Pretending He's Mine

by Mia Sosa

  Kimberly snorts, and my eyes nearly roll out of my head.

  “That’s your mother,” Kimberly says as she rounds the van.

  Julian and I climb into the second row while Izzy and Donovan take the third. My mother clicks her seat belt into place, claps, and looks at Izzy. “Let’s go kick some butt, sweetie pie.”

  Kimberly groans. “Mom, it’s youth soccer. This is about teamwork, growth, personal satisfaction. Winning isn’t everything.”

  My mother draws back. “But it is a thing, right? I mean, winning is the goal of the game, isn’t it? That’s why we keep score, yes?”

  Kimberly grumbles.

  Julian taps Donovan on the knee. “What about you, buddy? No sports for you?”

  Donovan pulls his head out of the book he’s reading. “I don’t like to sweat. It’s uncivilized.” He says this with all seriousness, and I struggle to hold in the laugh that’s bubbling up at the base of my throat. This kid is so speaking my language.

  Julian and I smile at each other, and I want to swoon at the carefree man who’s taken over his body. A few days away from work has done wonders to relax his typically high-strung disposition.

  The soccer field is less than a ten-minute ride away. When we get there, Izzy scrambles over us and exits the car as soon as it stops. Julian gets out and comes around to help my mother out of the van, which only makes me swoon more. Together, we pull out the camp chairs in Kimberly’s trunk. I raise my head at the sound of a vehicle traveling over gravel close by and groan when I see Lydia parking her car.

  Wonderful. Just wonderful.

  “Hey, guys,” she says in a cheery voice. “Thought I’d join you and watch the game.”

  This isn’t a state-of-the-art field by any means. We’ve got grass, two goals, and a bunch of portable chairs along the sidelines. Lydia’s typical scene doesn’t feature sports or dirt, so I’m immediately suspicious of her intentions. “The more the merrier.”

  Up ahead, Kimberly chases after Izzy, who stops in front of a tall man and smiles up at him while she shields her eyes from the sun. Bending to Izzy’s eye level, he ruffles her hair, pats her on the shoulder, and consults his clipboard. Something about him triggers a memory, but I can’t place him.

  Until my gaze settles on his smile. Max Drummond.

  My high school boyfriend.

  For three months, we were inseparable. Believing we were in love, I didn’t hesitate to lose my virginity with him. Two weeks of daily sexcapades later, he dropped me and started dating Lydia. It’s the stuff of a John Hughes film—without the kick-ass soundtrack and Molly Ringwald.

  I’m so annoyed with myself for caring about this silly episode in my life. Still, I can’t pretend to be unaffected by seeing him again. He’s Izzy’s soccer coach. Blech. If there were any rocks around, I’d kick them. Worse, Lydia made a beeline for him and is chatting him up like they’re old friends.

  “Why are you wearing that sour face?” Julian asks.

  I jolt at the sound of his voice. “Oh, it’s nothing.”

  “Oh, it’s something,” he counters.

  Then I remember the reason for this farce. “Ex-boyfriend at twelve o’clock.”

  Julian follows the mental hour hand and leans over. “Amicable breakup?”

  “Not exactly. He ditched me for Lydia.”

  “What a dick,” Julian replies.

  “Trust me, there wasn’t much of that going on, either.”

  Julian hisses and crooks his fingers to mimic fangs. “Damn, you’re poisonous. I’ll have to remember that.”

  I shrug, miffed at the circumstances and irritated by Julian for some inexplicable reason. “I’m guessing I’ll never see your schlong, so you have nothing to worry about.” Oh, that explains my mood. The day’s turned to crap, and I’m sexually frustrated, too.

  Julian chokes on a laugh. “Schlong?”

  I pat him hard on the back, forcing myself not to be grumpy. “Indeed.”

  “I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that.” He straightens and points at Max. “So what’s his deal now?”

  “I have no idea, nor do I want to.”

  Which isn’t exactly true. I’d love to hear that he regrets ever breaking up with me and dating Lydia instead. I’d love to know that if he had to choose all over again, he’d choose me. I freeze in place, stunned by the direction of my musings. Maybe I’m not as mature as I like to think I am.

