Coach Xavier makes a noise, and then he gets up and goes to the other side of his desk. He leans over and opens the bottom drawer, pulling out a big bottle of scotch. He pours two glasses and hands me one before he starts to speak.
“Meg is a wonderful woman,” he says. A flame of jealousy sparks in my heart, but it dissipates as soon as Coach Thomas keeps talking. “Marjorie and I had split—this was, oh, six years ago? The kids were grown up, and my career was struggling. I was lonely. I met Meg through an agency, and originally I just wanted someone to go to dinner with me so I wouldn’t be eating alone. She’s the one who convinced me to call Marjorie again.”
Coach chuckles and takes a sip of his drink.
“So you never…” I let the words hang.
He frowns at me. “Never what? Slept with her? God, no. She could be my daughter!” He laughs, shaking his head. “I know what it looks like. It’s why I don’t talk about it.” He shrugs. “I was just lonely.”
The tension in my chest eases. As much as I tried to tell myself I wouldn’t care, hearing that Coach Thomas never slept with Meg—with my wife—is a relief.
“So, what should I do?”
He stares at me for a few moments. “We’re going to make this go away. That fucking Montague prick has been vying for the GM position for the Giants for over a decade. I’ll make sure he keeps his daughter in line. He’s got a lot more to lose than you or I do.”
I nod, finally letting my shoulders relax. For the first time since I accepted that money all those years ago, I feel like I’m in control.
36
Meghan
My apartment feels empty. There’s a nagging feeling in my chest—if I didn’t know any better, I’d say it was boredom. It’s not boredom, though. It’s the feeling that my life is just destined to be exactly like it is: not that bad, but not that happy, either.
I go to my tiny kitchen and open my refrigerator, and then sigh. I don’t have the energy to cook tonight. Instead, I crack open a can of tuna and pull out a couple rice cakes. At least I’ll get a little protein in.
I settle down at the kitchen table with my sad dinner and try to ignore the awful feeling at the pit of my stomach. The tuna and rice cakes taste like dirt, and they’re so dry it’s hard for me to swallow.
Pushing the plate away, I drop my head in my hands and take a deep, shuddering breath.
As quickly as it began, my fairytale happy ending is over. Andrew never responded, and I need to accept the fact that he’s not going to come back. I’m on my own.
It’s not that bad, really. I’m exactly in the same situation as I was two weeks ago. I wasn’t this unhappy! So why is this different?
I know the answer to that. It’s different because I’ve seen what could have been. I caught a glimpse of happiness and got to experience it for one crazy, whirlwind weekend.
Now I know what it’s like to be happy, and I know that I’m not happy on my own.
I pick at the tuna, taking a small, tentative bite. It’s awful, so I just pick up the plate and tip my whole dinner into the garbage. Maybe takeout will be a better option. Or maybe I can just have a bottle of wine and call it a night.
Yep, that’s what I’ll do. I grab my keys and purse and head for the front door. When I open it, I yelp in surprise at Andrew’s tall, broad body. He has his fist up as if he was just about to knock.
“Andrew!”
“Meg, hi! Sorry,” he says, lowering his hand. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”
“It’s okay. What are you doing here?”
My eyes drop down to the big bag he’s carrying. He follows my gaze and holds the bag out toward me.
“I brought you this.”
I look at him and then at the bag, and slowly take it from his grasp. I peek inside, frowning.
“You came all the way here to bring me banana bread?”
“I didn’t have time to make it, and that coffee shop was closed, so I had to go to a grocery store,” he rambles. “I know it won’t be the best, but I couldn’t think of anywhere else to get any.”
I stare at him like he’s lost his mind. He shifts from foot to foot, wringing his hands.
“I would have made it, but it takes so long and I didn’t have any bananas, and—”
He only stops talking when I crush my lips against his. I let the bag of banana bread fall to the ground and wrap my arms around his neck, pressing my body to his. His arms circle around my waist and I melt into him, loving the way his muscular frame envelops me completely.
