Page 31 of False Start

“Ah, so that’s why Clay added a plus one for you,” she mused. “You know, that was a pain in the ass to do. We already gave final numbers to the caterer.”

“Hey, you’re the one throwing a wedding in two weeks. Don’t blame me for your mistakes.”

“That’s fair,” she conceded. “Okay, fine, so I’ll meet her then. For now, my recommendation is a security team with decoys ready to confuse any greedy paparazzi that might want to stick on you. Especially for the airport when you and Braden head this way with your mystery guest.”

I groaned, scrubbing a hand over my five o’clock shadow. “I hate this.”

“Welcome to the NFL. It’s not just your social media that gets to tell the story anymore. Any bastard with a camera gets to weigh in, too.”

I nodded. “Thank you, G.”

“You know how you can thank me?”

“I’m not telling you who she is.”

“Ugh!” She pouted. “Fine, but can you give me something? Tell me how you know her, or what level of serious it is. Oh, tell me your tropes!”

I blinked. “I am not going to even pretend to know what that means.”

“Okay, so, in romance books, a trope is—”

“Gotta go, G. See you next weekend,” I said, cutting her off when I noticed Madelyn across the park. Giana whined a bit when I ended the call, which made me smirk.

That girl and her damn smutty books.

She was going to have a field day with Madelyn. I needed to prepare my fake date for that.

But right now, I wasn’t thinking about the wedding.

Right now, I was too focused on where Madelyn was smiling and walking toward the swings we’d agreed to meet at, hand in hand with a little boy who looked just like her.

For a moment, I let myself sit in the privacy of my car and watch them. Madelyn released Sebastian’s hand, letting him run full speed toward the slide while she hovered close to the swings. She folded her arms over her chest and looked around.

She seemed as nervous as I was.

My gaze floated to Sebastian, to the way his smile lit up his entire face as he zoomed down the bright yellow tube slide. He tumbled into the wood chips at the bottom, and then popped up on a laugh, running right back up the stairs to go again.

He looked so much like her, it was like an ice pick to my chest.

Even from this distance, I could see how the shape of his nose mirrored hers, how his hair had the same coppery tone to it —though his was a bit browner. And I knew once I got closer, I’d see more and more evidence of their relation.

She was a mom.

I couldn’t explain why that made my next swallow harder to take, or why my chest fired up with the need to protect them both. But I didn’t overanalyze it before kicking my door open and climbing out of my Aston Martin.

Madelyn noticed me when I was twenty or so yards away. She didn’t smile, but she did offer a slight wave of her hand in greeting. It was a warm summer day in Seattle, the kind the locals wait all year for. It was just after noon now, seventy-eight degrees with not a single cloud in the sky.

Because of that, I had the fortune of seeing Madelyn in a pair of shorts and a tank top.

They weren’t the same as what she used to wear. No, those had been ripped-up jean shorts and tank tops so small they might as well have been bras. Now, she wore a more conservative outfit, the shorts cutting her off mid-thigh and the tank top a bit baggy on her.

She still looked as hot as ever, though.

“Hey there, friend,” I greeted when I found her. And just because I loved the particular shade of pink her cheeks turned when I flustered her, I reached one hand for her hip and lowered my lips to her cheek.

“Let me guess — practice?” she mused when I pulled back, tucking her hair behind one ear. That blush I was aiming for bloomed beautifully on her face.

“Indeed, and you did great. Look,” I said, thumbing the pinkness on her skin. “Barely a blush. A plus.”