Page 22 of Diamonds Are a Girl’s Best Friend (Catching Feelings #1)

“ Mrs. Carville is sitting right here,” Kayla says, using a firm tone with Loretta for the first time.

“Of course I support Sean. I plan to be on the front row of everything he does in life. It doesn’t matter if it’s for the Arsenal, the Blue Collars, behind the bar, or making omelets at home on a random Tuesday morning.

If Sean’s there, I’m there, with pom poms, foam fingers, foghorns—whatever he needs.

No one will cheer louder for my husband than me. ”

My chest constricts, hearing her say all of this. I don’t know if I’m more proud of her for finally defending herself, or if I’m aching because she’s standing up for me.

This ache …

It’s nothing I’ve felt before.

It’s hope and possibility, but it’s also the ache of countless years spent being needed but never chosen. Wanted for what I could offer, not for who I am.

And here’s Kayla, saying the words I’ve craved all my life—words that soothe like a balm and hit like a branding iron all at once.

Because what we have isn’t real.

Yet, if it’s not real, why are her eyes shimmering with righteous indignation?

And when did she stand up? She’s looking down on the women, not in a condescending way, but in a way that shows she’s done shrinking for them.

They pushed her too far.

She’s almost glowing in all her power, but then she looks at me, and the fire in her eyes mellows to a soft, steady roar.

The smile she gives me is quiet; nothing showy about it.

“I will do anything for Sean. Knowing him has changed my life. If y’all think I won’t paint my face for trivia night if he’s competing, you clearly haven’t been paying attention. ”

I chuckle and stand up, pleased to see the two women speechless, but not humiliated.

Eunice recovers first. “Well, that’s nice to hear.” Then something sparks in her own eyes. Amusement, maybe, or a challenge. “Our friends from Sugar Maple meet us at the bar every Friday night for trivia. Can’t wait to see you two there.”

Kayla laughs. “I’ll be the one in face paint.”

“Pleasure seeing you both,” I say, giving them hugs. Kayla hesitates for half a second, then steps forward and hugs them both, too. She’s stiff, but not cold. Like she’s still learning the dance but knows practice makes perfect.

We take our smoothies into my truck, where I open the door for Kayla. Once I’m next to her in the cab, she laughs and bumps her head into my shoulder.

“Did I just agree to wear face paint to trivia every Friday?”

“I think you did.”

“I’ve never worn face paint in my life.”

“Looks like we have another errand to run. Some honeymoon,” I tease.

She laughs against me again, and I don’t know if it’s the possibility that we might be watched or if it’s because it’s the most natural thing in the world, but I put an arm around her and plant a kiss on top of her head.

“You know, we haven’t kissed yet today,” she says.

“Is that an offer?”

“Just a statement.”

Before I can talk myself out of it, I put my finger under her chin and tip her face up to mine.

And I put my lips on hers.

Soft, warm, and so inviting, I almost think she could want this as much as I do.

I pull her lip into my mouth, grateful for this ruse. For this marriage.

Because I could never be this bold without it.

I’ve been halfway smitten by Kayla Carville from almost the moment we met. Definitely from the moment I found out she broke up with Aldridge. I saw her at that Lucy Jane concert a couple of months ago—my brother was playing with LJ, after all.

But I talked myself out of talking to her. Instead, I watched her from the other side of the VIP section, wishing I were the kind of guy who could go after the girl. The kind of guy who played offense, for a change.

If she hadn’t kissed me last week, where would we be now? I’d be watching her pack up and leave town without ever having the courage to ask her to stay.

I still can’t believe I asked her to marry me.

I still can’t believe she said yes.

My hand is on her cheek and my mouth is still on hers, and something in the kiss shifts, like our mouths have found a rhythm and neither of us wants it to stop.

Her fingers on my cheeks stroke my beard. I used to hate how Serena touched my beard. She’d always go against the grain.

But Kayla instinctively moves her fingers with it, smoothing my beard down, almost like a massage. It’s better than someone playing with my hair.