When I pull back for air, I lean my forehead against his.
“I thought I’d never see you again. Why didn’t you call?”
“I couldn’t. I didn’t know what to say. I just…” he sighs. “I just had to see you.” His hands drop to my ass and he kisses me gently. “I don’t care what you did before. I’m sorry for what I said. I was such an asshole, and I understand if you never forgive me.”
My heart melts. I shake my head. “I was an asshole too. I just stormed over and accused you of all these things based on some weird email.”
“They’re true, though.”
“Yeah, and it’s true that I was a sugar baby.”
“You’re also an amazing person, and a great physical therapist.”
“And you’re okay at football.”
He grins and then kisses me tenderly. His whole body is shaking, and I curl my fingers into his shirt. I pull him close, inhaling the sexy, manly scent that I’m falling in love with.
“What’s going to happen?” I say softly. “Shouldn’t you be staying away from me?”
“What, with all the paparazzi living in your building?”
I laugh, shaking my head. “You know what I mean. This whole situation could blow up at any moment.”
He shrugs.
I grin. “You want to come inside?”
Andrew nods, never taking his hands off me. We back up slowly, arms still wrapped around each other. I giggle as he kicks the bag of banana bread inside and closes the door with his bum.
“Watch that banana bread,” I grin. “That’s precious stuff.”
“I’ll make you more.” He drops his hands and picks me up as I yelp and giggle. I wrap my legs around his waist and kiss him again and again.
We don’t even make it to the bedroom. He lays me down on the couch and kisses me like I’ve never been kissed before. His mouth is hungry, exploring every inch of exposed skin as his hands claim my body. I arch my back toward him, shuffling out of my clothes.
I accidentally elbow him in the face in my haste to get my shirt off.
“Oof.”
“Sorry!”
He laughs and then unclasps my bra for me. “It’s safer if I help you.”
Within seconds, we’re both naked, with our arms and legs intertwined. The feeling of his skin against mine is heavenly. When he enters me, I feel whole. With every moan, every thrust, every kiss, I melt into him a little bit more. In that moment, I know that I’m not just falling in love with him, I’m already there. I’m crazy about him. I’m his.
We make love, holding each other tight and never letting go. I come with him inside me as he kisses me deeply. He moans with me, his whole body tensing as he feels me contract around him.
Right now, I don’t need explanations or discussions or any words from him. I just need his body wrapped around mine. I need his hands to claim me, and his kiss to make me forget about everything else. All that matters is us.
It’s not until some time later, as we lay naked on the sofa, that I look him in the eye and realize that he really is here. I trail my finger across his muscular chest, sighing.
He catches my hand and brings it to his lips.
“You’re still wearing your wedding ring,” he says, laying a soft kiss on the band.
“Well, I’m still married, aren’t I?”
He smiles, pulling me on top of him and kissing me deeply. He tangles his fingers in my hair and holds me close. I straddle him, our
naked bodies still sticky with sweat and sex. Neither of us care. When I feel his cock pulse against me, my body immediately reacts with a flood of desire through my veins.
I put my hands on either side of his face and look him in the eye.
“I think I’m in love with you, Mr. Davis.”
“I know I’m in love with you.” He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear and grins. “Mrs. Davis.”
Heat blooms in my core and I sink down on top of him. He growls as I sheathe him inside me. “Say it again,” I whisper. “Say my name like that.”
“Mrs. Davis,” he growls. “Fuck your husband, Mrs. Davis.”
I smile as my body trembles on top of him. He wraps his arms around me and I kiss him, and then my husband and I consummate our marriage one more time.
37
Andrew
I clamp Meghan’s hand in mine as we walk through the revolving doors to the Montague offices. Coach Thomas has his chest puffed out, and I’ve never seen his expression so dark.
“You sure you want to be here for this?” He asks as we get to the elevator.
I nod. We both glance at Meghan.
