Page 5

Chapter 5

Gabi

I can't believe how much fun I'm having tonight. When I agreed to join Jacob and the Chicago Blades for dinner, my expectations were pretty low. I mean, athletes talking shop all night sounded about as thrilling as watching paint dry.

But here we are, three hours later, and I'm laughing at an absurd story about a prank war in the team's locker room.

Maybe it's the stomach full of lasagna, or maybe it's just Jacob's infectious energy, but I'm feeling pretty relaxed.

As the evening winds down, I find myself genuinely enjoying everyone's company. The banter is effortless, and George Corso hasn't even glared at us since that first encounter.

Could it be that the world, and this job, isn't as intimidating as I had thought? And Jacob, with his charm and wit, is making me forget why I was anxious in the first place.

Dinner wraps up, and we're all saying our goodbyes. Jacob gives me a warm smile. "Thanks for coming, Gabs. This was great."

"Yeah, it really was," I admit, a bit surprised at my own sincerity. "I had a lot of fun."

Fun. It's a word I wasn't sure I was allowed to use around Jacob Walker anymore.

Since that fateful night we slept together, our dynamic has taken a dive.

As I walk back to my car, memories of that night at Josh's party start flooding back. Jacob had arrived impossibly late, practically stumbling through the door. His disheveled hair and glassy eyes told me he had been drinking heavily long before he showed up.

I should have known better than to engage, but he looked so lost. So broken. So when he asked me to take a walk with him, I couldn't say no.

We ended up at a nearby park, drinking and sitting on the swings—talking about everything and nothing until dawn. And then it happened.

I'm not sure who initiated the kiss, but it was like fireworks going off in my head. It was passionate and intense, fueled by alcohol and pent-up emotions.

By the time I realized what was happening, we were already back at the party, in an upstairs bedroom, tearing each other's clothes off.

I remember every detail of that night with Jacob, and it still sends shivers down my spine. As the alcohol's fog lifted, I took in how stunning he looked, even more so without his clothes.

Tall and chiseled, his physique was a testament to his years playing hockey. The muscles rippled under his smooth skin, and I couldn't help but adore every inch.

But it wasn’t just his body that left me breathless.

It was his touch. His taste. His mouth.

God, that mouth. It was made for sin.

And not just in the way he kissed me; it was the words he whispered, each one filthier and sweeter than the last. His voice, raw with desire, spoke of things I never imagined coming from him. As he removed my clothes, his words painted a sinful picture, and when he finally placed his mouth between my legs, the world outside ceased to exist.

When Jacob slid into my body—hard and ready—it was already too late.

I was lost in him and the unimaginable ecstasy he brought with every stroke. Each thrust turned my body practically inside out with pleasure, waves of sensation crashing over me, drowning me in bliss. And then, as quickly as it started, he passed out, leaving me breathless and staring at the ceiling.

I slunk out of bed, feeling a mix of exhilaration and embarrassment.

The next morning, the sunlight creeping through the curtains felt like a spotlight on my shame.

There he was. Jacob. Half-naked and searching for water in the kitchen.

The silence between us was broken by his groan and complaint about a splitting hangover. He remembered nothing of our night together—just the headache from too many drinks.

I feigned indifference, but inside, a strange cocktail of relief and disappointment brewed.

How could something that felt so unforgettable for me be completely erased from his memory?

As the days passed, I'd managed to avoid Jacob, losing myself in work for Nonna's sauce company.

I couldn't help but feel a little smug knowing that I held a secret over him. It gave me a sense of power that I didn't want to admit to enjoying.

That is, until that pregnancy test came back positive.

Our stolen moment began to weigh heavier on my conscience. Was it fair for me to keep this from him? Shouldn't he know what really happened?

I decided it best that he didn't. If Jacob Walker had so many one-night-stands that he couldn't remember them, then this would just be another one to add to his list.

I could raise the baby on my own. I didn't need him or anyone else for that matter.

And I hadn't wavered on that...until tonight.

Tonight, surrounded by his teammates who clearly adore him, I remember why I crushed on Jacob all those years as a kid. His charm, his sense of humor, and yes, even his cocky confidence.

I head home, thinking it’s nothing more than the lasagna in my system talking.

But soon enough, I'm in my pj's, flipping through the streaming options when there's a knock at my door.

