Chapter 49
Being Calm. Like an Adult.
Trace
I think I've been pretty clear that in the past dating wasn't really my thing. I've never had a girlfriend, per se, and I've never been in anything I'd deem a healthy relationship by most people's standards. There have been certain women who I've seen repeatedly over an extended period of time. But I don't think you can call it dating when all of your dates occur in someone's bed. I'd gone out to a meal or two with women, but there was none of the formality of this Del Mar brunch date, casual as it actually was.
So as I walked along the sun-brightened sidewalk with Magalie at my side, I was experiencing a strange sensation that felt a little like happiness, or rightness. It was a first time, and therefore novel, but I felt something a little more extensive than just wonder at doing something new. This, I thought, was how relationships probably got started.
There was a fizzy energy between us, a temptation to let my fingers brush hers as we walked. And there was a desire in me to keep her here, to know her more, to listen to her and to try to tell her who I was. I'd never experienced that before, and it actually made me feel hopeful in a strange way. Like suddenly I understood something new about life. I could see why you'd want to share it, how it might be better that way.
All of these unfamiliar thoughts were dancing through my head as we turned off the main street and wandered down toward the beach, no real destination in mind, both of us quiet. We sat on a bench, and Magalie turned to look at me.
“Trace,” she said. “I need to ask you something.”
I looked down at her next to me, noticing again how small she was. I wanted to pick her up and tuck her into my pocket. “Sure,” I said, feeling more open to questions than I had in a long time. Some combination of the warm sun and Magalie’s comfortable presence had me thinking maybe my sister was right. Maybe I had needed to meet someone, and maybe Magalie was the one.
“This is difficult,” she said, and a little flare of worry sprang to life inside me.
“It’s okay,” I said, facing her fully now.
“It’s just,” she paused and took a deep breath, blowing it out slowly. I waited, my stomach tight. “I didn’t go to Mr. Match to find a real match. I needed to find someone willing to pretend to be my match.”
I wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed, and this wasn’t making sense to me. “I don’t get it. What?”
“I need a fake fiancé.” She let that float there for a second and I tried to process the words, but then she went on. “I need someone who will pretend to be engaged to me when my mother arrives. So I can show her definitively that she cannot control me, cannot force me into a marriage with Henri.”
“Who’s Henri?” I asked. Out of everything she’d just said, for some reason this was the only question I could form.
She sighed, and told me about an arranged marriage, about her mother’s own arranged marriage, about growing up poor because her father hadn’t loved her mother the same way she’d love him. When Magalie stopped talking, I was confused, but one thing was clear—she wasn’t interested in actually dating me.
The worry I’d felt at first had turned into a fist inside me, and it was squeezing my insides painfully now. She just needed me to pretend. Temporarily.
This was nothing new, I realized. Just another version of the same story—I’m good for a short time, to fulfill a purpose. And then I can pack everything into a trash bag and move on. I should have been used to it.
“Yeah,” I said, pushing that thought away. “I can do that. To be honest, this is a shitty time for me to think about much besides soccer anyway. We’re in line for playoffs and the team is maybe gonna get sold.”
The worry that had creased Magalie’s brow eased when I said this. “Really? So maybe this works well for both of us?”
The more I thought about it, the more I thought maybe it did. “Yeah, actually. This will get my sister off my back—though I’m not sure how she’ll handle me being engaged before she is.”
“Maybe you don’t tell her? We don’t have to announce it. It’s just for my mother,” she suggested.
“Your mom must be really scary,” I said.
“You have no idea.”
My mind was a swirl and I knew it was going to take a while for me to sort through all the confusion going on up there. I tried to keep the smile on my face, keep things light, even though the light hopeful feeling I’d had before had disappeared. “So, do you need like, a ring?”
She shook her head. “Non,” she said. “Nothing like that. Just maybe for you to come around a few times when Maman is here? To convince her?”
I nodded. “Okay. I can do that.”
We sat side by side for a moment, both of us thinking, staring out at the Pacific heaving beyond the beach. My stomach hurt, but I wasn’t sure if it was the excessive brunch I’d eaten or the understanding that even Mr. Match couldn’t find someone who actually wanted to give me a chance to stick around for a while.
“Well,” I said. “What now?” I tried to sound cheerful.
“Trace,” she said, her eyes searching mine. “Is this insane? Maybe it’s a terrible idea.”
I kind of agreed that it was, but we’d already decided. I liked her, I knew that much. If this was what she needed from me, I could do it. “It’s fine,” I said, trying to hide the confusion still twirling in my mind.
“I don’t know.” She shook her head and dropped her head into her hands, sounding like she might cry. She turned to look at me, something sad and liquid in those big brown eyes. “I feel terrible. I think maybe this is a bad idea.” There was something in those big eyes, in her voice, that softened the hurt inside me.
“It’s fine,” I said. “I really do need to focus on work right now.” My voice was steady and even I believed it a bit. “This is easier.”
“The thing is,” she dropped my gaze, chewed her bottom lip. “I had hoped I would meet you and maybe I wouldn’t like you. Or maybe you’d have come for the same reason, to fool a girlfriend or make her jealous or get the media to leave you alone. I’d hoped I wouldn’t feel anything. It would make it easier.”
