Page 61 of Playing for Keeps
Holding her hand earlier, pretending we were a couple, it felt so easy. Probably too easy, and I haven’t stopped thinking about it since.
There were moments today when I caught her looking at me like maybe she’s feeling this too. Like we’re standing on the edge of something more. I know I should say something, maybe test the waters, but vulnerability’s never been my strong suit. I’ve spent most of my life behind the safety net of football, where effort off the field hasn’t exactly been necessary.
But Ivy’s not just anyone. She’s not impressed by stats or stadiums. She sees the real me, and somehow, that’s the scariest part.
Because with her, I actually care how this goes.
The sharp ring of my phone cuts through my thoughts. I pull it from my pocket and see Cleo’s name lighting up the screen. With a sigh, I answer.
“Hey, Cleo. Everything okay?”
“I’ve been thinking about tonight,” she says, her voice brisk. “The charity and the guests all believe Ivy bid on the dinner and won. No one’s expecting the two of you to be… involved.”
I frown. “Okay… and?”
“Maybe go easy on the PDA. No one needs to think you’re dating. We could even spin it and say sparks flew at the dinner. A surprise romance. The media would eat it up.”
She sounds almost excited by the idea, but all I feel is irritation. Because the truth is, I want people to know Ivy’s with me, even if it’s only pretend. I want to hold her hand. I want to touch her like it means something.
“No,” I say firmly. “If I want to hold my girlfriend’s hand, I will. If I want to kiss her, I’ll do that too. Anyone with Wi-Fi and five minutes can find out she’s lived in Hope Creek, the same town I live in, her whole life. No one’s buying that we just met at the auction.”
She’s unintentionally handing us the perfect way out, an excuse not to fake it. But I’m not ready to let that go. I want to stand beside Ivy and pretend she’s mine because, once tonight’s over, I might not get that chance again.
She exhales sharply. “What do you think the charity will say when they find out you asked Ivy to place that bid?”
“I think they’ll be happy to have fifteen grand in their pocket,” I reply dryly.
“You’re making a mistake, Wyatt.”
“I’m not.”
She lets out a frustrated laugh. “What is it about this woman? You’ve never been this difficult before.”
I smirk. “You mean I’ve never disagreed with you.”
“Well, yeah. But this one’s clearly not like the others.”
I sigh, rubbing a hand over the back of my neck. “She’s not.”
“But you’ve known her forever, haven’t you? So, why now?”
I pause. “I don’t know. Suddenly, she’s just… everything.”
There’s a beat of silence before she exhales again. “All right. Your call. But brace yourself, Wyatt. People are going to have questions. The press, especially. Be ready to answer them.”
She hangs up before I can respond. I sink down onto the sofa, the weight of her warning settling over me. I hadn’t thought too hard about how this would look to everyone else. But Cleo’s right. As soon as they realize Ivy’s not just some random bidder, the questions will come, and I’m not sure I’ll have all the answers.
I’m in the kitchen, fastening my cufflinks, when I hear the soft click of heels behind me. I turn, and for a moment, I forget how to breathe.
Ivy walks in, and everything else fades. Her dress is black and floor-length, hugging her body like it was made just for her. A slit up one side shows me her tanned thigh, but as she turns, it’s the back, completely open and revealing the graceful line of her spine, that undoes me. Her hair is swept up, leaving all that sun-kissed skin on show, and I’m sure I’ve never seen anything more stunning.
“Ivy,” I whisper, unable to take my eyes off her.
She pauses, suddenly unsure. “Is it too much?”
I shake my head slowly, my eyes still locked on her. “No. Not at all.”
My hands ache to touch her, to run along the elegant curve of her back, but I bury them in my pockets, trying to keep it together. “You look incredible,” I say, my voice rougher than I meant it to be.