  “Are you sure you don’t care?” Julian asks.

  I turn my head and peer at him, meeting his knowing gaze. “I shouldn’t care, but I do. How juvenile is that?”

  “It’s not juvenile at all. He hurt you at a time when you were feeling vulnerable. You wouldn’t be human if you weren’t at least curious about what he’s been doing since then. It’s only unhealthy if you let it consume you.”

  I wish I could carry Julian’s wisdom in my pocket and fish it out whenever my insecurities threaten to overwhelm me. Actually, I’d prefer for him to always be available as my sounding board. He’s excellent at it.

  Julian taps my mother on the shoulder. “Mama Williamson, what’s the deal with Izzy’s coach?”

  She looks up at him from her chair. “Max?”

  Julian nods. “Relationship status.”

  “Single as far as I know. Dated a teacher at the high school about a year ago, but I think she moved out of town.”

  He points his chin in the general direction where Max and Lydia are standing. “And what about those two?”

  “They usually avoid each other like the plague,” my mother says. “Not sure what’s different this time.”

  “Huh,” Julian says, studying Max and Lydia with a pensive expression. “She’s competing again.”

  I tilt my head at him. “Who?”

  He thrusts his chin in Lydia and Max’s direction. “Lydia. When it comes to you, everything’s a competition. You have a boyfriend, she steals your boyfriend. You have friends, she ostracizes you to ensure they no longer hang around you. Isn’t that what happened in high school?”

  I nod grimly. “Yeah.”

  “You get a fun job traveling the country, and her mother makes sure to announce her daughter’s been promoted. She’s jealous of you, baby, and you’ve been dealing with it so long you’ve started to think of everything as a competition, too. It’s even spilled over to your relationship with Carter, hasn’t it?”

  I conveniently set aside his observation about my brother and focus on Lydia. “Why would she be jealous of me?”

  “Now don’t get me wrong. You’re nothing special.”

  I clip him on the shoulder. “Watch it now.”

  He snickers as he massages the spot, his eyes squinting in mock pain. “Will you give me a sec? I’m trying to make a point here. The thing is, it’s not about you being different from everyone else. I mean, look at the incredible women at this reunion alone. But for whatever reason, Lydia recognizes all of your great qualities and doesn’t see them in herself.”

  “My great qualities, huh? And what are those?”

  He purses his lips playfully, aware that I’m fishing for a compliment. “Oh, I don’t know. You’re funny as hell, for starters. And you’re down-to-earth. You care about other people’s happiness more than you care about your own. And . . .”

  The things he sees in me will soon render me a puddle of feelings on the ground, and I’m okay with that. But he’s hesitating, too, and I need to know what he doesn’t want to say. “And what? Tell me.”

  He threads his fingers through mine and pulls me closer to him. My gaze locks with his, and a shiver runs through me at the look of hunger I see there.

  “You’re so fucking sexy I can hardly think straight,” he says. “The more time I spend with you, the more time with you I want.” He raises our clasped hands to his mouth and kisses each of my knuckles, one by one.

  We need a room, ASAP.

  “Psst,” my mother says out the side of her mouth. “Ex-boyfriend’s staring. But also, remember w
e’re at a children’s soccer game, okay?”

  Julian laughs. “Don’t worry. We can accomplish what we need to and still keep it PG.”

  Bummer. That’s so boring.

  “Come,” he says. “I think we should say hi to Max before the game starts.”

  Hand in hand, we walk over to the Renegades sideline. At first, I hesitate to approach Max, but Julian gives me a gentle nudge.

  I paste on a smile born of fake confidence. “Max Drummond, is that you?”

  Izzy’s coach adjusts his baseball cap and widens his eyes when he registers that it’s me. The corners of Lydia’s mouth sag when she spots us.

  “Ashley?” he says with excitement in his voice. “No friggin’ way.”

  “It’s me, all right.”

  He directs his charming smile at me, and I forgive myself for being taken in by him at seventeen.

  “Well, if it isn’t the one who got away,” he says. “Never thought you’d come back here long enough for me to see you.”