She felt something? A tiny spark of hope tried to reignite, but I stomped it out.
I stared at her. I had no idea what to do with any of this. I had been hoping for an entry-level date, and I’d somehow stumbled into some kind of graduate-level pseudo-dating shit with a woman I suspected I could actually really like. Way over my head.
“So,” I said, standing up. “Do we need to do any other pre-work? Ahead of your mom coming? When does she get here?”
“Two weeks,” she said, still sounding sad.
“So we need to come up with a story. A plan.”
She nodded absently, like her mind was somewhere else.
“Okay, so . . . um, we might need to get together again to figure that all out. Unless you want to just do it now.”
“No,” she said, meeting my eyes again. “It would make sense to get to know one another a bit, spend some time together.”
Here’s the thing. My head knew what she had said. This was all for show and there was no plan for any kind of emotional investment. Easy peasy. But my heart was telling me something else. That stupid jerk was telling me that if I looked into Magalie’s eyes, I could see the doubt there, that I could see the same fledgling feelings for me that I had for her. My heart believed Mr. Match didn’t just throw people together willy-nilly, and it was suggesting that there was something here whether we wanted it or not.
“Okay, well. Shall I ask you on a fake date then?”
She chuckled, a low sexy sound that drew me in, made me drop my head slightly on instinct, getting nearer to her.
“I guess you know I’ll accept.”
There was a tension between us, and I had that certainty of feeling—that if I moved just an inch closer, we were going to kiss. My head was buzzing and my nerves made my skin feel prickly. We weren’t supposed to kiss, right?
Not in this fake-relationship scenario. Nothing made any sense suddenly.
Magalie’s eyes reached for mine and drew me in. She lifted her chin, leaning closer, and my hand slipped around to cup the back of her head through all that glorious hair. Her small hand came up to catch my jaw, resting there on the side of my face for a long second before a little sigh escaped her mouth. It was so close to a sexy little moan that I felt parts of my body jump to attention suddenly, wondering what the hell was happening here.
My mind didn’t understand anything, so my heart pushed it out of the way and took over, closing the space between us and kissing her gently, pressing my lips to hers and tasting her.
She responded immediately, pressing herself nearer to me, and my other arm went around her back as her hand found my waist. Her mouth opened beneath mine, and I teased at her top lip with my tongue, going slowly, testing. Magalie imitated the action, her own tongue meeting mine.
The sound of the waves, the cries of the birds, the noise of the gentle ocean breeze—it all stopped, and the whole world came to a standstill while I kissed a beautiful French girl on a bench in front of the ocean.
After a few minutes, I pulled away, needing a breath. Her cheeks were flushed and she was so, so beautiful in that moment, I thought I would give her absolutely anything she wanted if she would just stay close.
But my mind finally woke up, and I stepped back. “Oops,” I said, taking another step. “That’s definitely not part of the act, right?”
She looked as confused as I felt. “Non,” she whispered. “I’m so sorry, Trace. This whole thing is a terrible idea.”
It was. It definitely was. And I should have walked away right then. But the idea of never seeing her again suddenly felt so much worse than the idea of standing next to her and pretending to be engaged.
“It’ll be fine,” I said. “That was part of the getting to know you phase, right?”
She shook her head, the curls dancing around her face. “I don’t know.”
“Go out with me again. We’ll have dinner tomorrow night. We’ll figure everything out.”
She still looked uncertain. “Trace, you don’t have to do this. I’m so sorry. It’s such a bad plan—”
“You’ll see,” I said, my voice full of a certainty I didn’t feel. “It’ll be fine. Tomorrow? Dinner?”
She nodded, and my stupid heart lifted. She was right. We should have just said goodbye and forgotten the whole thing. Instead, we made plans to meet in Carlsbad for dinner the next night.
Chapter 50
Man of Steel
Magalie
I hadn’t meant to kiss Trace, or to let him kiss me.
But there was something so natural about it, so easy. And the truth was, I hadn’t been kissed in a long time, and maybe I’d never been kissed like that. He was sweet and careful, but there was no mistaking his masculinity. Maybe it was the sheer size of him. It was hard to forget he was a man when his arms wrapped me like steel girders and his chest was a warm wall against me.
I melted into him and then pulled away, breathless.
As I looked up into his face, I thought I perceived the same surprise I felt, and the way his eyes stayed on my lips a few seconds after the kiss told me it had affected him in other ways too.
I should have ended it all right there. It was clear there might be something between us, something chemical, as Mr. Match promised. But it wasn’t the right time for either of us. I should have refused dinner, told him I was sorry. But the thought of not seeing him again was too hard. And there was still the problem of my mother.
I turned my mind to the fact that Maman was coming, and if I didn’t show her that there was absolutely no room in my life for her meddling now, she would continue to try to find ways around my protests. And if Trace was willing to pretend, I was certain my mother would finally see that there was no hope that she could control my life. She couldn’t force me into a safe marriage with someone I didn’t love to “protect” me from getting hurt.
It all made sense. I had to stick to the plan.
Didn’t I?
