Page 16

I’d be lying if I said I never noticed just how beautiful Dean is before.

Honestly, it was the first thing I noticed all those years ago when he was nothing more than a guy on TV playing college ball across the country.

His hair is a unique shade, similar to late autumn leaves or steeped oolong tea.

Not quite blonde but not brunette, either.

Like his genes couldn’t decide between the two and went with both instead.

His jaw is so perfectly sharp and chiseled that it doesn’t matter if he’s clean shaven, has grown out his football season beard, or if he’s somewhere in between like today.

Either way, it’s easy to tell that the damn thing was sculpted out of marble.

He has a slight bump on his nose, one that I know he got from the one and only time he found himself in a fight.

It was middle school, when some dumbass kids tried to give him shit for having two dads.

Dean shut them up with his fists, proving that he has always been braver than I could ever aspire to be.

Dean is bigger than me, too, which is a rare thing for me to find in another man.

We’re built similarly, both being bred for the gridiron, but Dean’s chest is a bit broader, his muscles slightly more filled out, and he’s six foot five to my six foot one.

All of that combined with his kindness, sense of humor, and the fact that he is basically sunshine personified, and I should be a goner for him.

But when we met, it was more important to me to have a friend who I clicked with and who could relate to the reality of being queer in the NFL, so I set my physical attraction aside.

And now there are three children’s livelihoods at stake, so keeping things with my fiancé platonic is even more crucial.

Fiancé. Damn.

That’s…heavy.

And yet, when Dean’s tongue peaks out and runs over his bottom lip, his eyes still dark and intent on my mouth, a bolt of lust shoots through me.

My dick stirs in my pants, and the stark reminder that the man in front of me is someone who, in any other circumstance, I would like to take to my bed shakes me out of my trance.

Because this isn’t any other circumstance.

I can’t stare longingly at Dean’s throat, wondering how his stubble would feel against my lips.

I can’t have my dick noticing just how good he smells, or how close his knee is to brushing mine.

I clear my throat, adjusting myself in my seat to the growing bulge in my lap under the table.

“So, ground rules,” I say, my voice coming out an octave higher than it usually is. Dean holds his gaze for another beat before subtly shaking his head and running a hand through the mess of honey-swirled hair on his head.

“Right, ground rules. Um, I made a list of some on my phone. I thought we could go through them and see what we want to add or take away.”

“When did you have time to make a list of rules?” I ask. We’ve been together all day, and unless the proposal was premeditated?—

“When you were in the bathroom with Lem and Mel at the Pier, after Mellie got mustard in Lemmie’s pigtails. Ollie was content in her stroller with her stuffed sea lion, so I jotted down some ideas.”

Ah, right. The mustard fiasco. Mellie accidentally brushed Lemmie with her hot dog, leaving the tiniest drop of mustard on the end of Lemmie’s hair, and all hell broke loose.

They fought, screamed, scratched, and then Lemmie wouldn’t stop crying until I took them to the bathroom and rinsed her hair out in the grimy public sink.

I didn’t have the heart or the patience to tell her that the germs from the sink were probably worse than anything she might contract from the offending condiment. But oh well, I’ll sneak another gummy vitamin into her breakfast routine in the morning. That should help ward off any infection.

“Right. Right. Okay. Yeah, let’s go through them.”

Hell, could I sound anymore like a stammering idiot?

“Alright,” Dean says, setting his phone on the table and opening up to his notes app.

I quickly scan the bulleted list, but once my eyes gloss over when Dean scoots his chair an inch closer to mine, just enough that I can smell the sweet remnants of whipped cream on his lips.

My dick thumps behind my zipper, and I run a hand through my hair and try to stop myself from imagining if those lips would taste sweet like whipped cream, too.

It’s probably for the best if I just shut up and let my husband-to-be talk.

“I think, first and foremost, we should make this seem as real as possible to people. I mean we’ll really be married, obviously.

We won’t have to pretend when there’s an actual legal document involved.