“Abso-fucking-lutely,” she says.
Coach Thomas nods, and I see his lip twitch upwards. Meghan seems to have that effect on people. The elevator doors open, and we take a collective deep breath before stepping through.
It’s quiet in the elevator on the way up to the fifty-fourth floor. It feels stuffy in here as we zoom upwards. Regular public spaces aren’t really designed for people that are NFL-sized.
I keep my hand interlaced with Meg’s. Her palm is a little sweaty, and she pulls it away to wipe it on her pants. She grins at me before slipping her hand back into mine.
When the doors open, my heart jumps to my throat. This is where they brought me, all those years ago, to sign the contract that would end my life as I knew it.
I’d been young and naive. Being flown out to New York and shown around these fancy offices where everything was made of glass and chrome had blinded me to what I was doing.
Now, when I think back, I’m not sure I would have signed it. On the one hand, the whole reason I’m in this mess is because of the contract. I could lose everything if Gerrard Montague doesn’t agree to our terms, or if Hannah decides to go ahead with the story anyways.
But, on the other hand, I wouldn’t be here beside Meghan if I hadn’t taken the contract. I probably wouldn’t even be in the NFL. I’d most likely still be in San Diego, working to live and seeing my mother struggle along like when we were young.
So yes, I could lose everything, but I wouldn’t have had anything to lose if I hadn’t signed it.
Thoughts swirl around my head as we march toward Gerrard’s office. A receptionist sees our little procession walk past her desk and she jumps up to protest.
Xavier ignores her. His eyes are on the thick glass door at the end of the hallway. The receptionist says something about security, and rushes back to her desk when the glass door swings open.
“Tiffany, it’s okay,” Gerrard Montague calls out. “They’re okay.”
The receptionist glances at us with daggers in her eyes, and then sits down at her desk. She doesn’t take her eyes off the three of us as we head toward Gerrard.
The old man’s face is impassable. His eyebrow is ever so slightly arched as he glances at the three of us. We enter his office without a word, and he flicks the blinds closed. We’re alone.
Xavier stands until Gerrard motions to the long sofa on the far wall.
“Sit, please,” he says. Meg glances at me, and then heads for the couch. She sits down on one end, and me on the other. Coach chooses a hard-backed chair, leaning his elbows on his knees as he waits for Gerrard to sit.
Gerrard Montague is an imposing man. He’s not big physically, but he has piercing dark eyes that seem to take everything in in an instant. He glances at the three of us, waiting for us to speak.
Finally, Coach Thomas sighs.
“Gerrard, I’m here as a show of goodwill.”
Gerrard’s eyes swing toward my coach’s, and he leans back in his chair. He smooths his tie down over his stomach and nods.
“Okay,” he says.
“It has come to my attention, that your daughter has been…” Coach clears his throat. “Your daughter has been extorting one of my players.”
Montague’s eyebrow arches a tiny bit higher. “Oh?” He looks at me. “Is that right?”
“Look, Gerrard, cut the bullshit,” Coach Thomas says in a huff. “I know about that bullshit contract you had Andrew sign, and I know about the bribe. I know that he’s paid back what he owed, and I know that your daughter has been threatening him constantly for the past year, extorting upwards of two million dollars from him. You wouldn’t want that kind of thing stopping you from convincing the board to allow you to be the GM. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
Montague’s eyebrow quivers ever so slightly as he inhales. “Did you say two million dollars?”
“Two point one million,” I say. “Ever since I made the last payment.”
Montague’s eyebrows change their direction, angling downward in a deep frown.
“Fuck,” he says under his breath. He glances at Coach Thomas and then at me, and finally at Meg. “And who is this?”
“This is my wife.”
Montague’s eyebrows make another reversal, shooting up toward his hairline.
Meg shifts in her seat. “Mr. Montague, your daughter has found out some, uh, unpleasant things in my past. She’s threatened both Andrew and me in the past few days. We have the emails and texts, and my sister can confirm that she spoke to Hannah just a few days ago.”
