In Too Deep

by Lexi Ryan

  My wife. My lips curl into a smile despite myself. Sure, she’s pissed at me and making me sweat my decision to release that wedding video to the press, and sure, my plans might royally backfire. But right now, all I can think about is getting Bailey out of Blackhawk Valley.

  Maybe living here won’t change anything. Maybe she’s so dead-set on wasting her life in that town that no amount of time will convince her to leave for good, but I’m determined to give it a try.

  When my phone rings and I see Mom’s name on the screen, I close my eyes and take a long, slow breath before swiping to accept the call. I knew this was coming, since I didn’t call to warn her before the video was released. I knew avoidance wasn’t the most mature way to handle it, but I didn’t want to hear her thoughts on my impulsive Vegas marriage.

  “Hey, Mom.”

  “Hey, baby. I just saw the news.” I can hear the tears in her voice, and I feel like an asshole. Mom is emotional when it comes to her kids, and even if I don’t agree with the way she sees things, she does love us. “Your father wants you to know you can get an annulment. People get married in Vegas on a whim all the time and they have ways to fix it. It’d be like it never happened.”

  I walk to the back of the house and stare out the French doors to the ocean beyond. I count to ten before I let myself respond. I have to tread carefully here. “I don’t want an annulment.”

  “Yes, well, you always did have a weakness for that girl, didn’t you?”

  Mom doesn’t understand, and I have no interest in wasting my breath to explain. “Her name is Bailey, but you already know that.”

  “I just don’t think you were considering your future, and—”

  “I know what I’m doing, Mom.”

  “That girl was a stripper, Mason.” She says the word as if it’s an unclaimed pair of dirty underwear she’s holding between two fingers to take to the trash. “You don’t know what kind of diseases she’s carrying, or—”

  “Jesus. She’s a woman, not a rodent.”

  “Please don’t take the Lord’s name in vain,” she says calmly. “I’m just saying. We’ve been blessed with wealth, and there are certain types of people who like to take advantage of that.”

  “Do you see why I didn’t tell you?” I ask softly.

  “We’re only looking out for your best interests, Mason. All your father and I have ever wanted is what’s best for you. I’m afraid to ask, but . . .” She pauses for a beat, but I know her question before she asks it. “Was there at least a prenup?”

  “That wasn’t offered with the super-value wedding package, Mom.”

  “You’re hilarious,” she says.

  “I don’t want a prenup or need one.” I squeeze the back of my neck, where the tension has returned with a vengeance.

  “Well, now you have her. I’ll be here when you need me, but I wish you’d listen before she hurts you more than she already has.”

  “Mom, I need you to back off on this.”

  She’s silent for a few beats, and I hear the clinking of ice against a glass. I imagine her sitting under an umbrella by the pool, swirling her cucumber water in one hand, her phone in the other. “You need to remember that your decisions affect other people,” she says. “I won’t say anything more about it.”

  “Just trust me.” Because one way or another, when this is all over, I’ll prove Bailey is not who they think she is. When it’s time for us to part ways, I know she won’t take my money. “I know what I’m doing.”

  God, I hope I’m right about that. Mom might be worried about my bank account, but the only thing I’m worried about Bailey stealing is my heart.

  Someone honks out front, and I go to the front porch. It’s Keegan in his big SUV. The guys call it his man-van, since it was obviously purchased with his daughter, Jasmine, in mind.

  “I have to go, Mom. We’ll talk later.”

  “Love you,” she says.

  “I love you too. Try not to worry.”

  I end the call, and Keegan rolls down his window and sticks his head out. “Did you get my text?”

  “I did. But I’m not sure Bailey will want me interrupting her girls’ night.”

  “Come on! If you recall, the last time we went clubbing with our ladies, things got interesting.”

  I grunt. “You can say that again.” Then I sigh, because really, if Bailey is drinking in Destin, someone needs to keep an eye on her, and I’d just as soon it be me. “I’ll meet you there. I want my car.”

  He grins. “Deal.”

