Page 66 of Her Greatest Mistake

“Oh, poor Maddox.” I pout. He just grins at me, looking as if he loves my teasing. Maybe he really does.

Our conversation comes to a halt when our waiter appears and starts to set our food down in front of us. The teenager avoids eye contact with both of us, and I can only assume that he’s a Maddox fan who’s been warned not to make a big deal out of serving us. It’s adorable the way he nervously fiddles with everything on the table, organizing the silverware and setting new salt and pepper shakers down before scurrying away.

“Thank you!” I say before he gets too far away. He turns to give me a quick smile before turning into what might be the kitchen. “He’s adorably nervous.”

Maddox looks away from his plate of steak and potatoes and surprises me with how warm his eyes are. “He’s serving a beautiful woman. Of course he is.”

Heat spreads from my chest upward, and I don’t even want to know how splotchy I look. “I think it might have more to do with the NHL player across from me, but thank you for the compliment. You’re being ultra-sweet tonight.”

“Making up for lost time.”

When my heart cur-plunks in my chest, I know I have to move this conversation along before I end up in cardiac arrest in the middle of this restaurant. The press would eat that up, though, I’m sure.

“Have you seen any reporters? If they’re not here by now, I doubt they’re coming. I guess it is just dinner. Are they actually interested in seeing that stuff?” I ask, finally taking in the meal in front of me.

Baked mac and cheese and a thick slice of garlic bread. Clearly, I’m as fancy of a girl as they come.

“Oh, they’ve been here since we walked in, sweetheart,” Maddox states before popping a piece of steak in his mouth.

I freeze. “What?”

“Relax. And don’t look around for them like a crazy woman. We want everything to seem as real as possible, and that’s exactly what we’ve been doing. I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want you to act any differently.”

It makes sense, but I shiver with nerves anyway. Then there’s a hand covering mine and fingers slipping across my palm. My eyes fall to the back of Maddox’s hand as he holds mine so delicately, like he’s scared it’ll crumble if he’s too rough with it. I release a tense breath, pressure suddenly building in my chest.

“It’s different talking about it and actually doing it. It never gets easier either. Having so many people watching your every move. If you’re feeling uncomfortable, we can leave right now,” he says, his tone so calm and reassuring that I fall headfirst into it, letting his words do exactly as he intended them to.

I give my head a small shake. “We came here for a purpose.”

“And we’ve done it. Tomorrow will be a lot for you. They’ll post their photos on every sports page in the morning, and your social media will blow up with questions, maybe even some things I would rather die than have you read.” He frowns deeply, and I squeeze his hand. “I should have prepared you better for this. I’m sorry.”

“I wouldn’t have agreed to this if I didn’t know what would happen after. I’m not a weak little girl anymore. I’m ready for it.”

“You were never weak,” he murmurs.

“I tried not to be. And I’ve only gotten stronger since. I got this. I promise.”

He stares at my mouth—at the smile I’ve placed there for his benefit—and nods. I flip our hands and start to trace the lines on his palm, one by one. Goosebumps crop up on his forearms, and my smile grows.

“If you need me tomorrow, call me. Don’t just text me. Call. Okay?” he asks.

“Okay,” I agree. “I can do that.”

And as easy as that, we go back to eating our dinner, the watching eyes fading back out of thought, leaving just him and me.

* * *

“I told you so!”Maddox shouts into the night, his body shaking with laughter beneath me.

He has my purse over his shoulder and me on his back, starting to carry me down the sidewalk toward the clinic like we both knew would eventually happen. In my defense, I did stick it out for the first half of the walk, but as soon as blister number one popped right open and ruined my shoes with bloodstains, I was down for the count.

The cold breeze rushes up the back of my dress, where I hope I’m not flashing my lace panties to each car that passes. His fingers are sunk deep in my inner thighs, and it’s taking everything in me not to beg him to move them higher, to the spot between my legs that’s absolutely soaked by this point in the night.

We can’t be even five minutes from our destination, and despite my hiked sense of arousal, I haven’t stopped laughing the entire walk home. It feels better than words.

He adjusts his hold on me for the briefest second as he presses the button for the crosswalk, and I’m reminded once again how easy it seems for him to hold my weight. It’s doing wonders for my self-confidence, but I keep that to myself.

“Well, a bet is a bet. So, I hope you’re ready to have a stinky fake girlfriend at all your games,” I tease. I’m actually looking forward to wearing his jersey every day, even if I’ll have to do laundry far more often.

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