#Awestruck (A #Lovestruck Novel)

by Sariah Wilson

  He showed up about twenty minutes later, and I took in a deep breath before I opened the door. He smiled at me, a real smile that lit up his eyes.

  “Hi.” Then he leaned in and kissed me on the cheek, like he’d done it a million times before, and it was totally normal and no big deal.

  I, meanwhile, had to hold on to the door for a second until the feeling in my legs returned. He didn’t have any product in his dark hair, causing it to fall forward onto his forehead. Like he’d taken a shower and rushed over here. He wore a light-blue shirt under his jacket that made his eyes appear even lighter than normal.

  “Please, come in. Are you hungry? I just made some dinner.”

  “The answer to your question is I’m always hungry. I’d love to eat with you. Can I help with anything?”

  “You can set the table.” I told him where the plates and silverware were as I put the casserole and bread I’d made on the table. We sat down when everything was ready.

  “Not quite as fancy as Rodrigo’s,” I said, feeling a little sheepish. He was probably used to all luxury all the time.

  “No. But this is better,” he said after he’d taken his first bite.

  “Better than steak and lobster?” I asked, disbelieving what he was saying.

  “Homemade is always better.” He proved his point by having not only seconds but also thirds. I was glad I’d cooked up extra. I had originally intended to have leftovers, but it gave me a strange satisfaction to watch him enjoying something I’d made.

  And while we ate I reminded him that we needed to create our love story. So we talked through the details, staying as close to the truth as possible. We’d met in high school, where I’d had a crush on him. We’d reunited a few months ago and quickly fallen in love. It all seemed easy enough. Because it hadn’t been a long courtship, people wouldn’t expect us to know every detail about each other, and his agent thought social media would love our “meant to be” fast engagement.

  “Thank you for dinner,” he said, standing up to grab both of our plates, interrupting my musing about our current situation.

  “You don’t have to do that!” I protested.

  He carried all of the dirty dishes from the table to the sink. “Since you cooked, it’s only fair that I clean up.”

  “Your . . .” I let my voice trail off. I had been about to say that his mother had raised him right, but would that be insensitive? Would it hurt his feelings?

  And when had I started caring about not hurting him?

  After scraping off the leftover bits of food, Evan began to load the dishwasher.

  “You really don’t have to do that.” I felt dumb just sitting there, watching him. Although somehow his doing household chores made him even more attractive.

  “It’s not hard to stick them in the dishwasher.”

  “Thanks.” I drummed my fingers against the tabletop, not sure what I should do while he washed everything. “And thank you for what you did today. My family had a once-in-a-lifetime experience that they absolutely loved.”

  He glanced over his shoulder at me. “I didn’t intend to make it a onetime deal. They’re going to be my family, too, right?”

  “For pretend,” I quickly corrected him. Just in case he’d forgotten after getting hit in the head one too many times today.

  That sexy, knowing smirk of his was back. “Yes, for pretend. But I plan on renting that luxury box for their personal use for every home game. You guys don’t have to use it if you don’t want to, but it will be there, waiting.”

  There was no way my family would ever, ever turn down that offer. And they’d kill me if I did. So I just said, “They’ll love that. Thanks.”

  “Where do you keep your dishwasher soap?”

  Instead of telling him, I got up to grab some from underneath my kitchen sink. When I stood up, he had moved closer to me, and we were almost, but not quite, pressed together. Which meant that every square inch of my skin broke out in goose bumps as I fought off the urge to lean forward just a fraction so we would be touching.

  “Here,” I said in a breathy voice and handed him the tiny powder tablet.

  “Thanks.” His voice was low and gruff, like he was affected by my proximity, too.

  He really was a beautiful man with a face so symmetrical that it added to my distrust. So unfair that he was so perfect. But that perfection was currently marred by the large bruise near his hairline. That must have been where the water bottle had hit him. Without thinking I reached up to touch it, and he made a combination hissing/growling sound when my fingers brushed against his skin.

  “That must hurt.”

  “Apparently that guy was pretty drunk. I’m glad it was a water bottle and not a beer bottle. And that he didn’t break my nose or something.”

  Me too. That would have been a little like somebody carving a mustache and eyeglasses on the statue of David.

  His lips were right there. My own burned in anticipation. I could have kissed him. I wanted desperately to kiss him, and that worried me more than anything else that was happening.

  I blinked twice, cleared my throat, and backed up. All the way into the living room. I sat in the corner of the couch, trying to catch my shaky breath. He joined me a few seconds later, which wasn’t nearly enough time for me to try and compose myself.

  And he sat closer to me than he should have. I had nowhere to run. I grabbed a throw pillow and placed it against my chest, as if it would ward him off.

  “What’s your schedule like this week?” he asked.

  “Why?” I sounded panicked. I needed to calm down. “What are your plans?”

  “Work on Monday, the children’s hospital on Tuesday, Wednesday off, and then the game on Thursday and a light workload on Friday, Saturday, and Sunday.”

  “No Thanksgiving plans?”

  He looked down at his hands, flexing and unflexing them. “I don’t really believe in Thanksgiving.”

