Page 10

10

BLAKELY

Jamieson Bateman is too slick for his own good.

It doesn’t seem to matter that agreeing to this could end terribly because the moment he started spouting off about taking care of me and accepting Nate, I melted into mush.

I’m one strong-ass bitch when it comes to almost anything in any given situation, but apparently, all it takes is one hot guy with a six-pack and flexing biceps to offer to house and feed me, and I’m ready to give my hand in marriage.

Embarrassing as it may be, I’m desperate enough not to wind up living on the street that I can’t even be all that mad at myself.

“What can I get you?” said hot guy asks, leaning a forearm against the open fridge door and peering inside.

It’s one of those two-door, stainless steel ones with a bottom pull-out freezer and an ice machine. On the appliance sexiness scale, it’s slamming against the end with a flashing red light.

“I’ll just have water.”

“Water? You sure? I’ve got plenty to drink in here. There’s pretty much every type of pop and a few kinds of juice. My niece has a habit of drinking sugar like water whenever she comes to visit, so I keep pretty stocked up on the stuff.”

“Are you using your niece as a scapegoat? I didn’t think professional athletes were supposed to drink so many sugary drinks.”

He turns in my direction and winks before lifting the hem of his shirt up to expose his stomach. The grooved muscles flex and strain, keeping my eyes occupied.

“Don’t worry about my sugar intake, Bandit. I work hard in the gym to burn off my drink choices.”

I yank my eyes up and away from his abs and narrow them on his smirk. “Put your abs away before I leave.”

The shirt drops instantly, and then he’s reaching into the fridge. Cans and bottles clink and clang as I sit perched at the kitchen island and wait.

“Coke or strawberry and kiwi juice?” he asks, facing me with two different cans in his hands.

“Water.”

“Water wasn’t an option.” With that statement, he shuts the fridge door and joins me at the island. “Coke or juice?”

“Have anything stronger?” I ask, eyeing the cans.

He chuckles, bracing his arms on the island. “Yeah, I’ve got stronger. What’s your liquor of choice? You didn’t drive here, right?”

“Whiskey. And no, I don’t drive.”

He heads for the cabinet above the fridge. “You don’t drive at all?”

“No. I was never taught,” I admit, my cheeks burning as I wait for his judgment.

Only it doesn’t come.

“Well, lucky for you, your future husband is a great driver. Sounds like we’ll be having lessons a few times a week from now on.”

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re too confident?”

“No. Usually, confidence is a good thing.” With a fat-bottomed bottle of whiskey in his hand, he meets my watchful gaze. “Are you a neat, on the rocks, or a mix type of whiskey drinker? ”

“You don’t have a guess?”

His grin is dimpled. “Of course I do. I’m trying to be a gentleman, though.”

“Try me. I promise not to deduct gentleman points this time.”

“So generous,” he purrs.

“I’m waiting.”

“Alright, maybe not that generous. I’m going to guess on the rocks. Straight whiskey goes right to your head and makes your guard slip. You need ice to water it down a bit.”

Turns out that I don’t need the whiskey for that at all. Jamie’s worse for my walls than any hard liquor could be.

“I do take it on the rocks, but only because if I drink it straight, I’ll wind up punching you in the dick instead of agreeing to your proposal, and I can’t afford to be sued right now,” I mutter.

“You’d be the first woman to punch my dick. We’re just collecting firsts at this point, you and me,” he teases, already filling a short glass with ice and then pouring too much whiskey into it.

“I can’t say that I thought the idea of a broken penis would be entertaining to you.”

“Penis is such a middle school term, Blakely. I let dick go because you’re being so sweet today, but I prefer cock.”

My stomach jumps, skin growing clammy. “We’re not playing the name game right now. Especially not about that.”

“Don’t go shy on me now. I’m having fun,” he half pleads, half teases.

“Something tells me that you’d be able to find the fun in any situation.”

His eyes sparkle, the blue almost blinding, as he offers me my glass of whiskey and pours a can of Coke into his. I wrap a warm palm around the chilled drink and slide it across the island.

“I try not to take things too seriously most of the time, but I’m like an onion, baby. I have layers. Serious situations call for fitting reactions,” he drawls before lifting his drink to his lips and taking a strong pull.

I glide my fingertip along the dewy side of my glass, the wires in my brain close to crossing. “Is this marriage one of those serious situations?”

“That’s the most serious one I’ve got.” He sets his drink down and returns to his bar stool beside me. I’m too curious to keep from glancing at him, so I give in, finding him completely zoned in on me. “Look, I want to do this right. It’s not ideal, but I think we could both benefit from it. I’ve already laid it out for you, and depending on how it goes if you agree to meet with the owner of the Pythons, I’m sure we’d be able to pull off everything that we need to.”

