and smart. You’d be a hit if you just found that thing you think you’re missing.”
I reach over for his hand. “You really are getting laid tonight.”
He brings up my hands and gives them a kiss. “Don’t feel bad. If it makes you feel any better, I have no clue what I’m about to do when football is over.”
“You’re not just going to cruise into a life of retirement with golf every day and becoming one of the old men sitting around and gossiping outside of Mona’s?”
“No. Shane, Oliver, Simon and I are saving that for after the age of sixty-five.”
“Sounds about right.”
“But no, I don’t have an answer to what I’m going to do. I was an education major in college. I never thought I would get drafted, so I figured I’d probably end up being a high school football coach and a teacher. But could I do that now? I don’t think I could. Things have changed so much. So what am I going to do when this season is over? I haven’t figured that out yet.”
I give his hand a squeeze. “Maybe you can stumble into a nanny job. I hear they not only come with pretty good paychecks, but if you play your cards right, you can start dating the boss.”
“I’ll consider it.”
We both laugh as the waiter comes to take the check from Wes. I might have just made a joke about becoming a nanny, but the more I think about it, I think the joke is about to be on me. When I first signed on for this, I told Wes I’d be here through the season. It’s completely possible that if the Fury lose, his season is over in three days. What would I do? Go back to work for Whitley? Find another job in Rolling Hills? Do I stay in Rolling Hills? Does he want me there?
I must have a panicked look on my face because Wes is suddenly moving his chair next to mine and taking both of my hands in his.
“Hey? Are you okay?”
I look up at him, his gray eyes so sincere and concerned. And fuck, the man looks so damn handsome tonight it’s almost too hard to look at him. His black dress shirt and black slacks, combined with the cologne that I’ve never smelled on him before, is enough to scramble my brain.
“That’s a loaded question,” I say.
“Well, unload it for me.”
I take a breath, giving his hands a squeeze. “What’s going to happen with us when the season is over?”
He looks confused, which I don’t know why because I feel like this is a serious question. “Why would you ask that?”
“Because…” I pause for a second, making sure I’m choosing the right words. “When you first brought me on, you said it was for the season, which is rapidly coming to a close. Do you need me after that? And now that I think about it, we never talked about the weirdness of my boyfriend signing my paychecks. I just…I don’t need you to make me a promise I don’t think either of us are ready to make right now when it comes to our relationship, but I need to know if I need to start making plans.”
He doesn’t say anything. Instead, he frees his hands, only to cup them around my face and bring me in for possibly the softest, most emotional, kiss we’ve shared. I grip onto his shirt, hoping he can tell how much I need this.
“Oh, beautiful,” he begins as he slowly pulls away. “You’re not going anywhere. I don’t care if I’m playing football, teaching, or selling Tupperware, I need you in my life. The kids need you in their lives. As for the paycheck thing, just stop talking about that because you can call it a salary, or me providing, but either way your bank account is going to be filled. Now, if you found a job that you really wanted, I would never stop you. I want you to be as happy as you make me, and that includes you continuing to be the bad ass, strong, feminist woman you are. But you need to know, when it comes to me and the kids, Betsy Sullivan, you’re stuck with us.”
I feel a tear sneak out of the corner of my eye, which Wes tenderly brushes away.
“Thank you,” I say, feeling much better already. “But can I make a suggestion?”
He smiles. “Sure.”
“Don’t sell Tupperware. I tried it. Doesn’t pay well.”