  “Oh, it exists. I’ve celebrated it.”

  That made him laugh. “I meant I don’t usually do anything on Thanksgiving. Because of the game.”

  No, it was because he didn’t have anyone to celebrate with. Which made me sad.

  And I could have dropped it there. It would have been the end of it.

  Only I didn’t.

  “My family wants to meet you. Well, you’ve met my sisters. I should say my parents want to meet you. They were hoping you’d come over for Thanksgiving. On Wednesday. We always celebrate on Wednesday so that we can go to the game the next day. Anyway, my parents don’t know that this isn’t real, and I can’t tell them because they would blab it to the entire world, so they’re expecting me to bring you by.”

  I didn’t realize I was holding my breath until he said, “I’m in.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Definitely. I’d love to meet your family. Did you show them the ring today?” He took my left hand, holding it with both of his as he studied the ring. It made me wish I was a manicure type of girl.

  Then I had to close my eyes against the electrical sensation he was causing by running his thumb along the back of my hand. He probably didn’t even know he was doing it, but every cell in my body was totally aware.

  When I opened my eyes again, I realized he was waiting for a response to his question. “Oh, uh, just Aubrey. She knows the truth about us, but it’s cool because I’ve retained her as legal counsel, and she’s not allowed to tell anyone else. I didn’t want my family to know how and when I really got the ring.”

  “I wish I’d been there to give it to you.” Now he was basically just holding my hand, my palm lying open against his. Neither one of us moved.

  “No, that would have made it . . .” A thousand times more—more embarrassing, more sweet, more awkward, more every negative and positive emotion I’d experienced with him so far.

  All things I couldn’t say.

  “Do you like it?” His question had an odd intensity to it, like it really mattered to him whether or
not I did.

  “I do. It’s perfect. Something I would have chosen for myself.”

  I was struck with the overwhelming desire to lace my fingers through his. To feel the warmth and strength of his hand enveloping my own. I curled my fingers in and pulled my hand away. “Speaking of Aubrey and my family, I was upset about the way the announcers talked about my grandparents today.”

  Evan frowned in confusion. “They did?”

  “Before you came on the field. It’s one thing for me to be in the spotlight, but none of the rest of them signed up for this. I wouldn’t want the press going after them.”

  “Why would they? Do you have some skeletons in your family closet?”

  “Not that I know of, but I want to protect them, you know?”

  He laid his arm along the back of the couch, his hand next to my shoulder. “I get that. I’ll talk to my agent and see what we can do. I can be more available to answer questions. Maybe in exchange for a handful of interviews, we can get some of the more aggressive outlets to promise to leave you and your family alone.”

  I knew how much he had avoided interviews in the past, and his offer made my heart flip over. “You would do that?” I left off the part I couldn’t speak. For me?

  “Of course.” Was that my imagination, or did I feel his fingertips barely skimming my shoulder? “I’m the one who dragged you into this. It’s my job to protect you from anything that would hurt you. Just think of me as your own personal left guard. Or right guard. I’ll play both positions for you.”

  It was like he’d shoved a dagger into my heart and twisted it around. Because I was being taken in and felt terrible about what I was plotting to do to him. After all the kind gestures he’d shown my family all day, as charming and fun as he was right then, it was so easy to believe in him. That this was the real Evan. That he was finally offering to protect me the way he’d failed to do all those years ago.

  He’s engaged to you to manipulate Chester Walton, a voice whispered inside me. Which was true. I had to remember that his motives weren’t pure. This wasn’t about being attracted to me or wanting to date me. He was using me to get what he wanted from his boss.

  Just like I was using him to get what I wanted from my boss.

  “So, no big plans tonight? Should you be out with the rookies at some bar, meeting all the single ladies?”

  He leaned back on the couch, suddenly looking exhausted. “Now that I’m an engaged man, I don’t think that would be a good idea. And that’s not really something I usually do. After a game I like to come home, unwind, and check out how the competition did that day on SportsCenter.”

  “Me too,” I whispered. “Do you want to watch it with me?”

  Where those words came from, I had no idea.

  “Absolutely.” He grinned. I got the remote from the coffee table and turned on the television.

  Where it was still paused to that full-screen hero/warrior shot of him. I’d managed to turn the television off but failed to put it back to live TV.

  “If you wanted a picture of me, all you had to do was ask.”

  “With an ego that size, I don’t know how you were able to fit your head through the front door when you got here.” I frantically pushed the VIEW LIVE TV button, and my remote finally cooperated with me.

  “Everyone has an ego. Mine is just bigger and better.”

  I didn’t realize I had been smiling until he held up ten fingers. He was going to run out of fingers soon. Would I be getting toe counting next? I switched the channel over to ESPN.

  “I’m serious about the photo. I can have my assistant send it to you whenever. I’ll even autograph it.”

  He laughed when I hit him with the pillow I had on my lap.

  We watched the recaps of the other NFL games that had taken place today, arguing about and analyzing the teams and specific plays.

  “Do you know what I like best about you?” Evan asked me about an hour later. “It’s like you’re one of my guy friends who loves sports, only you’re in a hot woman’s body.”

