In Too Deep

by Lexi Ryan

  My body feels bruised and beaten, and I want to text Bailey some more and sleep. But when I climb the stairs and go into the dorm room I’ve been assigned, there’s a naked woman in my bed.

  Given how few naked women have graced any bed of mine lately, I should probably be excited to see her. Objectively, she’s hot. She’s got that perfectly toned body, curves in all the right places—some God-given, some surgically enhanced. Her dark hair cascades down her shoulders, and her swollen lips are pursed in anticipation. But instead of being turned on by the sight of this woman in my bed, I’m thinking I should check the stove for a boiled pet rabbit.

  Glenn Close’s character in Fatal Attraction has nothing on Lindy McCombs.

  “How’d you get in here, Lindy?” I ball my fists at my sides. After all the shit being thrown my way this week, I have no energy for Lindy’s games. “Why are you naked? And what the fuck made you think you were welcome in my bed?”

  She crooks her finger at me and smiles. “Why so many questions? Aren’t there other things you should be doing with your mouth right now?”

  That is just ballsy as fuck, and in this moment, the double standard pisses me off. If I showed up uninvited in a woman’s bed in my birthday suit and started implying she should stop speaking and start using her mouth on me, I’m pretty sure I’d spend the rest of my life on the sexual offenders list.

  But no. When a chick does it, it isn’t crossing the line. It’s sexual confidence, and I’m not supposed to be disturbed or feel like my privacy’s been violated. I’m supposed to be turned on.

  I’m not.

  “Where are your clothes?” I look around the room, ready to grab them off the floor and toss them to her, but they’re nowhere to be found.

  “I thought you’d be happy to see me, so I didn’t wear any.”

  I set my jaw. “You did not walk up here naked.”

  “Nope. I wore a trench coat.” She runs a hand down between her breasts and over her stomach, stopping only when her fingertips are resting at the apex between her thighs. “I think my driver knew I was naked underneath. I think he liked it.”

  “Good. Why don’t you let him give you a ride home?”

  Her eyes blaze, and I know I’m being a dick, but given that she’s naked in my fucking bed, I think it’s fair to say the “gentle rejection” approach isn’t working. Apparently, neither is the “I’m married, so back the fuck off” approach.

  Lindy stares at me for a few long beats. Is she waiting for me to change my mind? Dream on, lady. Sighing heavily, she climbs out of my bed and stomps into the bathroom I share with the guy next door. She might have a few screws loose, but she’s not stupid, and she knows this night isn’t going to unfold the way she planned. When she emerges, she’s wrapped in a long trench coat, and though I hate her being so close, I’m just relieved she’s covered. “Why are you such a dick?”

  I close my eyes and count to five before responding. “I’m married.” And you’re fucking crazy.

  “You’re still punishing me for a decision I made when I was eighteen.”

  My jaw clenches at the reminder. “This isn’t about that. I’m married. I’ve moved on. You need to move on too.”

  “But in April . . .” She saunters toward me and lifts her hand to my jaw. “That night meant something. I felt it. You felt it.” She tries to smile, but it wavers. “You’re telling everyone you and Bailey have been dating since college, but if you really loved her, you wouldn’t have slept with me.”

  “You’re mental,” I mutter. I want to say more. Fuck, I want to go off. But at the end of the day, Lindy has more power over my future with the Gators than I care to think about.

  “She was a stripper, Mason. A stripper who comes from nothing and has everything to gain by marrying you and then hanging you out to dry.”

  Damn my parents and their obsession with digging into all the people in my life. Damn them for telling Lindy everything. Four years ago, they found out I was dating Bailey and did enough research to conclude that she didn’t meet the high standards they’d set for their son. Then they shared that information with Lindy as evidence that she and I should still be together. Not that any of that mattered then. Bailey took it on herself to make sure our relationship never turned into something serious.

  But it fucking matters now if that information is going to make Lindy think that I don’t take my marriage seriously or that she’s welcome in my bed.