I peek through the peephole and my mouth drops.

It's Jacob. Standing on my doorstep with a sheepish grin and a take-out bag in one hand.

"What on earth?" I mumble as I open the door. "Jacob, what are you doing here?"

He lifts the bag. "You forgot your leftover lasagna."

"I know," I say, hanging onto the edge of the door. "I ate so much of it that I was afraid if I took any more home, I'd break my kitchen table."

He steps closer. "Oh, come on. I've seen you tackle more food than this. Remember Nonna's Christmas feast with the stuffed shells and the fried calamari?"

Suddenly my mind is alive with memories of sneaking bites of food from Jacob's plate while he wasn't looking and of playfully stealing the last cannoli from him.

"Okay, okay," I laugh. "Maybe I have a bottomless stomach."

He nods and his smile widens until it almost meets his ears. "That's more like it."

"So, you came all the way over here just to give me my leftovers?"

"That, and this." He pulls out a chocolate bar from behind his back and hands it to me. "I know your weakness for dark chocolate."

My heart flutters as if we're still teenagers flirting in Nonna's kitchen.

"Thank you," I say, my cheeks turning pink. "But why? You didn't have to do this."

"I wanted to," he says simply. And then his tone turns more serious. "I also wanted to discuss something important with you," he says, looking slightly nervous, which isn't like him at all.

"Okay. What is it?"

He takes a deep breath and looks into my apartment. "Um, may I...?"

"Sure. Of course," I say, stepping aside to let him in.

As he walks past me, I catch a whiff of his familiar cologne—the scent of pine and sandalwood that I've always loved, and my heart does a little flip.

I close the door behind us and follow him as he removes his shoes and heads into the living room where he sets the bag and chocolate bar on the coffee table.

He turns to face me, his hands stuffed in the pockets of his slacks. He's still in his white collared shirt, jacket and tie. Meanwhile, I'm in my Christmas pajamas with a messy bun on top of my head.

I gesture towards the couch, hastily moving a pile of magazines off of it. "What's so urgent that it couldn’t wait until tomorrow?"

He sits down, rubbing his hands together. "Okay, straight to the point. I have a proposition for you—one that involves a little business, a bit of risk, and a lot of lasagna."

I cross my arms and raise an eyebrow. "You’ve got my attention...but you'd better start talking before I decide you're just here to try and distract me from my peaceful evening."

"Fair enough. Here goes nothing."

I plop down on the couch opposite him, tucking my feet under me. "Okay, Mr. Mysterious. What's this all about?"

He leans forward, elbows on his knees, and locks eyes with me. "I want us to pretend to be in a relationship."

"Oh, good one. What's the punchline?"

"No punchline. I’m serious, Gabi. It's just for the playoffs. We help each other out, and then we go back to normal."

My phone dings, and I glance down to see a text from Nonna Chiara. "You know who's a good-looking man? George Clooney. The man could smell like a bag of last week's garlic, and I'd still take him."

Oh, perfect timing, Nonna.

I quickly type back. "Nonna Chiara, are you drinking again? ?? It's almost midnight."

"Who are you texting?" Jacob asks, leaning over to see my phone.

"Just a friend. So, back to this crazy idea of yours..."

"It's not crazy. Hear me out. We both know how much pressure there is on professional athletes when it comes to relationships and public image. It could really help both of us if we're seen together during the playoffs. I'd look like a family man, getting on the straight and narrow. And you'd be able to get rid of that rumor about me and George Corso's wife. PR crisis averted. A win-win situation."

I tilt my head, considering his proposal. "Hm, I see your point. But what about the actual playoffs? You know, the part where you and the team have to actually win games?"

"That's where it gets even better.” He holds up a finger. “We'll make a deal. You help me focus and play at my best during the games, and I'll be the perfect media darling. I'll handle all the media attention and public appearances."

I squint at him suspiciously. "And what do I get out of this?"

"Besides saving my reputation? I'll owe you one."

"Knowing you, that could be a dangerous thing.”

"Hey now, have some faith in me. I promise, I'll be on my best behavior." He glances down at my baby bump, exhaling slowly. "And I mean, another added bonus? I'll be around. I can help you...help you out with the baby stuff."

