Page 19 of Scoring Chance

“No,” I say quickly. “Still just Uncle Des. Same as always.”

“Did you guys kiss at a wedding?” Lulu makes smooching sounds.

“What?! Who told you that?” A flash of heat hits me when I think back to our kiss and how absolutely nothing about it felt fake.

Dean shrugs. “You have to kiss. That’s what people do at weddings.”

“We’re getting off track.” I sigh and take a bite of grilled cheese. “Look. The point is…we don’t need to tell all of our friends that your dad married Uncle Des. Because nothing is changing in your life. Uncle Des is still Uncle Des. He’s just helping us out. A temporary favor.” I snap my fingers, a brilliant idea coming to me. “This is like a big magic trick. And a magician never reveals how he pulls it off, right?”

Dean nods. “I don’t get it.” He leans back in his chair, thinking hard. “So…you’re married, but not?”

I blink. “Dean, I think I’m changing my tune on that pet rabbit.”

His and Lulu’s faces instantly light up, the confusing dimensions of my relationship with Des left in the dust.

“A rabbit for both of you to share,” I say.

Once we get into eating, I let them turn on cartoons while I clean up the kitchen. I check my phone. There’s a text from Des.

Des: Everyone is asking us where we’re going on our honeymoon. We have to do Hawaii. What do you think, honey?

Tanner: Hawaii sounds great, dear.

I close my eyes while my hands are deep in the depths of dirty dishes, and I dream. I dream of walking along the beach with Des, of honeymoon suites with heart-shaped beds.

Of laying in that heart-shaped bed with Des as he pulls me close and drags my boxers off, then runs his hands between my thighs until he grabs my⁠—

“Daddy!” Lulu yells from the living room. “Can we get a white rabbit?”

“Sure,” I call back, eternally grateful that my daughter interrupted that daydream.

7

DES

Itext Tanner to let him know that the insurance documents are in. Once we’re cleared, we should be good to go, and his kiddoes will be covered.

Des: I’ve submitted the paperwork, darling. You don’t need to nag me anymore.

Tanner: Good. I’ll have a meatloaf waiting for you at home tonight.

I stroll into my office with a dopey smile on my face. It’s not a corner office, but it’s one of the biggest on the floor. During one late night trying to brainstorm a pitch, I measured the other offices. Not my proudest moment, but sleep deprivation and stress will do that to a guy.

I read through my emails and look over some new taglines that my team came up with for Brenner’s Mustard and their new spicy mustard.

“Hey,” Kyle says, doing his annoying knock on my door. It’s up there with the sound of drilling into a tooth, which is appropriate since dealing with him is as joyful as a trip to the dentist.

Kyle exudes golden-boy energy that’s totally unearned. He only got this job because his dad was one of the agency’s founders. Even though his dad retired years ago, Kyle’s still here—still thinking he owns the place, still acting like the little kid who used to ride his tricycle around the office and bother everyone with his ideas. We’re both associate creative directors. I got my position through tirelessly climbing the ladder over fifteen years; Kyle got his because of the right DNA.

“Kyle. What’s up?” I ask with the minimal acceptable amount of pleasantness.

“How are things going with Brenner’s? I heard a rumor that your team had to redo everything. They weren’t happy with anything you presented.” He curves his lips down into an exaggerated frown.

“It happens from time to time. Well, for you, it’s a regular occurrence from the rumors I hear.” I flash the same exaggerated frown at him. “I appreciate your concern. You can run along now, nepo baby.”

“Ouch. I haven’t heard that one before.” His chuckle sounds like a dog throwing up, but less pleasant.

I look up, and his dumb face is still in my doorway.