“No, no, no.” Without a phone RJ can’t call me and tell me he made it safely, that his brother is fine, that Joy and the baby are okay.
And I can’t tell him any of the things I planned to today. Like I want to come visit him in New York. Or that I think I’m falling in love with him.
As the next morning arrives, the phone lines finally come back on, but my time in Alaska has run out. And just like that, all my hope vanishes, and my heart breaks.
CHAPTER 12
DOLPHIN D*CK
Lainey
Present Day
Today is not my day. At all. After a night of little sleep, I arrived at work to be told two of our staff are off sick with the flu. Since it’s a Saturday, and they happen to be friends and college aged, I’m guessing the flu is code for hungover. Must be nice to have zero in the way of responsibilities.
Since we’re short staffed and one of the girls on today is new, I’ve been given the job of running the birthday party tour for a pair of three-year-old twins. This typically isn’t in my job description.
For the most part, I get to avoid the swarms of people who visit the exhibits every day, which is usually fine with me. Peopling takes a lot of energy, and I don’t have much of that to spare these days.
Unfortunately for me, today I’m the resident expert on all things aquatic, which apparently makes me the best candidate to run a tour. I was handling the responsibility well until about twenty minutes ago, when I found out the birthday party is for the sons of an NHL player. Apparently a very attractive, popular one, based on the way the girls who work here are freaking out.
I don’t know much about hockey, but I understand the basics: it takes place on an ice rink, and there are sticks, pucks, and helmets involved. Also, based on the fact that this hockey player has rented out the entire aquarium for the afternoon, NHL players have a lot of money to throw around.
The cake alone must have cost a small fortune. It’s in the shape of a shark head coming out of the water. It’s very realistic. I saw the price list for this event—it was on my manager’s desk—and I could pay my rent for an entire year with what this hockey player shelled out for an afternoon looking at aquatic animals.
In addition to this extravagant party, Miller Butterson—what an odd last name—and his gorgeous wife have donated a huge amount of money to fund the dolphin project I’m working on with one of the senior staff members here. It’s all very exciting. And the reason I’m currently trying not to hyperventilate.
I perform my sensory calming exercise for the third time in a row, hoping that I’ll be able to make it through this experience without embarrassing myself. On the positive side, at least I only have to contend with one group of kids and their parents, rather than hundreds of families.
I fidget with the end of my braid as I stand at the front of the group of adorable, well-dressed children. Their mothers are all very put together and attractive, making me feel dowdy in my beige-on-beige uniform. I stand with my back to the huge glass wall as I tell the children all about Daphne and Dillon, our dolphins. I can totally do this. I can pretend I’m presenting my findings to a panel of very small, cute professors.
Everything seems to be going smoothly until a dark-haired little boy tugs on my arm. “Is that the daddy dolphin?”
I look over my shoulder just in time to see what has his attention. “Oh my goodness.” I spread my arms and try to block the children’s view, but it’s futile. The dolphins have decided that right now, during this very expensive birthday party, is an excellent time to mate. They couldn’t wait for the aquarium to be empty. Oh no, they have to get their stupid hump on right here.
“It’s like a big pink lightsaber!” the dark-haired boy says gleefully to the redheaded little boy beside him. The redheaded boy holds his hands in front of his crotch and makes lightsaber sounds, and the dark-haired boy joins in for a few seconds, pretending to have a sword fight with their invisible lightsaber penises.
“Mommy! Look! That’s like Daddy’s peepee!” the dark-haired boy yells.
A petite woman with long auburn hair and huge boobs, who also appears to be significantly pregnant, drags her attention away from the giant of a man whose arm is draped protectively over her shoulder to address her son. “Honey, we don’t broadcast that.”
“But it’s true!” he protests, little arms flailing.
“I know, sweetie, but we don’t want to make the other mommies jealous.”
I can’t believe this is an actual conversation, happening right now, in public. I’d like to believe this mother is joking, but considering the statements are coming from a child and they’re generally not adept at lying, I have to believe that what he’s saying is true. I inappropriately wonder how that even works with a woman her size. And then, of course, because my brain is a messy place these days, I think about RJ and how . . . ample he was and how I’m close to the same size as that woman. I cut off that line of thinking right away, because it’s unhelpful and embarrassing.
Heedless of his mother’s warning, the little boy plasters himself against the glass, fascinated by what he’s seeing, and yells, “Daddy! The dolphin has a big peepee just like you! Mine is gonna be just like that!”
“Robbie, buddy, we don’t talk about that in public,” the handsome man says, his eyes glued to his wife, or, more specifically, her cleavage.
Robbie’s mother finally registers what’s happening in the dolphin tank, and her eyes go wide. “Holy hell, that thing is freaking huge.” She elbows her husband in the side. “Maybe you’re part dolphin.”
Her husband drags his attention away from her chest and follows her gaze to the spectacle behind me, eyes popping. “Wow. No wonder his girlfriend is trying to get away.”
All hell breaks loose as a little blond boy starts crying. “Mommy! The boy dolphin is trying to stab that girl dolphin!”