  I felt bad about my shouty caps in my messages to Mason for about five minutes, but when it became painfully clear that he’d reverted to his habit of not texting back, I decided the man deserved way worse than shouty caps and ordered another round of snakebites.

  “I take it this means you didn’t know about the video?” the hot guy says. He hasn’t lost interest, despite the fact that I’m married or that I’ve been obsessed with my phone since Mia texted me.

  “That it existed, or that the whole world was going to see it?” I ask.

  “Either?” He looks way too amused, his blue eyes crinkling in the corners, but I guess the situation might seem funny to anyone who’s not me.

  “Nope and nope,” I say. The bartender slides the second round of shots in front of Emma and me, and I take this one with much less hesitation. Oh, look. I’m at a bar drinking irresponsibly, just like my sister thought I would be.

  “I’m Hayden Owen,” the hot guy says, offering his hand to Emma then me. “But the guys just call me Owen. I play wide receiver for the Gators.”

  “Nice to meet you, Owen,” I say. “I’m Bailey.”

  “Mason’s wife,” he says, as if he’s just trying to make me say it.

  I grumble under my breath. What does Mason mean, he leaked our story? Why? Did I give him the impression that I’d made my decision? “So, I guess this means you saw the video?”

  “Sure did.” He stands and drags his stool around Emma so he’s positioned between us. “It’s so nice to meet the girl Dahl spent his rookie season moping over. He was one lovesick puppy.”

  Emma gives me a knowing look, but I snort. “I doubt he was moping, but if he was, I wasn’t the reason.”

  “Hmm.” Owen drums his fingers on his thigh. “You sure about that?”

  “How do you know he was lovesick?”

  “There are three types of rookies.” He ticks them off on his fingers. “There’s the type who’s got Jesus in his heart and avoids the bars altogether. You know, the not today, Satan folks. Then there are the ones who revel in the groupies. Any time the guys are out, they’re gonna go. And they’re always going home with a different face.”

  “That sounds like Mason,” I say, thinking of the guy I knew my freshman year—the guy he was before we started sleeping together. He did have a reputation, but I guess that all ended after me.

  Owen grunts. “Yeah, right. Not since he’s been a Gator, at least.”

  “So what category did Mason fit into?” Emma asks, leaning forward. She’s loving this.

  He grins. “He was the newly married, pussy-whipped boy. Those guys run home every night to their wives because they’re scared of them or because they truly believe there’s nothing better out there.” He shrugs. “Doesn’t really make a difference to me.”

  “He wasn’t married his rookie season.” I grab my water off the counter and drink. I’m not quite as irresponsible as my sister thinks. “We only got married a couple of months ago.”

  “Maybe you weren’t officially together,” Owen says. “But that guy? He never wanted to go out, and when we did, I couldn’t even get him to look at the girls who were trying so hard for his attention. I thought, hey, maybe the brother’s gay.”

  I laugh despite myself. “You thought Mason was gay?”

  “In my experience, if a man isn’t interested in a sexy woman trying to get him in her bed, there’s a reason. I even sent a couple of my friends his way, thinking I was doing him
a favor. Guys don’t come out in the NFL like they do in other walks of life, so it was possible. But they all said no—Mason definitely didn’t bat for their team. Now I’m meeting you, and it’s all coming together.”

  I shouldn’t like hearing this. I mean, it’s probably not true, right? And if it is, I definitely shouldn’t want it to be. But tell that to the giddy buzz in my belly. “You’re full of ideas, aren’t you, Owen?”

  He grins and taps his head. “Yeah, I’m the brains of this operation.” He looks me over. “You’re easy on the eyes. I can see why he passed on all the pretty girls.”

  I feel someone watching me and turn to see Mason just inside the doors of the bar. He’s talking to Keegan, but he’s looking at me with intense and searching eyes that make my skin flush. Or is that the alcohol?

  God, Mason looks edible tonight. His worn jeans are slung low on his hips, and his arms are likely to bust out of that shirt.

  Owen follows my gaze and gives a low whistle. “I used to have something like that.”

  Reluctantly, I pull my gaze off Mason to look at Owen. “Like what?”