“I’m not in a position right now to turn you down, Jamie. Your offer is the best one I have, so yeah, depending on how this meeting goes, I’ll do it.”

It’s easy to speak those words, and I take that as a sign from the universe that maybe I’m not going to regret this. That after we’re finished with this and the divorce papers are signed, I’ll be able to move on with my life as though it never happened in the first place.

Jamie’s mouth curves as he reaches for my wrist. It’s only a friendly squeeze of his fingers, but I jerk back and away on instinct, folding my hands in my lap.

He follows my movements with curious eyes before blinking up at me. “We’ll have to work on that, too, if we want this to be believable.”

“I just don’t know you,” I defend myself.

“I get it. And we have the time to learn about one another. That’s one of the reasons I demanded a couple of weeks before getting married.”

I nod, wetting my dry lips. “What are the other reasons?”

“My brother’s getting married in two weeks, and I wasn’t about to take the spotlight from him for a fake one of my own. He deserves the moment with his soon-to-be wife. ”

“The niece you mentioned, is she his daughter?”

“Stepdaughter, if we’re being specific. If we’re not, then yes, she is. Her name’s Nova, and she’s sweet enough to give you a toothache from being near her. My brother, Oliver, was into her mom, Avery, for years before they got together, but the timing was never right. A year ago, that changed, and they’re finally tying the knot,” he explains lightly, a genuine happiness floating in his tone.

I take a sip of my drink and try to relax into the ease of this conversation. Finding a man to have a real, genuine conversation with is nearly impossible in the world right now unless they’re wanting to sleep with you. So, yeah, I think I’m going to take advantage of how open and genuine this one appears to be without the promise of sex lingering above us. He might be getting my hand in marriage at the end of this meeting, but there’s something about Jamie that tells me that isn’t playing a part in why he’s being the way he is with me right now.

“Are you the older or younger brother?” I ask.

“Younger.”

“You and Nate have that in common.”

“Don’t forget about our shared love of football. Speaking of, what position does he play? Does he have a favourite team?”

“You just want to know how to win him over.”

“Damn right I do. Now that I’ve won you over, he’s next on the list.”

I keep my expression flat when my lips try to twitch. “You haven’t won me.”

When he scoots his stool over an inch in my direction, I hold my breath. His knee presses against mine, and . . . I guess that’s alright.

Jamie leans an elbow on the island and props his cheek in a massive hand, his grin teasing and bright. “But I could. If I wanted to.”

I scoff to cover the embers popping in my belly. “In your dreams, Pretty Boy. ”

“You keep calling me pretty, Blakely. It’s getting to my head.”

I make a show of looking him over. “Yeah, I can see that.”

“Shit, you’re going to keep me young these next few months.”

“How old are you, anyway?”

“Nuh-uh. If you want me to answer another question, you need to answer mine. Starting with what position your brother plays.”

I take another sip of the cool whiskey before answering. “Wide receiver.”

“Yeah?” he asks, a quiet eagerness threading through his tone. “Does he have a favourite team?”

“The Pythons. We were born and raised in Vancouver, and our dad loved them.”

He nods, seeming to understand what I’m saying without needing clarification. My father isn’t a topic I feel like talking about now, if ever, and I can appreciate someone who doesn’t push on sensitive topics.

“My family weren’t huge football fans. More of a hockey-loving bunch.”

“Honestly, I’ve never been able to understand football, so you have your work cut out for you. Nate’s tried to teach me a million times.”

“I’m not worried,” he declares slyly.

“Well, I am. You said they wanted you to marry a fan, right? How am I supposed to pretend to be one during this meeting with your bosses?”

“They’re not going to hand you a pop quiz, Bandit. I have a game tomorrow, and then I’ll get something set up and let you know. Are you good for this weekend?”

The scent of whiskey travels through the space between us, mild and muted, weakened by the cologne that’s hanging on to his T-shirt. I get the urge to lean in to smell the fabric and quickly decide this is a great moment to leave .

“This weekend is fine. Nate has practice on Sunday, but I’m free Saturday,” I say haphazardly.

It’s not like I have work or anything anymore.

Fuck, that burns.

“I’m twenty-three, to answer your earlier question.” Jamie slides off his stool and hovers a hand over my back while we retreat through the kitchen. “Are you taking the bus back?”

“I was. Were you planning on offering me another ride?”

“Would you have agreed or told me to get screwed?” he teases.

I nip at the inside of my cheek and turn my head so he can’t see my mouth curl at the corner. “Look at you learning.”

“Might as well mark me down with honours, Blakely. You’re my new favourite subject.”