  “Thanks? I think?” That was random.

  “It was definitely a compliment. I love how much you know about sports.”

  That was the last thing I could clearly remember him saying to me. We were quiet after that, watching the recaps. My eyelids felt heavy.

  I woke up hours later, curled up on my couch. Evan was on the other end, lightly snoring, his feet up on the coffee table. He couldn’t have been comfortable.

  How had we both fallen asleep? The TV was still on. I used the remote to turn it off.

  I checked my nearly dead phone. It was just past three o’clock in the morning. I had a blanket from my bedroom on me. Which meant I must have passed out before he did, and he went and got it for me.

  And didn’t leave.

  Which he needed to do, right now. I didn’t want him to spend the night here. No matter how boyish he looked while he slept.

  “Evan.” I shook his arm, my hand resting against his bicep. Good grief, but it was rock hard and solid underneath my hand. I took an extra second to appreciate it before I tried again to wake him up. “Evan, you need to wake up.”

  He came to and gave me a groggy smile. “What time is it?”

  “Three. You should go.”

  “Sorry,” he said, putting his feet on the floor. “You fell asleep, and I wanted to catch the tail end of the show before I left, and I guess I fell asleep, too.”

  I stood, letting the blanket fall onto the couch. He yawned and stretched, and I had to avert my gaze so I didn’t lap up the sight of his muscles flexing along his skin and under his shirt.

  He said in a joking tone, “Are you sure you don’t want me to stay?”

  Yes. I want you to stay. “If there’s some paparazzo out there waiting for you, we wouldn’t want anyone to question your virtue if you ended up staying here all night.”

  “Lately I’ve been realizing that I don’t really care what other people think.”

  What was that supposed to mean?

  He checked his pockets and got to his feet. He went over to my kitchen chair and put his jacket on. I backed up, not wanting to be too close. There was something entirely too intimate about us falling asleep together on the couch. We hadn’t cuddled up or anything, but still.

  I was suddenly struck with a memory of my dad talking about our dog, who would not sleep unless he was with me or my sisters. He’d said we were to take that as a huge compliment because Buster had come from a long line of predators, and by choosing to sleep with us, he was showing us he was willing to be vulnerable with people he trusted.

  Was that something my psyche was trying to tell me? That I could trust Evan?

  Or that I already did?

  I walked him to the door, and the air around us felt charged and heavy, like he wanted to say or do something. Or like I wanted him to.

  When I opened the door, he turned to me and said, “Hear that?”

  “If you say it’s this, or us, happening, I will throat punch you.”

  He chuckled. “No. I heard the sound of my six a.m. workout crying because it knows I’m going to kill it in three hours. Why would you think I was talking about you? Not everything’s about you, Ashton.” His tone was light and teasing, and he winked at me as he walked away. “See you soon.”

  I locked the door and pressed my forehead against it. I hoped that by the time the sun rose, whatever I was feeling right now would go away.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Monday morning, I had a text from Brenda asking about my progress, but I told her I had nothing new to report. I’d already mentioned that Evan and I both agreed to keep up our pretend engagement, and she’d been ecstatic. For some reason I didn’t want to tell her about the gifts at the game or how he’d stayed over late. I rationalized that they had nothing to do with my story.

  Despite my rationalization, I felt an overwhelming relief when there was no picture of him leaving my condo at three in the morning on any website or
TV show. Mostly because it meant Brenda wouldn’t find out.

  I sent a message to Nia about Whitley Schultz, asking if she had any idea how to track her down. It now seemed more important than ever that I discover what Whitley knew.

  So I texted Tinsley, and just as Nia had predicted, she gave all the info—along with a lot of heart-eyed smiley emojis—to me without question. I texted Nia again.

  I didn’t anticipate needing backup in the suburbs, but it would be nice to have Nia there alongside me. I called the number, and Whitley answered. With my heart pounding in my ears, I introduced myself and told her the story that Nia and I had come up with at the tea party—that we were working on a “where are they now” of former Jacks cheerleaders for a possible segment at ISEN.

  “I remember Nia. She was always so sweet. And your project sounds like a lot of fun! Yes, please come by. I’m a stay-at-home mom, so I’m usually around.”

  “Is there any chance you would be able to meet up today?”

  “Sure. My son goes down for a nap at one o’clock. Would one thirty work?”

  I told her it would, and she gave me her address, which I already had. We said goodbye and hung up, and I texted Nia to let her know about our new game plan. We agreed to meet at Whitley’s house since she was about halfway for both of us.

  This time I did make an effort with my appearance. Honestly, I didn’t want to meet Evan’s former girlfriend while looking like warmed-over roadkill.

  Nia was already waiting for me when I arrived. She gave me a quick hug. “You ready to do this?”

  “I’m ready. Let’s go find out the truth about Evan.”

  We walked up to Whitley’s front door together, and I rang the bell. I got a surprise when she opened it, because Whitley could have been my sister. Tall, redheaded, athletic-looking.

  I wasn’t the only one who noticed. Nia leaned in to whisper, “I just realized that Evan has a type.”

  “Hey, Nia, how are you? And you must be Ashton. Please come in!”