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CHAPTER NINE

DECKER

“How was your date?” Ian asks, his wiry beard consuming the edges of his smile.

I bite back a grin as last night resurfaces in my mind.

How upset Lena was when she essentially confessed to a felony.

How good she’d make an orange jumpsuit look despite her protests.

Honestly, it’s not something I’m proud of, but I’ve seen a lot of girls cry, and somehow Lena still made it look good.

Even if she did burn down my prospective retirement plan.

Last night was weird and productive, and I’m still trying to convince myself it was real.

If it weren’t for the headache I accrued from all those drinks, I’m not sure I’d believe it happened.

The August sun is relentless as we cross our mom’s backyard.

I take stock of the sun-bleached patio furniture she’s had since I was in grade school and the fence she zip tied together five years ago.

Despite both of our offers, she won’t allow us to invest anything in it.

She’s stubborn to a fault, and this backyard proves it.

I only hope she gets over the whole “stop trying to buy me stuff” thing by the time she’s retirement age.

“Fantasizing about Lena? I asked you how your date was,” Ian repeats.

I elbow my brother hard, handing him the keys to mom’s shed. “It wasn’t a date.”

He laughs. “That’s not what everyone is saying.”

“And you of all people are listening to rumors plastered all over social media?” I shake my head. “I’m disappointed in you. Mom would be too if she could hear you.” I take a deep breath. “Just let me be the one to tell her I’m hanging out with someone again.”

“Oh, she already knows. Saw it online this morning.” He bugs his eyes. “She thought you were done messing around with your personal life, and then you pick Lena Lux to date?”

I can’t keep the scowl from my face. “What’s wrong with Lena?”

“I don’t know. Why don’t you ask one of her hundred exes?”

Something about that sends a blitz of irritation through my core. Whether it’s for Lena or me, I’m not sure. Maybe for us both, for always being labeled as one thing or another. Who’s to say she’s what everyone assumes she is? I know I’m not.

“Maybe I don’t plan on being her ex,” I sneer.

Ian lifts his brows. “Maybe you should tell Mom that.”

“Okay, mama’s boy.” I shake my head. “I just turned thirty, and you’re like a hundred. I don’t think we have to tell her everything.”

“I just respect her enough to mention certain things.”

I swing open the door to the shed and begin rummaging through, not willing to argue that his notion of sharing our personal lives with anyone has nothing to do with respect as much as it does with approval.

It’s been years since he’s handed me a beating, and I’m not sure if he could anymore, but wrestling across our mom’s suburban backyard isn’t on my agenda today.

“What’d Jason say?” Ian asks, taking the hedge trimmer from me.

“Haven’t talked to him yet,” I say, grabbing Ian a pair of work gloves.

“Didn’t tell mom or your manager? That’s a dangerous game.”

I ignore him, diving deeper into the mildew-stenched shack.

“At least if you drop dead tonight, we have a short list of who's at fault.” His chuckle booms, needling under my sunburned skin.

I give him a sarcastic laugh. “I told you. It’s new. Haven't had time to call anyone yet.”

He straightens up and turns toward me. “Funny, coming from the guy who is constantly glued to his phone, texting the flavor of the week. Maybe you and Lena are a good match. At least you both have a similar track record.”

Before I register what I’m doing, I give him a dead arm and run toward the house.

For a split second, we’re middle schoolers again, fighting in the yard over which one of us broke the rules to a dumb game.

It’s freeing to remember, and part of me wishes I could go back.

Even if money was tight, I didn’t care. I had no image I felt pressured to uphold.

Things were simpler then. I didn’t have to worry about my appearance, or enraging the internet, or pretending to date some girl to help my finances after my inevitable retirement and my dog shelter aspirations.

Lena. It’s shocking she’s willing to pretend at all.

It’s not like she needs to. She could get anyone she wants, and she knows it.

It probably contributes to her bratty attitude.

I smirk as I think about her clear blue eyes rolling after every single remark I made while we shared pommes frites and champagne.

Without that attitude, pretending could be hard.

Thankfully, despite her being more than my type, that attitude will keep us both in check.

Besides, I could probably learn a thing or two from her business savvy, and that’s what I have to keep in mind.

I’m putting my rocky personal life on hold in favor of something fake, so maybe, after Lena and after football, I can have something real to build my life on.

Sponsorships. Endorsements. Commercial cameos.

Outside of a secure financial future for myself and my family, being seen as someone who can hold on to a girl for longer than a minute isn’t a bad thing.

If I can tolerate Lena’s sass and flippant behavior long enough, she might just be the single best thing that’s ever happened to me.