I slide my hand down her back, and suddenly it’s not enough. Just kissing this woman isn’t enough.

And that’s why I force myself to stop.

I pull back, and her eyes fly open, wild and unfocused and …

Hungry.

Her cheeks redden, but she doesn’t hide her face. “Well. There’s our kiss for the day.”

“Ouch. Downgraded to one per day, huh?” I say, pulling out of the parking space.

“A kiss like that might be once per week.”

“That wasn’t in the contract.”

“There was no contract,” she says, leaning into my chest. I put my arm around her shoulder.

“There was an agreement. Once per setting. The way I see it, we’re a couple short for the day.”

I can feel her smile against my chest.

We’re halfway home when my phone rings in the cupholder.

I ignore it, but Kayla says, “Sean, you should probably answer. It says ‘Coach Otto.’”

My fingers on her back go from hot to cold, like ice is spreading through my veins. I put the phone up to my ear. “Otto, good to hear from you,” I say.

Kayla sits upright, her eyes on mine.

“Sean, how are you?” he asks. The Arsenal’s goalie coach has a friendly tone, but his voice takes the happy haze I’ve been in all day and replaces it with an icy anxiety.

“I’m good,” I say. “I got married yesterday, in fact.”

Why did I tell him that? Why was that the first thing out of my mouth?

I feel like a little kid showing my dad a scribble and wanting him to be proud.

That scribble is my marriage. It’s not real art, and it’s definitely not portraying the image in my head, the image that’s too rapidly making its way to my heart.

“And we weren’t invited?” Otto actually sounds surprised by this. Why? I’m not their real goalie. Chances are, I’ll never see these guys again.

“I figured you all had better things to do,” I say.

And I realize it’s the truth. I didn’t think about inviting them, but if I had, I’m sure I would have talked myself out of it.

They don’t need me or want me for anything anymore.

Their starting goalie is already in recovery post-surgery, and their backup is rock solid.

Out of the corner of my eye, Kayla looks stiffer. A quick glance tells me she looks—shoot, is she hurt?

“It was fast,” I add for her benefit. And Otto’s, I guess. “But mostly, I’m an idiot. Sorry, Otto.”

“No need to apologize. If you have a bigger party, though, please let us know.”

Does he mean that? Does he really think they would have come?

“I will,” I tell him. “We’ll have something later this summer, and I’ll be sure to send out real invitations. But I can’t imagine you called to hear about that. What can I do for you?”

“What can I do for you is the better question. The team was impressed with your performance in the playoffs. I’m coming to Mullet Ridge and want to see how your knees are holding up. If they’re doing well, we may want to extend your contract.”

The ice in my veins has frozen. I can’t move. Can’t even think.

It’s a good thing I’ve pulled onto my street. I let the car coast into my parking spot and let muscle memory shift it into park.

“I’m sorry, can you repeat that?” I look at Kayla, who looks back, her face unreadable.

Otto chuckles. “Sean, I’ll be at your arena—your barn, I think you call it—tomorrow around ten.”

“Tomorrow? At ten?” My mouth goes dry, and my eyes are still fixed on Kayla. We’re supposed to leave home at six thirty tomorrow morning to board a nine o’clock flight out of Columbia.

“Unless you have something more important.”

“Actually—” I start, but then Kayla shakes her head, hard. Then she stabs a finger at the phone. Or is it at me? “Uh?—”

Kayla rolls her hands, like she’s trying to tell me to say something, but I don’t know what I’m supposed to say. How I’m supposed to answer.

“Say yes!” she whispers firmly, almost like she’s mad at me.

Is she mad at me?

And if so, is she going to be even madder if I do say yes? Or if I don’t?

“Say yes!” she repeats, her eyes wide, her arms thrown out.

“Yes,” I say, and she exhales into a slump.

“Yes, you do have something more important, or yes, you’ll be there?” Otto asks.

He sounds as confused as I am.