I raise an eyebrow, trying not to let his words affect me. "The baby stuff? Like what?"

"Whatever you need. Setting up the nursery, picking out strollers, you know, all that typical dad stuff."

I can't help but laugh at his attempt to be helpful. "You really have no idea about any of that, do you?"

"Hey, I may not know much now, but I promise I'll learn fast," he says with a grin.

I shake my head, amused by his sudden enthusiasm for fake fatherhood. If only he knew that he was the actual father.

A stab of guilt hits me, but I push it away. This is all for the best. Besides, he doesn't need to know the truth. That would complicate things even more.

I go to retort but the sound of my phone interrupts.

Ding!

It’s another text from Nonna. "Speaking of George, I bet he has a grandmother he actually visits. You've been gone so long, I'm beginning to forget what you look like. Why don't you come over? You know my hip's been hurting more and more. I can barely get to the kitchen to make myself my morning vodka and prune juice."

I chuckle, shaking my head at Nonna's humor.

She's always been the sassy grandmother who can still outdrink us all. And she's right, I have been out of commission, focused on the new job—and baby—now…

My chest squeezes as I type back a quick response. "Wait a minute. Does that mean you didn't eat dinner tonight? Or did you just have vodka and prunes?"

I hit send and wait for her response, already mentally planning a visit to her apartment this weekend.

Nonna may not be the most conventional grandmother, but she's always been there for me, especially after my parents moved away.

Now living in Bali, they've been sending me pictures of the beautiful beaches and sunsets. And while I love seeing the accounts of exotic places, I have to bite back the wave of anger that usually crops up. Anger that my parents spent most of Gio’s and my childhood chasing gorgeous locales, leaving us with Nonna.

But I can't dwell on it now.

I have a baby to take care of and a job that's finally taking off. Plus, Nonna has always been more of a mother to me than my own mom ever was.

I revise my text. "Forget this weekend. I'm coming over tonight. Drop off some food and a bottle of wine on my way. And I'll bring some extra prune juice for you."

I hit send with a grin and I turn back to Jacob who's been watching me intently during my exchange with Nonna. "So, do we have a deal?" he asks.

I take a deep breath and consider his offer. It's not like I have many other options at this point. And having someone to help me out with the baby does sound appealing.

"I don't know." I sigh. "I'll have to think about it. I've gotta go."

I start to stand, and Jacob reaches out to help me. Being five months pregnant definitely has its challenges. Mobility being one of them.

"You have to go?" His blue eyes narrow. "Go where?"

"To Nonna's," I say, grabbing my purse from near the coffee table. "She hasn't eaten, so I need to drop off some food and wine."

He seems to consider something for a moment before nodding. "I'll come with you."

I smile and shake my head, knowing he's just trying to be chivalrous.

"You don't have to do that," I say, grabbing for the bag of lasagna and moving around the couch. "I can handle it on my own."

"But what about the baby?" Jacob insists, following me. "Should you be carrying all that food and wine?"

"I'll manage."

"Manage to what? Waddle over to Nonna's on your own?"

I glance back at Jacob, at his handsome face. His sandy-blond hair is long overdue for a cut and he has a five o'clock shadow that's slowly creeping towards ten. His blue eyes sparkle with humor, making me smile despite my exhaustion.

"Fine," I say, giving in. "You can come with me."

He grins and grabs a bottle of wine from my nearby bar cart while I grab the bag of food. When he reaches me, he pries the bag out of my hand and carries it with ease.

"You know, I have a feeling you're just using me for my strong arms," he jokes as we make our way to the door.

"Maybe," I tease back. "But don't get too cocky. You still haven't convinced me to take your offer."

"Oh, I'll convince you," Jacob says, opening my front door.

As I start to walk through it, my phone pings with Nonna's response. "Ha! You know me too well. Bring on the prune juice! And maybe some chocolate too ;) See you tonight!"

I chuckle and show Jacob the message.

"She has no idea that you're bringing something even better than prune juice," Jacob says, winking at me.

"Are you suggesting that you're better than prune juice?

"Absolutely. I am the ultimate cure-all for all your problems."

The smile on my face falters as I look at Jacob, really look at him.

If only that were true. If only that were really, actually true.

The air inside my lungs feels heavy as he closes the door and I lock it with my key before we start walking toward his car.