But we want the judge to think we’re in a committed, loving marriage and not just tied together out of convenience.

It’s probably going to seem a little sketchy once the media picks up that you and I have suddenly gotten married out of the blue, so I was thinking we should have some sort of cover story.

” Dean rubs a hand over the back of his neck as he speaks, and the movement causes his black t-shirt to stretch across his pecs, outlining his muscles and making me?—

Fuck. No. No no no no. Bad Luke. This is not a time to be horny.

I blow out a breath so it seems like I’m thinking and not just trying to relieve some of the sudden and inconvenient sexual tension coiling in my stomach.

“Okay, yeah. That’s a good idea. We could say we’ve been dating on the down low for a while.

Maybe a year or so? Since before my injury.

Once we loop in our PR teams and agents, we can probably get an interview with one of the high profile sports news outlets and only have to tell the story ourselves once. ”

“That’s perfect. It would make sense that we’d want to keep a romantic relationship quiet when we were still potential adversaries on the field.

And there’s plenty of documentation of us spending time together since then.

I mean, I barely left your side when you were in the hospital, and it’s pretty much public knowledge that we’re living together now. ”

A warmth spreads through my chest at the reminder of Dean by my side during my recovery.

Even when I was a bitching, moaning, whining asshole, he never gave up on me.

He was by my side through physical therapy, through the hell of last season when I was stuck on a team I knew I’d never play for again.

Even now, he’s so willing to uproot his life to make mine easier, and I’m certain that I do not deserve him. I place my hand on his knee, rubbing small arches with my thumb over the denim of his jeans. The warmth of his body sends a chill racing down my spine.

“Dean, I…I don’t think…fuck. Besides Gigi, I don’t think anyone has ever cared about me the way you do.

I don’t know what I did to get so lucky as to have you for a best friend.

I love you, man,” I say, squeezing his knee.

Dean lips part on a shaky exhale, and his pink tongue swipes over his bottom lip.

A moment passes between us. I stare in his beautiful gray eyes for lingering seconds until Dean blinks and shakes his head, breaking the spell.

“You know I love you too, dude. And that brings me to my second point—I think we should also make this seem as real as possible to the girls, at least for now. I don’t want them to lie or feel like they have to withhold the truth if anyone asks them questions.

So as far as the chiquitinas go, you and I are in love and that’s why we’re marrying each other. What do you think?”

I sigh, nodding.

“I agree. Ollie is too young to know what the hell is going on, and while I don’t love the idea of lying to Lem and Mel, I hate the thought of them having to lie even more. If this all works out and they get to stay with us, we can explain it to them when they’re old enough to understand.”

“When this all works out, Luke. Not if. And I was thinking that maybe we should have some safe people. People we can trust to know the truth so that you and I aren’t holding on to this big secret all on our own.

My dads, Kira and Warren, Tía Camila. They’re all people I can trust. And honestly, I don’t think I could lie to them even if I tried.

Camila and Kira especially, they have that weird, powerful woman’s intuition and they’d sniff it out instantly. ”

“It’s fine with me if you want to tell your people,” I say with a shrug.

“But?” Dean asks, picking up on my unspoken words.

“But nothing. I really am fine with it. It’s just that…

you are my safe person, Dean. You’re the only safe person I have left.

So I hope it’s okay that if this whole “keeping a secret” thing becomes too much for me, you’re the only person I’ll have to talk about it with. You might get sick of me really quick.”

Dean’s features soften, his mouth turning down into something almost resembling a frown, but not quite. I don’t think Dean could really frown, even if he tried.

“Luke, I could never get sick of you. It is an honor to be your safe person. I want you to know that you can come to me about anything, even if you need to complain about me. I promise, I’ll snap my fingers and be back in best friend mode, and I’ll listen and egg you on whenever you need to bitch about your annoying ass husband.

” His face twists into a boyish grin. If it weren’t for the slight crinkles by his eyes that make him look handsome and distinguished, he could pass for a twenty-something, wide-eyed optimist.