His equally blonde mother tucks him into her side and pats his head reassuringly. “He’s not trying to stab her, honey, he’s trying to love her.”
I really hope no one asks me to explain dolphin mating rituals, because I think I will likely burst into flames. “Okay, everyone! Let’s give the dolphins some privacy and move on to the next exhibit! Who wants to see the sharks? Raise your hands!” I shout into my headset, causing feedback to echo through the cavernous room.
Thankfully it distracts everyone from the fornicating dolphins. As I usher a few of the most distraught kids and their parents on to the next exhibit, apologizing profusely for something beyond my control but still insanely embarrassing, a man at the back of the group catches my attention.
My heart stutters as I take in what I swear is the familiar set of RJ’s shoulders and the distinct shape of his cut jaw. I took up sketching again just so I could try to capture the memory on paper. Yes, I’m that pathetic. No, I haven’t gotten over him.
“Excuse me, can you tell me where the bathroom is?” The woman’s shoulder is covered in spit-up, and the infant in her arms looks like he’s about to cry.
I drag my eyes away from what very well may be a complete hallucination based on the lack of sleep I’ve had over the past several months and point the poor mother in the direction of the women’s bathroom. When I look back to where my hallucination/fantasy was standing, all I see is a bunch of balloons.
I’m losing it today.
I rush to the front of the group and continue with the tour. Thankfully, the sharks are behaving themselves, and it’s feeding time, which usually goes over well with the kids. But not this time: one little boy starts crying again when he realizes that they’re feeding the sharks fish and calls them cannibals. Another boy asks if we’ll get to see the shark’s peepee too. His mother pulls him aside and gives him a stern talking-to.
I keep glancing at the back of the group, trying to figure out if I’m truly hallucinating. But then I get another glimpse of the man who came into my life over a year ago, turned it upside down, and kept it that way.
It’s definitely
RJ. I wonder if he’s related to one of these hockey players. Maybe his brother relocated from LA or he has a cousin here. But as I take in the other men at this birthday party, I realize they’re all wearing the same baseball caps and T-shirts with the same logo, like it’s a uniform. And RJ is no different, his huge, bulky frame filling out the T-shirt that matches the rest of the men’s, all rivaling each other in size.
Shaken and very much confused, I lead the party through the tour, stumbling over my words more than once. Of course the dolphins can’t be the only ones acting up today. When we get to the sea otters, one of the males presses himself against the glass and rubs himself on it, licking the window. The kids think it’s hilarious, and the parents all pull out their phones and take videos. At least the otters aren’t trying to mate.
I’m relieved when the tour is finally over, because my mouth is dry and my stomach is in knots. I’d given up long ago on ever seeing RJ again or contacting him, and now here he is. Over the past year I called every alpaca farm in New York, but none of them linked to RJ, and without a last name it was like trying to find a needle in a haystack. I can’t believe we didn’t even exchange last names. I hoped I might hear from him once he found the note I left for him at the cabin with my contact information; instead there was nothing but painful silence. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t hold my breath every time my phone rang the entire summer.
I stand there, wringing my hands, as he weaves through parents and avoids stepping on small children.
His eyes move over my face in a familiar, searching way. I’m sure I look like hell today. I was up several times last night and had trouble falling back to sleep, so no amount of concealer could cover up my dark circles this morning. Also, my entire uniform is beige, and the pants have pleats in the front, so neither the style nor the color is flattering on me—or anyone else, for that matter.
He stops just inside my personal-space bubble, which makes my palms sweatier than usual. I’m forced to tip my head back so I can look at his face. His perfect, gorgeous face. He looks exactly like I remember, except his hair is shorter, as if he’s had it cut recently.
“God, I thought I’d never see you again, and here you are,” he says in that deep baritone that makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.
I just stare at him, incapable of ungluing my tongue from the roof of my mouth. He’s so beautiful and real. At least I think he’s real. I hope so—otherwise I need to see a doctor.
His brow furrows, eyes swimming with an emotion I can’t quite identify. Hurt, maybe? Or worry? “Lainey? Do you remember me?”
“Of course I remember you, RJ,” I whisper.
Relief softens his expression. “It’s so good to see you.” He wraps his thick, strong arms around me and pulls me against him.
I’m shocked stupid by the contact and the sudden wave of calm that accompanies his touch. I inhale deeply, breathing in the familiar smell of his cologne and the scent that is uniquely him. Emotions slam into me: sadness, longing, relief, and fear. His hold on me tightens enough that I let out a small squeak.
He loosens his grip and takes a cautious step back. “I’m sorry. It’s just so good to see you after all this time.” He runs his palms down my arms and takes my hands in his, squeezing gently. “You look amazing.”
I glance down at my outfit, wondering if maybe he needs glasses or something.
He doesn’t let go of my hands. “How are you? What are you doing in Chicago? I mean—obviously you’re working, but what brought you here? Are you staying?”
“That’s a lot of questions,” I reply, like an idiot, because that’s what I’ve become, apparently. I don’t know how to handle him being here. That brief wave of calm has disappeared as quickly as it arrived, and in its wake is bewilderment.
He laughs a little. “You’re right. It is a lot of questions. Let’s start with one. How are you?”
