Page 69 of Faking it with the Billionaire
The kid looks absolutely free and blissful.
Eventually, she skates over to me and puts her hands on her hips. She has a pointed look on her face. “Why did you tell me Emmie was your girlfriend?” Bristol asks.
I’m not quite sure where the attitude comes from, but I smile, surprised she finally decided to address it. For a minute, I thought that it had gotten by her when she’d focused entirely on the other lie I told.
Nothing gets past my kid.
“Is it because you like her?” Bristol guesses.
I do like her, but that developed after our little agreement. And how do you tell your six-year-old daughter that she has a bodyguard without worrying her? That is one secret I don’t want to share. I’m worried about what it will do to her, the fear and concern making her constantly look over her shoulder.
“I do like her,” I say. “But do you remember how the owner of the team is a big stinky poo?”
Bristol giggles and nods, staring up with bright eyes. “Those are my words.” She beams proudly.
“He doesn’t like the idea that you don’t have a mommy around. He believes in a traditional family, with traditional roles.”
Bristol shrugs. I’m not sure that she’s comprehending everything that I’m saying to her. “He’s stupid,” she says.
Ordinarily, I would correct her because that isn’t nice, but Brent Fitzgeraldisstupid. He’s an asshole. “Yes, so Em promised me that she’d play pretend for a little while until Fitzgerald leaves us alone.”
“Like how we play house?” Bristol asks. “Does that mean Emmie is going to move out one day?”
I exhale a heavy sigh. “I don’t know, sweetie. Let’s just focus on one day at a time, okay?”
“I like Emmie.” Bristol grabs my hands and skates backward, bringing me with her. “She’s nice to me. And makes me smile. You seem happy too, Daddy. When you’re around her, she makes you happy.”
“You make me happy,” I say, staring at Bristol.
“It’s not the same.”
The kid is wise beyond her years.
“Can you keep this little chat just between the two of us?” I ask. I hate making her keep secrets, but I don’t want her saying anything to the kids at school or even the nanny.
Bristol grins wickedly. “No promises.”
I give her a pointed stare, telling her I mean business.
“Okay, but only if you answer this, Daddy. Do you love her?”
EIGHTEEN
EMERSON
The minuteI put on Kyler’s jersey, I’m surrounded by his scent. The jersey doesn’t stink, at least not like he wore it for several games without washing it, but it does smell uniquely of Greyson.
It’s musky, woodsy, and thick. I try not to breathe in deeply, like I’m getting high off wearing his jersey.
What the hell is wrong with me?
Thankfully, no one is around to notice. I’m out of the house as quickly as can be, and Mitchell drops me off at the food drive with the hockey wives.
To say I’m nervous is an understatement.
It shouldn’t be a big deal. It’s just another assignment to get close to these ladies, find out what they know, and who might be threatening Kyler and Bristol.
But the minute I pull up to the event, they’re standing outside wearing their husbands’ jerseys, and some of them, nothing else underneath. Maybe boy shorts or boxers. It’s hard to tell. A few of them have jeans on, and I feel oddly dressed, donning Greyson’s jersey.