  “She’s not a stripper anymore,” I mutter, reaching for the door to hold it open for Lindy.

  “Just know I’m here for you when she gets what she wants and walks away. Until then I’ll be your . . . what was it your dad always called Bailey?” She licks her lips. “Your fuck buddy?”

  “Don’t.” The mental image of her and my dad laughing about my relationship with Bailey makes my stomach sour. Fuck both of them.

  She smirks. “If you didn’t want to be with me, you wouldn’t have taken me home. It’s okay to swallow your pride and admit you want me back.”

  “Don’t kid yourself. We’ve slept together once in the last five years. I’ve never come back to you. And I won’t.”

  Her eyes fill with tears, and she spins away. I wait until I hear the door to the stairwell slam before I allow myself to take a breath.

  There are a few basic rules of personal conduct for NFL players who want long careers, and half start with the words “keep it in your pants.”

  Sleeping with Lindy in an attempt to get over Bailey was like taking arsenic to cure a head cold. Obviously, I’m an idiot.

  I wish I could have met Bailey in Blackhawk Valley to help her load up her stuff and keep her company on the drive back down here, but between her insistence that she didn’t want my help and the fact that I’ll be in deep shit if I miss practice or meetings this week, I had to let her handle it on her own.

  I meet her in the driveway with what I hope is a casual smile. The truth is, I couldn’t be more nervous about our arrangement. We’ve hardly talked since the last time we were together down here, and every time I sent her a text, I got the impression that she was irritated with me. It’s one thing to move her in and get Lindy off my back. It’s quite another to think I might make one of the most stubborn women I know give up her life in Blackhawk Valley.

  Bailey climbs out of the car and stretches onto her tiptoes, her hands reaching high as if she’s trying to grab handfuls of the perfectly blue evening sky. Her shirt creeps up, exposing her tan midriff and making me itch to move closer. To touch. To claim.

  I walk to the trunk, and she cocks her head at me.

  “I can get my own bags.” She pops the trunk and reaches around me to pull out two suitcases. She sets them on the ground before shutting it again.

  “Where’s the rest?”

  “This is it.”

  I look between her and her two modestly sized suitcases. My mom would require more luggage than this for a weekend away. “That’s all you have? For four-plus months?”

  “You have a washer and dryer, don’t you?”

  “I expected you to bring more.” I expected you to move in. But in her mind, this is just a visit. And in my naïve fantasies, it’s forever.

  “I’m low maintenance, remember?”

  I grunt. I’m not touching that. I grab the bags from the ground before she can and lead the way to the front door. I hear the soft pad of her tennis shoes on the tile behind me as I take the bags straight to the master bedroom.

  “So, are you going to chain me to the bed while I serve my time, or am I free to roam the house?” Her words hit my gut hard, and I drop her suitcases and swing around, only to find her smiling.

  “I didn’t ask you to stay with me because I need a play-toy.” Though I could get used to the idea of her tied to my headboard, her eyes watching me and hazy with pleasure as I work my way down her body. That isn’t a bad idea at all. Except that it is. “It’s really hard for you to believe someone might want you for something other than sex, isn�
�t it?”

  “Right,” she whispers, looking around the room. “And you want me because you don’t want your boss to set you up with his daughter. That’s so much better than being wanted for sex.”

  “Maybe I have other reasons, too.” I step forward and take her chin in my hand, forcing her to meet my eyes. I don’t like the pain and betrayal I see in hers. “Don’t you want to be here? Even a little?”

  Her lips part as her gaze drops to my mouth. “I’m here to help.”

  It would be so easy to slide my hand from her chin into her hair, to lower my mouth and coax hers open. We could start day one in bed and stay there until my alarm buzzed for tomorrow morning’s team meeting.

  And if I did, I’d lose any chance of not falling apart when she left me in four months.

  She steps back, seeming to shake off the moment. “I guess I should unpack.”

