The Game by Vi Keeland by Vi Keeland

Miller frowned. “Translation: you’re going to go with the black pants and frumpy shirt. Now tell me why you’re afraid to read about your old man’s appointments?”

I sighed. “I don’t know. What if he’s funny and nice?”

“You’d prefer him to be humorless and a dick?”

“Sadly, I might. Everyone I’ve come in contact with has nothing but great things to say about him. Do I really want to find out they’ve all been right and it’s only me he didn’t want or care about?”

“How could his not wanting or caring be about you when he didn’t even get to know you? Any decision he made about having you in his life was about him. Not you, sunshine.”

“I guess… I don’t know. I’ll think about it some more. Christian thought I should read it too.” I walked back over to my suitcase and took off the green dress to pack it. Then I tossed in the other outfit.

“Christian as in Christian, my face is worthy to be chiseled in stone, Knox?”

I nodded. “He’s been helping me learn about the team.”

Miller sat up and studied my face.

“What?” I asked.

“Bella, do you want to bone the hot quarterback?”

“What? No.”

Miller pointed to my face. “Liar! Your voice went about eight octaves higher when you answered. That’s always been your tell.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You squeak when you lie, Bella.”

“I do not.”

Miller pointed again. “There it is. Did you just hear that? Your voice went up even then. You also turn pink sometimes, too.”

“You’re crazy.”

Miller rubbed his hands together, like a kid waiting for someone to hand him a giant ice cream cone over the counter. “You guys are going to make a super kid, with your brains, his athleticism, the education you two rich bitches can afford to spring for—not to mention you’re both pretty as hell.”

I bent to grab a pair of shoes from my closet and pointed one at him before packing them into my suitcase. “You’re doing it again.”

“Doing what?”

“Making up a crazy story in your head that you’ll get invested in and will only lead to disappointment.”

“We’ve had this conversation. I told you I don’t do that.”

“Umm…an hour ago when we went to the diner for breakfast, what did you tell me about the waiter?”

“That his Greek parents own a yacht in Greece and spend their summers sailing around from Mykonos to Santorini to Crete.”

“And why did you say that?”

“Because he was clearly Greek and comes from that type of background.”

“You were about five seconds from dumping Trent and buying sunscreen to pack for your Mediterranean jaunt.”

“And I should be! How else are we going to have two children and a summer home in Amagansett—not the Hamptons—if I don’t join them on their boat for the summer so he can fall in love with me? By the way, even though I want to be the stay-at-home dad, we’re going to use his sperm to make our babies. He’s got great bone structure.”

I shook my head. “I wasn’t going to tell you, because you seemed so happy in your dreamland, but your Greek waiter’s name is Jose, and he’s dating a woman.”

“You’re lying.”

“I’m not. But my point is, you see things you want to see and wind up disappointed.”

“So I daydream a little. Shoot me. I’m a romantic. But you’re also deflecting from the truth. You like the quarterback.”

“Not in the way you’re fantasizing about. Besides, a relationship with Christian wouldn’t be appropriate.”

“Why not?”

“He works for the Bruins, a team I now own. His contract is up for renewal this year. Imagine we started dating and the coaches decided to not renew him?”

Miller waved me off. “Excuses. I don’t know shit about football, but even I know he’s the star of the league, and your coaches will do anything to keep him. Besides, plenty of good relationships start with boning the secretary. It happens…”

I finished packing and zipped my suitcase. “You should leave fantasyland and come to realityworld. You know, the place where I have a second date with Julian.”

Miller’s eyebrows jumped. “He finally called? I wasn’t asking because I figured you’d tell me if it happened, and I didn’t want to bring you down. It took him long enough.”

“He called the other day, and I called him back this morning. I think he’s going slow because he’s hesitant to get involved unless he can see a future with me, since we’re good friends.”

“Did he tell you that?”

“No, but it makes sense.”

Miller grinned. “Or you’re making up the story you want. Sound familiar?”

I picked up a thong that must’ve fallen out of my suitcase and tossed it at Miller. It landed on his face. He palmed it to his nose and inhaled deeply. “Do women really smell like fish? Or is that a straight-guy excuse for being too lazy to go down on his woman?”

My face wrinkled, and I ripped my panties from his grip. “Eww…you’re gross. My panties do not smell. And neither does my vagina.”