Page 69 of The Game Plan

“Jax,” she says quietly. “I’m sorry. For all of this. Getting you in trouble with the law, your mom⁠—”

“Hey, I’m a big boy, Si. I walked into this with my eyes open. As for my mom, she’s going to love you. Bring on Wednesday night.”

I can tell from the way she looks at me – defeated – and from the tremble in her exhale that she’s hurting. A vivid memory hits me, of us talking in a chapel in Vegas as she told me about all the shit with Carl.

I don’t want to fucking leave her alone. Not for lunch. Not ever.

28

OCTOBER

Sienna

It Might Be Real

There’s a tap on my bedroom door, then Jax says, “Si, the car’s outside. No rush, though, when you’re ready.”

I am ready. I’ve been ready and sitting on the edge of my bed in Jax’s condo, box-breathing for God knows how long because I’ve never felt so… out of control. So wildly, undeniably, ruled by emotions over logic.

I know because I’m dressed in the most beautiful champagne gown, which hugs every one of my curves it touches, from my chest to my toes, for a charity gala. One where I’ll attend on my pretend husband’s arm and I’ll meet his mom, sit with his dad and sister. It’s a deal. A business transaction. Nothing to be afraid of.

Yet, I’m afraid. And excited and nervous. There’s an overwhelming sense of chaos swirling around my entire torso, breaths aren’t feeling natural and my heart is racing as if I’ve been hooked up to a keg of adrenalin.

“I’ll be right down. I can meet you at the car,” I call, hearing the tremor in my voice.

“Ah, yeah, okay. See you down there,” Jax says.

His voice has the odd effect of calming me a tiny amount. This is Jax. The guy I live with. The same goofball who makes me laugh and is an utter man-child around the house, even though I think he’s trying to be better. The same guy who stares over my shoulder when I’m working on the rooftop next to him.

The one who wears my ring, for real, even though this relationship is fictitious. Who got into this knowing that it’s me who benefits most from the arrangement. And now we’re potentially in trouble with the law, thanks to my ex and his big fat mouth.

Tonight, I’m going to make Jax lie to his parents and the thing is, for as long as I’ve known him, before Las Vegas, when I’ve swooped in as his PR to save his reputation, he’s always been honest. Honesty and loyalty are, I’ve realized, his top qualities.

He can’t want to deceive his family. But what other choice do we have?

More than anything, I think as I raise my head from staring at my shimmering heels to my reflection in the bedroom mirror, I want tonight with him. I think that possibly, maybe, the sickly sweet feeling I am battling with, the one that made me woozy and need to sit down, is something more than a business transaction.

Mr. Mantel’s visit to the rink on Monday hit me like a lightning bolt; it terrified me. Because it showed me what is so patently obvious sitting here right now; I don’t want to leave the USA, not only because of business but because I don’t want to leave Jax.

As crazy and unlikely as it is, I can’t help wondering what if? What if Jax and I had a chance to get to know each other under different circumstances? What if we got to stay friends or… more?

I need to leave. I need to stand up on these killer heels, give my salon twisted bun one last hit of hold spray, and go to the gala.

As I catch sight of myself in the mirrors of the elevator cart, I do not regret my decision to go all out tonight. My temporary husband is a professional athlete and I want to look good for us both. Despite the lies, I want him to feel proud of me in front of his family, which is weird but true. I’m not the kind of woman who places her self-worth on appearances, I know my mind, determination and motivation stand for much more, but right now, stepping out of the condo to the top of the steps leading down to the gardens, I am immensely grateful to look like the prettiest version of myself.

Because the man wearing a suave tux and black bow tie, hair styled in the wet look I find undeniably hot on him after he’s played a game, looks yummy enough to devour.

He’s standing by the open door of the car and the way his gaze penetrates me makes me lightheaded again. It confirms that the wash of emotions in my entire upper body are all about him. Not our uncouth situation but him, the man, Jax Harris. Good and kind, funny and a lot messy, smarter than people give him credit for, wiser than his years. So dangerously appealing that he should be illegal.

“You’re stunning,” he says, voice barely carrying on the light breeze in the otherwise still darkness.

With one longer, calmer breath than I’ve been able to take for hours, I smile and go to him. “You clean up pretty good yourself, hubby,” I tell him, sliding a finger down the silk of his lapel because I don’t have the god’s honest right to touch him, but I want something. Some contact. I am aching for him to reach out and… kiss me.

He inhales heavily and croaks, “I like your hair like this.” He brings his fingertips to the loose strand framing my face, a slither of contact between us that sends my pulse rate skyrocketing, again.

“This dress on you.” The sound he makes is quiet and low, almost a growl or a groan, and hot damn, I want more of it. In very different circumstances. Where there’s no driver waiting to take us to a very public place.

“Sir, I don’t want to rush you but we need to make a move to keep our arrival slot,” the driver cuts in.