  That description throws me, but I laugh to cover my confusion. “Right.”

  He swings his gaze between Julian and me, probably trying to gauge the nature of our connection. “Oh, hey. I’m Max.”

  Julian gives him a firm handshake. “Ashley’s boyfriend. Good to meet you.”

  In so many words, Julian has told Max that’s all he needs to know about him.

  “Listen,” Max says to me. “Obviously, I need to coach this game, but I’d love to catch up with you afterward. Just a few minutes of your time?”

  I gulp. Do I want to give him any more of my time? I suppose I could. And while I do that, I can also show him I’m living my best life without him. “Sure, sure. I can spare a couple of minutes.”

  “Great,” he says. Then he lifts the whistle hanging on a cord around his neck and blows into it. “Let’s go, Renegades. Huddle up.”

  The game is entertaining. Izzy is fearless in her defense of the ball, but what makes the day are the few times when her teammates kick the ball into the wrong goal. Max takes it all in stride, encouraging them despite their flubs. A few times, he glances my way as he laughs at a play on the field. In those moments, Julian finds a way to touch me, and it gives me a small thrill to be the subject of his affection, even if it’s aimed at making Max envious.

  At halftime, Julian stands behind me and wraps his hands around my waist. I lean back and rest my head against him, enjoying the solid feel of his body against my backside.

  “Having a good time?” he asks against my ear.

  “I am. It’s great to see Izzy dominate the field. She’s got skills, and she knows it.”

  “Your ex-boyfriend appears to be paying more attention to you than the game.”

  “That’s your fake boyfriend radar.”

  He stiffens, and for a few seconds I wonder if I’ve taken a misstep somehow. But I quickly dismiss the thought when he plants a kiss on my cheek.

  Julian holds me tighter. “I understand you might want to make him jealous, but he doesn’t need to know anything about you. He’s your past, and that’s where he should remain. None of these people matter as long as you’re confident in who you are and where you’re headed.”

  He’s right—in theory. The problem is, while I may be confident in the person I am today, I’m not confident in where I’m headed, and I wonder if I’ll ever be. “If you think that’s all true, why are you working so hard to make him jealous?”

  He pauses before he answers, and I so wish to know what’s going on in his head. Finally, he says, “Because it’s my job and I agreed to the assignment. But I’d be remiss if I didn’t point out that this is busywork.”

  A glance at my mother confirms what I suspected. She’s watching us with interest. If I were in her shoes, I’d be watching us with interest, too. And he’s right, of course. I don’t need Julian to pretend to be my boyfriend. That aspect of the plan was fucked from the beginning, but fessing up to our machinations would make us both look bad, and although I can’t look any worse in the eyes of certain members of my family, I do care what they think of Julian. He doesn’t deserve their snide comments, and I don’t want to open him to their criticism.

  Besides, I’m enjoying this pretend relationship far too much to put an end to the charade now. I still don’t know what to say to Julian’s observation, though. Thankfully, Max blows his whistle again, signifying the start of the second half. I try to focus instead on Izzy’s game, but my brain keeps processing that to Julian, this is just an assignment. Which shouldn’t be such a terrible thing, but I’m shocked to discover that I’m disappointed.

  Twenty minutes of internal angst later, I cheer when Izzy’s team easily wins the game, and then we all rush over to congratulate her. Even her brother gives Izzy a thumbs-up with the hand that isn’t clutching his copy of Dork Diaries.

  After speaking with a few parents, Max jogs toward us. And I have the overwhelming urge not to talk with him. What purpose would it serve? Julian’s right. Lydia showed up to remind me that he chose her almost a decade ago, but why should I care? She’s not my competition, no matter how much she wants to be.

  I tug on Julian’s sleeve. “I think you’re right. He’s in my past. Quick. Can we just go? Let’s meet everyone at the van.”

  Julian smiles and caresses my cheek. “I thought you’d never ask.”

  I’m stunned by the intimate gesture, my plan to sprint to the car derailed by the softness of his touch. But I’m robbed of any prolonged enjoyment when Julian bends his knees and scoops me over his shoulder. I yelp at the unexpected action, although I’m secretly delighted that he can lift me with such ease. Goodness, he’s strong.