I shoot Kayla a panicked look, and she hangs her head. Then she looks up at me with an indulgent smile, like I’m simply too sweet and simple for this life, and she reaches for the phone.

“Hi, Mr. Hanninen. This is Kayla, Sean’s new wife. I think my dear, sweet husband is afraid of offending me by saying yes.”

I can hear Otto’s laugh. “That sounds like Sean.”

“He’ll absolutely be there tomorrow morning,” Kayla says, grabbing my hand over the console. “We’re so excited that you’re giving him this chance. Aren’t we, hon?”

I lean close … close enough to kiss her, honestly, which I’m tempted to do. “We sure are. Thanks, Otto. Thank you so much.”

Kayla puts the phone on speaker, but we keep our heads together.

“It was good to meet you, Kayla,” Otto says. “See you tomorrow, Sean.”

“See you then.”

“Bye, Otto!” Kayla adds.

And then the call ends.

And I’m in shock.

“SEAN O’SHANNAN!” Kayla squeals, throwing her arms around me. “This is so exciting! I’m calling the league. I’m going to postpone my trip.”

“What?” I ask, backing up. “Kayla, you can’t do that. They’re taking pictures of you with Aldridge tomorrow.”

“So? It’s a three-game road series. They can do it another day.”

I take her hand, holding it between us. “You know they won’t do that. They’re already planning the press release or media circus, or whatever. They’re not going to wait.”

“Sean—”

“Kayla.”

“It’s our honeymoon. I’m not going on it without you.”

Her eyes meet mine, but there’s no trace of teasing. She says it like it matters.

But it doesn’t matter the way I’m starting to want it too.

She’s talking about the perception. What people will think of us not being together.

More than that, she probably doesn’t want to face her ex without me.

I should have thought of that. How will it look to Aldridge if she shows up—freshly married—with a ring but not a husband?

Fake. That’s how it’ll look.

“You’re going, or I won’t do the tryout,” I say. She narrows her eyes, but I can see her relenting. “I’m sorry I won’t be there to run interference with Aldridge.”

“Pfft. I don’t care about that. I don’t need you to run interference. I wanted you there because I thought we’d have fun together.”

She smiles before getting out of the car in front of my place. I watch her as she bounces upstairs.

And then I scramble to catch up.

That night, we make dinner, and she eats the bulk of it when I’m not looking. Every time I glance away, her fork finds her mouth. Every time I glance back, she smiles. I pretend I don’t notice. She pretends nothing is going on. But somehow, it doesn’t feel like we’re pretending.

It feels like we’re creating a system.

Something that anyone else would think is wrong, but it works for us.

And that’s all that matters.

Later, I sit on a chair in the corner of the bedroom while she packs. She’s only brought over a fraction of her clothes, but it’s enough for a weekend in Nashville.

We both get ready for bed, and when she’s done using the bathroom and comes to say goodnight to me, something hits me.

“Hey, you called Otto ‘Mr. Hanninen.’ How did you know that was his last name? I don’t have him saved like that in my phone.”

“I learned everyone’s names from both your teams.”

“What? Why? To sell the marriage?”

Her eyebrows pinch together, and she cocks her head to the side and gives me a half smile. “No, silly. Because I care about you.”

I think about those five words long after she’s gone into the master bedroom and for far too long as I stare up at the ceiling.

Because I care about you.

There wasn’t a hint of self-consciousness to her words. She said it like it was a fact.

In a year, when Kayla and I have gone our separate ways, how will I ever find a woman who’ll compare to her?

What woman could possibly compete with the one who learned the names of two entire teams—including coaches—because she cared?

Easy, O’Shannan, I tell myself. Don’t get ahead of yourself. She’s not here because she wants you but because she needs you.

Just like everyone.

Right.

She’s flying out to meet her ex in Nashville tomorrow, and here I am, red-faced that she learned some names.

I’m not the guy a girl remembers on a trip like that.

I’m the guy she forgets on the way home.