  I reach out to keep her from turning away, then drop my hand, stopping myself. “Bailey?” When she turns to me, I say, “Thank you for doing this. Thank you for staying here when you’d rather be home. It means a lot.”

  She gives a shaky smile. “What are friends for?”

  I reach into my pocket and pull out the small black velvet jewelry box.

  “What’s that?” she asks, her eyes widening.

  “Your ring.”

  She holds up a hand to show me that she’s wearing the thin gold band I put on her finger in Vegas. “I have a ring.”

  “I thought you should wear something a little more convincing.” I pull the princess-cut diamond solitaire from the box.

  Her breath hitches as I slide it onto her finger. “Is that real?”

  I laugh. “Better be.”

  “What the hell? Why would you waste your money? Are they going to let you return it?” Her voice is laced with panic.

  “It’s not a waste. I promise it’ll hold its value just fine.” I knew she wouldn’t want anything too fussy, but she needed a ring as bold as her personality. I know I bought it with no intention to return or sell it, so I have no idea what will become of it. I’m not willing to look that far into the future yet.

  “Jesus, Mason. What if I lose it or something?”

  “It fits great. I don’t think it’s going to fall off.”

  She stares at it, her eyes wide, and I want a do-over. From the beginning. I would fight harder to win her heart from Nic before he died. I would tell her his secrets instead of trying to protect her from them. I would handle everything differently so we could get here the right way. Married because we wanted to be, not because we were drunk in Vegas. And both of us in love, not her with her heart in the grave with a dead man.

  “Wow,” she whispers. “Just . . . wow.”

  “There’s a party Friday night. Kind of a welcome thing for Lindy. I really don’t want to go, but Bill will be pissed if I skip out.” I watch her as she takes in this information. “Will you come with me . . . as my wife?”

  She finally tears her eyes off her ring and looks up at me. “Of course. That’s what I’m here for, right?” She fidgets with her ring. Normally, Bailey faces the world as if she’s ready to attack, but right now she looks so vulnerable that all I want to do is pull her into my arms and protect her from the people who want her out of my life—the very people I’m asking her to face on my behalf.

  “Are you okay?”

  “I don’t know how to do this.” She grimaces as she meets my gaze. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with myself.”

  “What do you mean?”

  She shrugs. “I’ve worked my whole life. I can’t just move into your fancy house and . . .” She shakes her head. “I don’t even know. What do rich women do? Plan parties? It’s not like you need me to decorate—not that I’d be any good at it if you did.”

  “Do whatever you want to, Bailey. Walk on the beach. Swim in the pool. Join a book club and make some friends. You work all the time. You deserve a break.” She stares at me with a wrinkled nose and curled lip, as if I just suggested she spend her leisure time dining on rodents. “Think of it as an extended vacation.”

  “I think I’ll find a job,” she says. “Will you be embarrassed if your wife is working? Is that, like, a faux pas in your circle?”

  What kind of circles does she think I travel in? Honestly, Keegan’s one of the two guys down here I actually trust, and he’s her best friend too. “I just want you to be happy. You could work the drive-thru at the Taco Bell across 30A if that’s what makes you feel good, but don’t do it because you need the money. I already told you I’d pay you for your time here. You’re doing me a favor, and the least I can do is cover your bills.”

  She rubs her arms as if she’s cold. “I don’t want your money, and I wish you’d quit offering it.” She chews on her lip and turns to look out the sliding glass doors that lead onto the second-floor balcony. “I want to help you, to be by your side and whatever else you need, but I also don’t want people thinking I’m . . .”

  “Thinking you’re what?”

  “Bought and paid for.”

  I flinch, suddenly seeing my offer to pay her as she seems to think others might. “The only thing anyone will know is that you’re my wife.”

  Married life: day one couldn’t be more awkward.

  The only thing breaking the silence at dinner is the sound of our forks clacking against our plates as we eat our takeout. More accurately, as Mason eats and I push my food around. I have no appetite, and the heap of pad thai has cooled on my plate. Mason, on the other hand, seems completely normal. He finishes his inhuman quantities of food and politely sips his water as he waits for me to finish.

