“Call me Paloma,” she says. “Will I see you at the Ones and Twos benefit?”
“That’s the diabetes fundraiser I mentioned,” Neil says.
“I believe you will,” I say as cheerfully as I can. Not that I’m looking forward to it.
“What will you be wearing?” she asks.
“Mother,” Neil warns. “Charli doesn’t have to clear her wardrobe choices with you.”
Her smile is feral. “Of course not. But I’m sure she wants to look lovely by your side. It’s not easy being a Drake. People will tear her down just for sport.”
“I have no doubt. But it’s handled. Thank you. Now I’ve really got to run.” I grab my coat.
Neil follows me into the foyer. “Shall we dine out tonight, sweetie? There’s a Turkish place on John Street that I like. And I’m leaving on a road trip tomorrow, so it’s kind of our last chance for a while.”
“Sure,” I agree quickly. “Can I wear jeans? And can you wait until eight? You might need calories before then.”
His eyes warm. “It’s fine. The place is casual, and I’ll snack. But Charli? Didn’t you say you had to take your All-Stars medal to the rink for pictures tonight?”
I freeze, my coat half on. “Oh, sh… sugar.”
Neil smiles after me as I run for the bedroom to find it in my suitcase.
When I return, he’s standing just shy of the foyer, in view of his mother. He catches me there, straightening my coat and smoothing the collar down, as if I’m his pet.
Then? He leans in and kisses me softly at the corner of my mouth.
I forget how to breathe.
“Goodbye,” he whispers before taking a step backward. “Have a good practice. Mow ’em down, wifey.”
I give him a look that’s so flustered he laughs. “Thanks,” I stammer. And then I get the hell out of there, because practice starts very soon.
What a stressful half hour that was, I decide as I jog down the sidewalk after a short elevator ride.
Luckily, my five-minute commute to the rink is pretty sweet. I only have to jog a few seconds before I’m turning the corner onto Hudson Avenue, in view of the Brooklyn Hockey headquarters.
This fake marriage thing has its ups and downs, that’s for damn sure.
THIRTEEN
THINK AGAIN
Neil
That evening I text Charli the address of the restaurant. And when she walks in at eight, I’m already waiting at a table.
She looks agitated, and it’s not hard to guess why. “How was practice?” I ask as she slides into her chair. “Did your teammates give you a hard time?”
“Practice was crazy, and the girls were relentless.” Her gym bag lands with a thunk beside her chair.
I push a little dish of roasted chickpeas toward her. “My teammates were pretty damn nosy, too.”
“I bet. Mine were awful.” She pops a chickpea into her mouth. “They were full of questions.”
She lifts her green eyes to mine, and for a second, I can’t remember what we were talking about. This happens sometimes when Charli gives me her full attention. I get a little lost, thinking about how much I need to lean in and kiss that sassy mouth.
“You don’t have to worry, though. I said as little as possible,” she says.
“What did you give ’em?” I ask, helping myself to another bean. “Did you tell them I woke up in a clip-on tie?”
“No!” She looks scandalized. “I’m not sharing any details.”
“Nothing?” I don’t even understand. “How’d you get away with that?”
“Like I always do. By refusing to answer questions about my private life and changing the subject. That almost made it worse, you know? The first time they get me alone, they’ll pounce. But I know they’d never sell pictures to the tabloids, or anything.”
“Eh, don’t worry,” I say, looking away to break the spell she has on me. “The media will forget about us in a blink. The news trucks were gone, right?”
“Yes,” she agrees, laying her napkin in her lap.
“So… What did your friends want to know?”
“You don’t want to hear it,” she says as a waiter drops off a glass of red wine along with an appetizer tray full of stuffed grape leaves and hummus. “Oh, wow. This looks amazing.”
“Dig in.” I grab a stuffed grape leaf.
“Isn’t this yours?” She points at the glass of wine in front of her.
“Nope. I ordered it for you.” I rarely drink unless it’s a very special occasion or I’m eating a perfect steak.
“Oh.” Her cheeks turn pink. “Thanks. You’re going to spoil me.”
I shrug, although spoiling her is exactly my goal. Charli should feel a little spoiled for putting up with my bullshit. “Dish, girl. Who is giving you shit? My money is on Fiona. Oh—and Sylvie. Because Anton is hounding me.”
She smiles into her wine glass. “Of course, they’re the ringleaders. I have a long history of not sharing, though. I’m a tight-lipped friend.”
I nudge her knee under the table with mine. “Is that so?”
The chuckle she lets out is low and sexy. “I’m not a sharer. What can I say? Maybe you picked the right fake wife.”
“Of course, I did.” She glances up quickly, and I feel like someone socked me in the solar plexus. Bringing Charli to a candlelit restaurant was probably a mistake. It puts me in the mood to crank up Barry White’s “Love Serenade” and take it all off, as the great man said. “What do they want to hear, anyway?” I take a gulp of cold water. Maybe it will cool me off.
“Mostly they want to hear about your dick.”
I almost spray the table. “What?” I choke. “Really? Who asked about my dick?”
“Why? Do you want a list of interested parties for after the divorce?”
I blink. “No, Charli. I was just trying to picture…” A whole room full of women hearing that I couldn’t close the deal. “I thought a women’s locker room would be, uh, less raunchy than ours.”
“Think again,” she says. “It’s probably worse.”
“Huh. Here I was picturing beauty tips and hair-braiding.”
Charli rolls her eyes. “Nice. A sexist joke for the little woman. That’s the thanks I get for my discretion.”
“So you didn’t describe my manhood to all the Bombshells?”
“Please. You know I wouldn’t do that. Besides, I wasn’t taking notes.”
“Good thing,” I mumble, shoving a stuffed olive in my mouth.
“Neil.” Charli peers at me over her wine glass. “The fact that we passed out before we could make even more bad choices is honestly a blessing. You aren’t still obsessing about that night, are you?”
“A little,” I admit.
“God, why?”
Isn’t it obvious? “First of all, there’s the missed opportunity to add you to my list of very satisfied customers…”
Charli looks heavenward.
“And then…” I hesitate, because there is such a thing as oversharing with your crush.