  He gives a sad smile. “A connection so intense that other people could feel it when we were in the same room.” He waves a hand between Mason and me. “What you two have is special. Don’t throw it away.”

  “What happened to her?” Emma asks.

  Owen looks surprised that she asked, then shakes his head. “She didn’t have the courage to stay. And I didn’t have the courage to go after her.”

  I want to ask what that means, because Owen intrigues me, and I’d rather sit here and listen to his stories than deal with the drama that’s unfolding in my heretofore simple life. But Owen’s contemplation of his beer tells me he’s not interested in sharing any more, and Mason’s on his way over anyway.

  “You think I’m going to let you monopolize my wife all night?” Mason asks. He stands behind me and settles his hands on my waist, dipping his head briefly to kiss my shoulder.

  I turn to meet his eyes—what is he doing?—and he winks at me. Right. Because everyone knows we’re married now, and so we have to play the part.

  But I’m warm from the tequila, and my heart is all soft from Owen’s description of Mason’s rookie year, so being this close feels way too good to be safe. I slide off the stool and stand on the other side of it, facing the group.

  Keegan joins us next, wrapping an arm around Emma’s waist and whispering something in her ear that makes her blush.

  “I need her to tell me your secrets,” Owen says, looking at me as he talks to Mason.

  Mason arches a brow. “My secrets?”

  “Yeah. How does an ugly mug like you get a girl like her to marry you?”

  Mason grunts. “Lots of alcohol and luck.” His eyes skim over me with so much intensity that I blush. “A lot of luck.”

  “That was my guess. Now go away.” Owen waves a hand. “I’m busy laying the groundwork with your woman so when she ditches you, I can take your place.”

  “You wouldn’t have a clue what to do with her,” Mason says, obviously unoffended by Owen’s prediction.

  “It’s true,” I say. “But to be fair, I have yet to meet a man who does.” Really, I just want Owen to stop talking about me and Mason. I haven’t even decided if I’m going to play along yet, so I haven’t exactly taken time to iron out our cover story. Are we going to have one? He isn’t really planning to tell people we accidentally got married, is he?

  “I think she likes me, Dahl,” Owen says. “Watch out.”

  I roll my eyes at Owen. “You do make me laugh.”

  “Did you show her the size of your penis?” Mason asks before looking at me. “That makes all the girls laugh.”

  I punch Mason in the shoulder. “Shut up and dance with me.”

  He drags his gaze over me and my stomach flips. He grins. “As you wish.”

  I was trying to get away from the conversation about my marriage, but the second we hit the dance floor and Mason pulls me into his arms, I realize my mistake. He’s such a good dancer, and we’ve always moved effortlessly well together. He slides one hand to the small of my back and the other into my hair, and I want to press as close to him as possible. If dancing is my excuse to touch him, I hope we can stay here all night.

  “If you move down here, I might have to spend my whole summer fighting off my teammates,” he says.

  “Owen was just being goofy.”

  He shakes his head. “Nah, he knows a good thing when he sees it.”

  I still my hips in the middle of a dance floor full of swaying bodies. Courtesy of the tequila and how damn good Mason looks in a pair of worn jeans and a fitted T-shirt, I completely forgot that I was angry with him. “You promised you’d keep our secret.”

  “You said you didn’t want to take the focus off Mia before her wedding. The wedding is over.” He tilts his head, studying me. “Was there another reason for the secrecy?”

  I tunnel my hands into my hair. There isn’t any way I can answer that without some shitty consequences. “Do I have to live with you?”

  He cocks a brow. “It’d be a little more convincing if you did, yeah.”

  “I have a job, you know. A life in Blackhawk Valley. Can’t you just tell them it’s a long-distance marriage?”

  “You run a bar, Bailey. Pretty sure Keegan can find someone to cover for you.”

  He’s right, and Emma even said as much at dinner, but from him and delivered like that, it burns. “Fuck you too.”

  “I’m not trying to be an asshole.” He draws in a ragged breath. “It would mean a lot to me if you’d move in. Much more convincing if my wife isn’t living six hundred miles away.”

  “Four months?”