“I’m . . .” Exhausted, elated, terrified, confused. “Good.”
“Good. You look good.” His thumb smooths back and forth over my knuckles. It feels nice, but it’s also distracting. “What brought you to Chicago?”
It’s closer to New York than Washington and a way to escape my parents’ overprotectiveness. And a way to prove to them and myself that I could do this on my own. But I don’t say any of that. “I was offered a job, and I thought I should take it.”
“That’s amazing, Lainey. Does that mean you finished your master’s?”
“It does. Yes.”
He hugs me again, not as vigorously or as long as the first time, but it still steals my breath and threatens what little composure I have. “Does that mean you’re here permanently?”
“I have a temporary contract, but I should be here for another six months or so, as long as I don’t mess it up. You know, scarring small children for life with fornicating dolphins and such.”
“It’s not like you can control those horny bastards. They can’t help that they like to get it on for fun, right? And clearly they don’t mind an audience.” He smiles, but the awkwardness of this whole reunion makes it seem uncertain.
“Clearly not.” I shift my gaze away from his, unable to erase the memories of RJ and me getting it on pretty much anywhere we could, anytime we wanted, during those brief weeks in Alaska. “What about you? What brings you to Chicago? Are you visiting friends?”
His expression shifts from excited to distressed between one blink and the next.
Before he can answer, another man dressed in a red shirt and ball cap approaches, giving me a curious once-over. “Hey, Rook, sorry to interrupt, but—uh, we need you for a minute.”
“Just hold on.” He doesn’t even look at the man.
“We’re taking a team picture—you’ll only be a minute, then you can get back to your friend here.” His gaze darts from RJ to our clasped hands.
“Team picture?” I glance back and forth between them.
“Lainey . . .” RJ says my name like an apology.
And it all clicks into place. All the hockey stuff in his cabin—how huge he is, and built—his stamina, the matching T-shirts and ball caps.
“I thought you said you were an alpaca farmer from New York.”
CHAPTER 13
NOT-SO-LITTLE WHITE LIES
Rook
All the awesomeness that comes with finally seeing Lainey again disappears with that single statement. It’s amazing what a person can forget in a year. Such as the way I built our entire brief relationship on a lie.
It doesn’t matter that I had a plan all worked out to explain why I lied. Because the truth is, I had plenty of opportunities to tell her—and every time I was about to, something would happen or I’d find a reason to put it off. Until it was too late. I was too afraid that I would lose what we had, that it would change things, that she would see me differently. I lost her anyway, though, because she didn’t answer when I called from LA. Even worse, she didn’t leave me a way to contact her: no note, no number, nothing.
“RJ?” Lainey looks confused, and hurt, and nervous, and just so damn beautiful.
“I can explain.”
She wrings her hands. “Are you a professional hockey player now?”
“Yeah, but—”
“For how long?”
I blow out a breath. There’s no point in lying anymore. “This will be my seventh season with Chicago.”
“Seventh?” Her lips flatten into a line, and that hurt shifts, turning into something that looks like betrayal. “You lied to me about your job?”
“I was going to tell you the truth, I swear.” It’s the worst cop-out.
Her brow furrows. “It was the two of us for weeks—you had plenty of time to tell me the truth. Why would you lie in the first place?”
“There’s a logical explanation, Lainey. I promise, if you’ll let me explain, it’ll all make sense.”
She continues to wring her hands. “How can I even believe you? What else did you lie about?”
“R
ookie, Lance, you two comin’? We need you for the team picture,” Alex calls from behind me.
Fuck. I forgot that Lance is still here, watching this train derail.
Lainey takes a step back. “I have to get back to work anyway.”
“Just give me another minute,” I call out.
Alex throws an arm over my shoulder, completely oblivious to the tension flaring or Lainey’s anxiety, which I’m far too familiar with. “Sorry to interrupt, but I need to borrow this guy for a minute—can’t take a team picture without the captain.”
“Captain?” Lainey parrots, eyeing me like I’m a stranger and not the man she spent almost six weeks playing house with.
“You being all modest again, man?” Alex slaps me on the chest. “This guy is the best player in the league.”
“Uh, Alex, I think—” Lance tries to interrupt.
“You’re an excellent player too, Romero.” He winks at Lainey. “You did a great job on the tour, especially dealing with the whole dolphin situation.”
“Thank you. That usually doesn’t happen during birthday parties. Typically Dillon waits until evening to get frisky with Daphne.” Lainey takes another step back, muttering something under her breath as her cheeks flush.
“Do you think we can put a hold on the team photo? I need a minute with Lainey. We know each other.” I pin them both with a meaningful look.
Alex’s eyebrows pop, while Lance’s pull down and then shoot up. It would be funny if things weren’t so tense right now. Alex drops his arm and steps back, eyes darting between us. “Sorry, sorry. Sure thing. Liam and Lane are getting antsy to open their presents.”
Lainey’s still trying to back away slowly.
“Please. It’s not what you think.”
Her spine straightens, and she crosses her arms over her chest. “You don’t know what I think.”
A Lie for a Lie Page 11
