Page 113 of Bluffed By the Offense

We’re supposed to be discussing Ann Patchett’s Whistler. Instead we’re talking about Porch Light, and by association, Marcus Delaney.

Needless to say, he and I didn’t break up two weeks ago after the morning show. And I went to the Thunder game where he pointed at me after touchdowns as if he were playing for me. It was a nice touch. It also made me feel like I was his actual girlfriend, which is so very dangerous.

I imagined what it would be like, being in the stands with Winona while she cheered for Declan and I cheered for Marcus. We’d both be dating Thunder players. Marcus would be mine. I could lean on him and occasionally relinquish the constant inner tug to direct and coordinate situations. Leadership seems to be second-nature to me. I’m rarely the one to follow. With Marcus, I’m finding I can let go of the steering wheel and he’ll naturally step in. I used to hate that part of him, but since the back-to-school drive, I’ve seen the beauty in having someone else take over at times.

But I’m not his girlfriend.

This line of thinking isn’t helpful. It only serves to make me long for something I won’t ever have—at least not with Marcus.

I need to squash those fantasies like a bug.

Marcus and I talked briefly after the game with the Titans. He explained that we can’t break up after going on television to show ourselves off as a couple. It would impact him and Porch Light if we did. We need to separate quietly when our relationship isn’t at the center of the limelight.

He’s right. As much as I hate to admit it, he is.

The donations and interest in Porch Light ticked up immediately following the show. How could I break up with the source of my popularity?

Apparently, we’re America’s hot new couple—if only that were true.

And I’ve got a bigger problem: that kiss.

My mind wanders to our kiss at the most inconvenient times. My hand will drift up to my lips. I want to kiss him again. I can’t, of course. But I want to. It’s wrong to crave him the way I do. But I can’t help myself. Finding out Marcus came from humble beginnings, seeing his heart for people who are suffering … all that has changed the way I feel about him.

I can’t end things now.

And I don’t want to.

But I wish I could, because the longer I fake date Marcus Delaney, the stronger my feelings for him become.

“How are things going with you two?” Syd asks.

I’m reluctant to open my mouth. It feels as if all my scrambled thoughts and emotions will come spilling out against my will now that I’m surrounded by the women who have been my best friends for the better part of my life.

“He’s different than I thought he was,” I finally admit.

That’s the disarming truth. He gave me multiple reasons to doubt him and question his character. But I think I misjudged him.

No. I know I did.

Winona smiles.

We finally drop the subject of the gorgeous and perplexing quarterback. Daisy holds her copy of Whistler up in the air. “Okay, let’s talk about this book!”

The bookshop is closed and locked for the night. We’re cozied up in the back room with baked goods, care of Syd and Emberleigh. The smell of warm cider and cinnamon fills the room. I take a deep breath and settle back into the couch.

We refocus and over the next half hour the discussion deepens, spurred by the theme of the story. Someone can come into your life for a short time and make a lasting impact, even after they’re gone.

Is that how it will be with Marcus? He's been my fake boyfriend for a few months, but I get the feeling I’ll never be the same after we say goodbye. I certainly will be more careful before assuming the worst about a person going forward. I’m going to remind myself that I don’t have the whole picture instead of jumping to conclusions.

There’s a knock at the door. Daisy stands and walks into the front of the shop. A few moments later, male voices carry through to us. One voice is far too familiar.

What is he doing here? He had an away game. I didn’t expect to see him for a few days at least.

“Declan?” Winona shouts her fiancé’s name and jumps out of her chair, running through the shop to see him.

I should have the same reaction. So I leap up and follow my sister, shouting, “Marcus!” because that’s what an excited girlfriend does.

I come around the corner and almost skid to a stop at the sight of Marcus. He’s wearing a dress shirt and slacks, but the shirt collar is unbuttoned and open. His sleeves are pushed up past his forearms. He looks good enough to eat.