Real Fake Love (Copper Valley Fireballs #2)(73)

Thirty long, painful minutes later that are full of listening to her chirp about everything that’s on her mind except herself and me and us together, we pull into a downtown parking garage, and I wish we could sit down here so I could listen to her for another hour, which is the exact wrong thing to wish.

She. Needs. Not. Me.

I don’t do love.

I don’t do marriage.

And Henri? One day, Henri will find her Prince Charming, a man who deserves her, who recognizes her for the sparkling diamond she is, and who will spend his life making her happy.

I’ll hate him. But he’ll be better for her than me and all of my fucked-up baggage could ever be.

On our elevator ride up to the penthouse, she tells a story about Dogzilla waking up in Nonna’s laundry basket, startling herself, and then freaking out even more after jumping out of the basket with one of Nonna’s bras hung around her neck.

I can’t laugh. Not when I’m struggling to figure out how to simultaneously protect Henri from all the assholes in the world while helping her find the happiness she deserves. And she’s acting like it’s completely and totally normal for me to be a distant asshole, even though the image of Dogzilla racing through my house with a bra dangling behind her while Henri and Nonna tried to corner her is hilarious.

This isn’t normal.

It’s not normal at all.

But my brain is stuck in a loop that I can’t get out of.

When the season’s over, Henri’s leaving. It’ll be over-over without a doubt as of November first, because best possible scenario, we make it all the way to the championship series, which can’t go any later than November first.

I’m down to mere weeks before this fake relationship is over, and before I have to face the Nonna music.

But it’s not facing Nonna that makes me want to ask Henri to stay. It’s Henri.

I can’t ask her to stay without telling her how I feel, and telling her how I feel means admitting that I don’t want this to be fake, except a real relationship implies commitment, and it requires her to take a leap and want to date me too.

I could live with myself if Henri tells me I’m not her type.

I couldn’t live with myself if I asked her to stay, and then became one more guy who lets her down.

Her laughter at her own story dies away, and her brows furrow as she studies me.

The elevator doors open, and the sounds of a party in full swing invade the antechamber.

Her inquisitive brown eyes light up. “Oh my gosh, is this Cooper’s place? Mackenzie told me he has a super cool apartment, but she also said she hasn’t been there yet, so we looked at pictures and it was pretty. And fancy.”

“No, it’s—”

“Oh my god, it’s Beck Ryder!”

I wince. “—Beck Ryder’s place,” I finish.

“Luca, man. Welcome.” The former hometown boy band guy turned international underwear model and fashion mogul grins at us and gestures us deeper inside. Playing professional sports has its perks. Like hanging out with the rich and famous. Bonus when they’re good people. “Beer? Water? Steak? Cheese fries? A few chicken breasts? Pi?a colada? You hungry? Thirsty? I’m starving. Great game, man. Great game. Hi. I’m Beck. You must be Henri.”

He holds out a hand to my fake girlfriend, who’s gawking.

“Can I sniff you?” Henri asks.

Beck’s brows go up. “Like, my hair? My clothes?”

“Your armpits. I have a writer friend who swears you wear the best deodorant. It’s for research. Cross my heart.”

“Ah, let me check with my wife. If she doesn’t care, I’m good with it.” He shoots me a look. “If it’s cool with you too.”

“Lift your arm, Ryder. If my girlfriend needs to do research, she needs to do research. You don’t get in the way of an author in need.”

Henri beams at me, and I feel like I just ran a marathon and then hit four grand slams and set a deadlift world record.

That is, elated but also very tired, and also suspicious that I’ve been using steroids or something, because no mortal man could do all of that in a single day without artificial assistance.

Beck lifts his arm, and Henri leans in. “Wow. You do have good deodorant.”

Hell, now I’m curious.

I lean in to sniff too, but Ryder shoves me away with a laugh. “Don’t think so. C’mon. Get some food.”

“Henri!” Marisol charges into the entryway. “I didn’t know you were coming! Get in here—the Thrusters’ wives and girlfriends are here too. They want to meet you, because the Thrusters have a book club. A romance book club. Plus, chocolate fountain. Chocolate. Fountain.”

I swear, Henri blows out a relieved breath before she gives me an apologetic smile, starts to leave, comes back, hesitates, then goes up on her tiptoes to kiss my cheek. “Text me if you need me, okay?”

And then she’s gone like she’s glad to get away from me.

Not that I can blame her.

“Whoa, Luca, did your Nonna shrink your junk again?” Francisco asks as he pops his head around the corner too.

Beck ushers us both into the kitchen, where most of the rest of the team is gathered around the massive island loaded with food. The chocolate fountain is on a side countertop, which I can only tell by the number of women surrounding it and leaving with plates loaded with chocolate-covered fruit.