  “Is it okay?” he asks. “I can order you something else, or—”

  “It’s fine,” I blurt. “I’m not very hungry because I ate a lot of snacks on the drive. I’m sorry.” I hop up from the table and take my plate and glass to the kitchen, feeling his eyes on me the whole way. I dig through the cabinets to find a storage container for my leftovers. He joins me in the kitchen and rinses his dishes. He loads them into the dishwasher and does the same with mine before I can get to them.

  The tension between us is insane, and I’m embarrassed, because I know it’s mostly one-sided. Mason seems at ease with our arrangement, whereas I feel as if I’m walking a tightrope. When his phone rings, I literally jump.

  He puts a warm hand on the middle of my back. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine.”

  He frowns but doesn’t call my bullshit. “I have to take this. It’s my agent. Make yourself at home, okay?” He puts his phone to his ear and walks into the office, closing the door behind him as he asks, “Any news?”

  I wipe down the counters—not that they need it—and wander around the main floor. I don’t know what to do with myself. I could pull out my laptop to edit some photos and reply to emails, but suddenly, the day’s travel and stress seem to have caught up with me, and I don’t have the energy for that.

  I bite my lip as I stare at the door to Mason’s office. I can’t hear what he’s saying, but the low rumble of his voice on the other side makes something stir in my chest. I’ve been walking around half panicked since the news of our marriage broke. Panicked he would find out the truth about my deal with his father. Panicked that there was no way out of this that didn’t involve him hating me forever. But now it looks like that panic was all for nothing. This doesn’t have to be complicated. I can live here and be the garlic to fend off the vampire would-be bride, and when she leaves, so will I. It’s not that I have an amazing life waiting for me back home, but I sure as hell don’t belong here.

  I decide that the only cure for my mood is pajamas and a movie. I pull out the Wonder Woman sleep set Mia bought me, grab the throw off the back of the couch, and sink into the couch in the living room. I scan the offerings on cable before flipping over to Netflix and choosing The Princess Bride. When in doubt, go with the classic.

  Princess Buttercup is still ordering around the farm boy when
my eyes start to feel heavy. Maybe I’ll turn in early tonight. As soon as Mason gets off the phone, I’ll say goodnight and go to bed.

  I force my eyes back open only to see the movie must have finished, because the TV has flipped over to the menu screen. The clock on the wall tells me it’s after midnight. I’ll take that as a blessing in disguise. As short as it was, marriage, day one, was awkward enough. Night one didn’t need the additional weirdness of getting ready for bed together and trying to figure out how we’re supposed to sleep. He didn’t sleep with me last time I stayed here, but if we’re presenting ourselves to the world as a happy couple, I can only assume we’ll sleep together. Does one snuggle with one’s temporary husband? Or are we supposed to fuck like old times while pretending we don’t have emotions tangled up in it?

  No, this is better. I turn off the television and return the blanket to the back of the couch before heading to the master bedroom. The bedside lamp casts shadows along the far wall and illuminates an empty bed.

  “Mason?” I say softly, which is stupid. I know I’m in here alone. The bathroom door’s open, and I click on the light and look around the gleaming white space as if he might have been hiding in there in the dark, but of course it’s empty.

  I head toward the stairs to check his office and spot a light coming from under the guest bedroom door at the end of the hall. The door is cracked, and I knock softly before nudging it open.

  He clears his throat. “Come in.”

  When I open the door, my breath leaves me in a rush at the sight of him. He’s sitting up in bed, leaning against the headboard. He’s in nothing but a pair of boxers. His broad, dark chest is bare, and his long, muscular legs are stretched out in front of him. He puts his book down on the bed beside him as he looks at me.

  “Is everything okay?” I ask.

  He smiles softly. “Sure. Sorry I was on the phone so long. I was going to say goodnight, but you were sleeping, and I didn’t want to wake you.”