  “Give or take.” He studies me. “Keep in mind, I’m gone at least ten hours a day most days, and I’ll be out of town for games almost half of those weekends. What’s the holdup? Afraid you’ll fall for me?”

  His tone is light and teasing, as if the idea is laughable, but is that really what he thinks? The lighting is shoddy in here, and while I can see his face, I can’t see it well enough to make out the nuances of his expressions. But to be fair, even the brightness of the midday sun wouldn’t give me what I’m looking for. Ever since the first time I told him I wasn’t his girl, Mason’s been too guarded to show his true emotions. “You haven’t slept with me in almost three years because you want more. Maybe I’m afraid you’ll fall for me.”

  Grinning, he spins me in his arms and pulls my back to his front. Instinctively, I start dancing, following his lead through the song. “Not a chance,” he says into my ear. His breath is warm, and his mouth lingers by my neck. His hand slips under my shirt and his thumb grazes over my navel, sending a delicious shiver through me. “I’m immune to you now. Years of practice.”

  I’m too intoxicated by the rhythm of his hips and the stroke of his thumb along the waistband of my jeans to press the issue. I lean my head back into his chest, and we dance. His face is tucked into the crook of my neck, and I can feel the heat of his breath against my skin.

  One song leads into the next before I realize we’ve been spotted. Mason might not think he’s much of a celebrity, but around here, he’s like royalty. I count at least three cell phones held in our direction, and there are probably more that I can’t see through the crowd.

  I spin in his arms and look up at him. His eyes are hazy, his lips parted. He was just as affected by our dance as I was. Satisfaction pools in my belly. “They’re watching.”

  His eyes flick away from mine, and his chest expands with a deep breath as he scans the room and realization dawns.

  “Think they’ve seen our wedding video?” I ask him.

  “Probably,” he says. He shakes his head. “But that’s not why I was dancing with you. I just missed it.”

  My breath catches as I think of the night we officially met. The party. The dancing. The hours after. “They’re still looking,” I say, when I pull back to meet his eyes. �
��What do you want them to see?”

  His gaze drops to my mouth. “That’s up to you, Bailey.”

  “This doesn’t mean I’m moving in with you.” I link my arms behind his neck. “I haven’t decided yet.”

  “Understood.”

  I lift onto my toes because even with him bent down, I have to stretch to close the distance to his mouth. When my lips meet his, maybe the stars I see are from the flashes of the cell phone cameras around us, but more than likely it’s just a sign of business as usual for me. This is the way I’ve always reacted to Mason.

  He makes it good, slowly siding his tongue against my lips before opening over me and tilting my head back just so as he deepens the kiss. I know the crowd is watching, and I shouldn’t let myself feel this too much. Whether or not I move in with him, this is the least I can do for Mason. Even if I don’t come back after training camp, even if this is the last time we’re in the same room before quietly dissolving our marriage, this kiss should help him convince everyone who needs convincing—for now, at least—that he is a happily married man.

  When he breaks the kiss, he gasps in my ear. “Fuck, you taste good.”

  “That’s tequila,” I say, and his warm body rocks against mine as he chuckles. “And you promised a kiss didn’t mean anything.”

  “I didn’t promise I wouldn’t feel anything. I’m a guy, Bailey, and the hottest girl in the room just kissed me. I’d be more worried if I didn’t feel anything.”

  I bite back a smile. I’ve missed his flirtation. Before he gave up on me, I used to get it all the time. And then I hated that it was gone, missed his attention, and I’d tease him about his determination to stay out of my bed. In retrospect, that was a really shitty thing to do when I knew I couldn’t have him. But I just wanted anything I could get. I didn’t want to lose him completely. I still don’t.

  Is that why I’m actually considering four months as his wife? If I do this, there will be hell to pay.

  One PG-13 kiss, and she’s frazzled. Her cheeks are flushed, her lips are swollen, and she’s looking at me like I walk on water. I could take her to bed right now and happily keep her there for a week. It’s been too damn long. But I won’t. I know from experience that it wouldn’t mean anything to her, and that inevitably pisses me off.