Chapter 51
Spidey Sister
Trace
I liked this girl.
And that was bad.
“So she’s pretty?” Erica asked when I got home.
My head was such a mess it was almost impossible to speak. “Yeah, very pretty.”
“So you’re going to see her again?”
“Dinner. Tomorrow.”
Erica stepped in front of me. I had been standing with one hand holding the refrigerator door open, though I was still full from brunch. I was staring into the space, not seeing anything but Magalie’s glowing eyes. “What aren’t you telling me?”
I stepped back and closed the door, forcing my thoughts to stop spinning. “Nothing, sis. All’s good. I’m seeing her again. Thought that would make you happy.”
“It does,” she said, turning and picking up a glass to rinse at the edge of the sink. “I just have this feeling you’re hiding something.”
“Your Spidey senses are off,” I said. Man, her Spidey senses were good. “I gotta work out.” I strode past her, headed for my room upstairs. If I talked to her five more minutes, I’d definitely tell her everything. And I had enough issues without my sister going all Terminator on my French fake fiancée.
I texted Magalie directions to the restaurant. I was going to meet her in Carlsbad this time, and have dinner at a seafood place I knew—the kind festooned with glass bouys and nets and plastic lobsters. Fancy.
I passed the next day doing my best to think about as little as possible beyond the workout I was getting in and the game next weekend. I wasn’t going to obsess. Not about our last loss, not about the sale of the team, not about the ache that wouldn’t quit in my shoulder, and not about this girl. This was exactly what I didn’t need—another thing to steal my focus from the game. Once we ironed out the details, this would be easy. Fake engagement, handled. Then I could just stay on a clear path toward playoffs. But there could definitely be no more kissing.
When I arrived at the restaurant, I felt calm and relaxed, and when Magalie arrived just behind me, sweeping in through the swinging door just as the hostess took my name, I felt a huge smile cover my face before I remembered that this was basically a business meeting.
She was gorgeous—dressed in a flowing pink dress that wrapped her curves perfectly, a little white sweater, and high-heeled sandals. There was something about her style that was just a tiny bit foreign, and I liked it. She wasn’t like other women I’d known, and this was just part of her uniqueness.
“Hi,” I said stiffly.
“Hi,” she said. She moved in close and actually kissed the air next to each of my cheeks. “This is how the French say hello.”
“Oui oui,” I said in my best French accent before I could stop myself.
Luckily, she laughed and her eyes twinkled as she looked up at me. I restrained myself and didn’t add the creepy French bad guy movie laugh that was climbing up my throat.
The hostess took us to our table, and we sat, watching each other with hesitant smiles.
“So,” I said, wondering what exactly was supposed to happen next.
“Trace,” she said. “I still think this is a bad idea. I should never have asked. Maybe we could just forget it?”
I shook my head. “Nope. It’s fine. I’m helping you, you’re helping me. My sister will stop hounding me to meet someone, but I don’t have any of the drama of an actual relationship. It’s perfect.”
Magalie opened her mouth to say something, but the waitress arrived just then in a somewhat spectacular fashion, tripping and knocking my water glass into my lap, freezing my junk on contact. I couldn’t help the little howl I let out, and I jumped up as the waitress took a towel and began trying to dry the area while apologizing profusely.
“Oh my God, I’m so sorry. It’s my first night,” she said, looking up at me and then seeming to realize she was bending
down and dabbing at my junk.
I smiled, hoping to let her off the hook a bit. “It’s fine,” I said, drying my seat with napkins and then sitting back down.
“Oh my God. Oh no. You’re Trace Johnson.” The waitress was standing beside us now, holding her wet towel in her hands as other diners turned back to their food.
Magalie watched all this with wide eyes.
“I’m so sorry, Mr. Johnson. Oh God.” The waitress might have offered a drink or maybe brought us some bread at that point, but instead she spun on her heel and basically sprinted away.
“Are you all right?” Magalie asked.
“It’s fine. I didn’t get time for a shower earlier, so a rinse was probably in order.” When her expression turned uncertain, I laughed. “Kidding. I totally took a shower. But that was refreshing too.”
“That poor girl,” she said, looking in the direction the waitress had fled.
“Poor her?” I asked. “I’m soaked over here.”
“She’s so embarrassed,” Magalie said, her voice full of empathy. “She’s so young.”
A moment later, the waitress returned, her face bright red. “I’m so sorry. Again. I mean . . .” she shook her head. “I tried to switch, to get you a better server. It’s my first night, and I just—”
Magalie interrupted her. “You’re doing fine,” she said. She put out her hand and shook the waitress’s hand. “I’m Magalie. This is Trace. Just treat us like old friends,” she suggested.
“Um. I don’t know if I can do that. I . . . okay,” the girl said, looking between us. “I’m Andie.”
“Cool,” I said, admiring the way Magalie had made her feel at ease, calmed the poor girl’s nerves so easily.
Andie gave me a quick glance again, her cheeks still bright red, then directed her words at Magalie. “Did you guys want some drinks?” Andie asked. “The sangria is really good. I promise not to spill it on you.”
Mr. Match: The Boxed Set Page 25