“And what is the nature of these unpleasant things?”
“It’s enough to affect the Giants for at least another season,” Coach Thomas interjects. He shakes his head. “Gerrard, if this gets out, it’s a mess. It’s bad for you, it’s bad for me, and it’s very bad for these two. There’s no way they’ll allow you to be GM if your daughter is in the middle of another scandal. We’ve been through enough last season with Elijah.”
Coach Thomas sighs, shaking his head.
“Look,” he continues. “I don’t want to be the guy to tell you this, but you’ve got a lot to lose in this. If your daughter goes public, so do we. You’ll be out.”
Gerrard bristles and then turns to Meg. “Show me the emails.”
Meg pulls her phone out, and I do the same. No one makes a noise as Montague reads through the texts and emails from Hannah. Finally, he hands us our phones back and stands up. He walks to the window and stares out at the city with his hands on his hips.
Finally, he sighs and turns around.
“Andrew, when you were with my daughter, she was the most stable she’d been in a long time. I thought you’d be able to live a healthy, normal life together.”
I frown. Stable and healthy?
“Mr. Montague, are you… what do you mean?”
He chuckles, shaking his head. “Having you sign that contract was stupid. We’d been through so much hell with Hannah’s illness, that it seemed like the only way that she would have a relationship with anyone. I’m sorry to have put you through that.”
My heart starts to thump. “Her illness, sir?”
Gerrard’s eyebrows raise. “Did you never suspect anything? The ups and downs, the fights and then the making-up? The pills?”
“She told me she had thyroid problems.”
“Her thyroid problems were caused by the lithium,” Gerrard sighs. “She has bipolar disorder.”
My eyes widen. All of a sudden, everything makes sense. The fights we had, the incredible highs, vacations, plans when things were good, her behavior after we broke up—everything. I shake my head.
“In all our time together, she never told me.”
“And neither did I,” Gerrard sighs. “And I apologize for that. Leave this with me,” he says, looking at the three of us in turn. “I’ll handle it.�
�
When we get outside, Coach Thomas lets out a big sigh. He drops his hand on my shoulder and looks me in the eye.
“You okay, Davis?”
“Yeah. A little stunned, but I’m okay.”
“Let’s just see how things shake out. I trust Gerrard to sort this out.”
“So do I,” I nod. I glance at Meg, who smiles sadly at me. We leave Coach to get into a cab and walk hand-in-hand in silence.
Meg leans into me and squeezes my hand.
“I’m sorry you’re going through this,” she finally says.
I turn to her and smile, running my hand along her jaw. “If it means I get to be with you, then I’d go through it all a hundred times over.”
I kiss my wife and in that moment, despite everything that has happened, I know that I’m a lucky man.
Epilogue
Meghan
Andrew’s shoulder heals before the season starts. Under my watchful eye, he does his daily mobility exercises and strengthens it in the weeks leading up to the first game. Once the season starts, he plays the best football of his life.
The Giants don’t quite play as well as they’d hoped, but in the aftermath of the drama with Elijah, it’s understandable. Prospects for the next year are good, though, and morale is high.
I get used to being a football wife, which comes with its own set of challenges. I find new photos of myself online every few days—at the grocery store, at the gym, out for a walk.
At first, it feels like a violation of my privacy, but it gets to be normal. It’s worth it if I get to be with Andrew.
I end up moving in with Andrew. I make sure to bring a few personal touches with me, to make the house feel less like a show home and more like our home. We email the chapel and they end up sending us a photo of our wedding. My hair and makeup are a disaster, and that pink dress is as horrible in the picture as it was in real life.
Still, it’s our wedding, and it holds a special place for both of us. In a couple years, we’ll have a real ceremony with our friends and Andrew’s family. Maybe by then, my family will have forgiven me for the dove fiasco.
Mr. Right: The Complete Fake Engagement Series Page 49
