Drew + Fable Forever (One Week Girlfriend #3.5)(15)

That sucked.

Today is different. We played a Sunday night game and she came for it. Just her. She’s staying the next two nights. I got us a hotel suite in downtown San Francisco and I don’t think I’m going to let her out of it. I’ll keep her naked and in bed the entire time.

Sounds like freaking heaven to me.

A team representative is escorting her to the locker room and she should arrive any minute. Then we’re hopping in our car and I’m tearing ass out of here. I did my time. The game had been just about perfect, and I even did a short live-broadcast interview. The team publicists have been coaching me on how not to sound like a dumbass. Hopefully it’s working.

Here’s the craziest thing of it all: the media are in love with Fable. They’re fascinated with her. Half of it has to do with her name, I think. I mean, who the hell else is named Fable? The other half is the fact that she’s so goddamned beautiful, but I might be prejudiced in saying that.

Or maybe it’s because she avoids having anything to do with them. She does that for me. Keeps walking, never talking, throws a hand up in front of her face to stop them from getting a good picture. The publicists are telling me they want her more involved. They want her out there, talking to the media. For whatever reason, the public is fascinated with our story and they want to know more. Specifically why we live apart during the regular season.

I’m supposed to talk about it with Fable while we’re together for the next few days. I promised the publicist team. They’re eager for her to do a few interviews—nothing too probing, they promise.

Truthfully? I’m afraid my wife might want to kill me for even suggesting this.

Glancing up, I see her as if I’d conjured her up with my thoughts. She’s walking toward me, the team rep towering behind her since she’s such a little thing. She has on a black 49ers sweatshirt and jeans, her long blond hair pulled back into a high ponytail, and she’s about the prettiest, freshest thing I’ve seen in a long-ass time.

The last few steps she gives in and runs to me, heads straight into my arms, and I hold her close, burying my face in her hair as the team rep walks on by and straight into the locker room. Fable slides her arms around me and presses her cheek against my chest.

“You were amazing,” she says against my coat, and I give her a squeeze.

“Thank God we won,” I mutter, because even though we played so well today, as though we’ve been playing together for years, I was still worried it could all fall apart at any moment. My confidence level isn’t 100 percent there yet and I know it’s killing me.

But I can’t force it, no matter how badly the coaches want me to. I have to gain the trust of my fellow teammates, just like I have to really trust them. We’re all still wary of each other. I hate it.

“You didn’t think you were going to win?” She pulls away from me slightly to gaze up at my face, her forehead wrinkled with worry, her lush mouth turned down in a frown. Reaching out, I draw my index finger across her crinkled brows, trying to ease her mood.

“I wasn’t sure,” I confess. “We lost the last two. I feel like my team’s losing faith in me.”

“More like you’re losing faith in yourself.” She shakes her head and pulls out of my arms completely, though she at least takes my hand. Like she doesn’t want to lose the connection, and I feel the same exact way. “I think I know what my mission is for the next few days.”

“What, rolling around naked in bed with your husband?” I raise my brows hopefully and she laughs, shaking her head, much to my disappointment.

“Well, that sounds like a perfect plan, but I was also meaning that I need to work on building up your confidence. I don’t like hearing you so down on yourself.” She smiles. “Do you need a rescue, Drew?”

Hell yeah, I do.

I say nothing, though, merely drag her with me down the long walkway until it opens up to the private parking lot that only the team and any people involved with us use. My brand-new truck is in the near distance, the dark blue color gleaming beneath the bright overhead light. We’ve indulged in a few things since I got the outrageous contract with the Niners. The house and everything inside it, my new truck, the heavy diamond band that’s around Fable’s finger …

But hell, I have no time to spend money these days. I’m too busy practicing or playing or traveling. Fable’s never had this kind of money before, so she’s scared to death to spend any of it for fear it’ll up and walk away from us one day. Irrational, but she knows it, and realizing is half the problem.

I take advantage of this sort of situation. I’m used to money. I’ve grown up with it. To actually make it on my own is another feeling entirely, one I could get real used to. I’m comfortable with it and Fable’s not. I sometimes think she believes her life is one big fairy-tale dream and at any moment she’s going to wake up and find out none of it is real.

“Callahan! Hey, wait up!” an unfamiliar voice calls from behind us.

My defenses up, I tug Fable close and turn with her behind me to find some reporter running toward us. A guy I recognize who works for one of the networks and who’s always trying to get me to talk to him.

“What do you want?” I ask wearily, reluctant to talk and eager to get the hell out of here.

“Is this your wife?” He tilts his head to the side and nods toward her. “Is this the infamous Fable?”