  Max calls out my name. “Hey, Ash. I thought we were going to talk?”

  With my ass perilously close to Julian’s face, I raise my head and yell back. “Sorry, Max. There’s been a slight change of plans.”

  “Damn skippy,” Julian says as he strides away like he’s carrying a three-pound bag of apples.

  But there’s another change in plans that Julian might be less enthusiastic about. Because in that moment, I have an overwhelming desire to make this fake relationship real.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Julian

  I SET ASIDE my plate and pat my belly. “Stick a fork in me because I am done.”

  Pushing my torso away from the table, I scan the backyard and the people milling around. Carter and Tori couldn’t have asked for a nicer day for their barbecue. The sun is beaming, and the breezes are strong enough that we’re forced to hold down items on the picnic table with makeshift paperweights.

  We’re now joined by Ashley’s grandparents on her father’s side, as well as a few cousins Ashley said she hardly knows. Although he’s sitting at a different picnic bench from mine, Grandpa James is studying me, his index finger steadily tapping his bottom lip. I pretend not to notice and use my peripheral vision every few minutes to confirm that his attention is still directed at me.

  Ashley nudges me with her shoulder as she wipes her mouth with a napkin. “Hey, Care Bear, I’m going to grab some more of that hand-tossed salad. Want some?”

  I crane my neck to get a good look at her face, but her expression is blank. Still, I know she purposefully emphasized the word hand-tossed. With my eyes narrowed into what I hope are intimidating slits, I lick along the front of my teeth. “You promised there’d be no innuendos, Love Biscuit.”

  She straightens and gives me a sheepish grin. “Sorry, you’re right. I couldn’t resist.”

  “That’s fine. I’ll exact my revenge later.”

  I’m surprised she didn’t refer to the hand-tossing incident sooner. Technically, neither one of us is immune to being ribbed about it, but I’m more disciplined than she is, and I’ve kept my promise not to mention it again.

  Doesn’t mean I’m not thinking about it. Because I am. A lot. The moment Ashley called out my name at the height of her orgasm plays like a song on repeat in my head. It’s the last thing I should
be thinking about hours before our final night together in the same bed. Her brother will be sleeping down the hall, for Christ’s sake.

  You didn’t consider that when you were jerking off next to her, though, right? No, I’m ashamed to admit I did not. In fact, I now realize Carter hasn’t taken up much of my headspace the past few days. There’s no room, not when Ashley’s around.

  “You’re out for revenge, huh?” Ashley asks. As she rises from the bench, she shivers. “Oooh. I’m so scared.”

  A few feet away from us, Tori blows a whistle. “Gather around, folks. It’s time to play football.”

  Ah, revenge is near.

  “Correction,” she continues, holding up a single finger, “it’s time to play flag football.”

  Damn it, revenge is elusive as fuck.

  Collective moans and groans fill the air around me. Tori snaps her brows together and continuously blows the whistle to drown out the complainers. “Did I mention that each member of the winning team will receive a prize?”

  Tori’s announcement sufficiently motivates enough people to make two teams. After Tori and Carter drift away and bow their heads for a private discussion, they return to the circle of potential players and call out the people on their respective teams.

  Kimberly and her daughter, Izzy, are on Carter’s team. They’re joined by Bianca, Carter’s dad, and me. Tori’s band of misfits includes Ashley, Kimberly’s son, Donovan, Anthony, who’s rubbing his hands in his teammate Eva’s face, and Tori’s dad, Pedro, who warns that he won’t mean to trip anyone with his cane but says it might happen nonetheless. Lydia sits on the sidelines with the remaining grown folks but volunteers to keep track of each down.

  Tori and Carter then pass out belts with plastic flags attached to them with Velcro. I’ve never played flag football, but I know the rules are similar to tackle football, except we can’t . . . tackle. This game would be ten times more fun if I could wrestle Ashley to the ground, but I’ll take advantage of any chance to chase after her—especially when she’s wearing shorts that do wonderful things for her round ass and strong thighs.