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I smile at that, and there’s a pause, and I don’t know what to say to fill the silence.
“I’ll do it. I’ll marry you…for two years, or however long it takes to benefits both of us, or until you fall in love with someone.”
I stop in my tracks. Bruce looks behind him and sends me a worried glance. I nod my head, a silent signal that I’m fine and the guys don’t need to wait for me.
“Amber,” I say slowly. “I don’t want you making a decision about this because of car trouble. I’ll send you however much money you need. You don’t have to marry me for me to help you.”
“I know,” she says, her voice defensive. “I’ve been thinking about it, getting married, nonstop for days. We’d basically just be roommates, roommates that are married in name and help each other out. People do weirder things than this all the time, right?” She breathes a humorless laugh. Nella begins fussing in the background and Amber groans. “I have to go, but let’s do this, okay? Call me later when you have time to talk.”
“Okay,” is all I can say before she ends the call, leaving me standing in the middle of the airport tarmac with all the blood drained from my face.
Married. To Amber. It’s what I’ve always wanted, what I’ve always dreamt of. Obviously, the circumstances are all off. But maybe the proximity, maybe living together, might somehow help her see how good we could be together?
Realizing that’s a pipe dream, I shake my head and rush to catch up with the guys.
Bruce notices me first, his usually bright features somber with curiosity. “Hey, Cap’n. You okay?”
“Yeah, I’m good. Amber’s just having some car trouble and I was trying to help.”
West’s head snaps up from the mint he’s unwrapping. He pops it into his mouth and sticks the wrapper in his pocket. “Girls are so stubborn. She won’t let you pay for it, huh?”
I smirk and shake my head. “Nope.”
Mitch makes a grunting sound, his grumpy face as stormy as always. “Why won’t they just let us use our money to help them? We have plenty, and we’re happy to use it for something good.”
Colby snorts a laugh. “Yeah, Noel still feels guilty about how much I spent on books for her library. But with the thanks I got, I’d do it again in a heartbeat.” He winks.
Mitch shoves him. “Gross. Keep that to yourself.”
“Never stepping foot in that library again,” West teases.
We shuffle into the large bus that will shuttle our team to the hotel. Once inside, I sit in an empty row, and the silence feels stifling. I usually love silence, but now there’s this looming secret in the air. And for once, I want to talk to the guys about my personal life, to tell them about what Amber and I are thinking of doing. But I don’t know if she’d want me to say anything, and I don’t know who we’ll tell about our arrangement and who we won’t. If it even happens. I’m 99.9% sure she’s going to change her mind in the next twenty-four hours. But her procedure is in two weeks, so I suppose we need to make a decision soon either way.
I like to be prepared, so I checked my insurance policy after talking to her about this whole crazy idea on Thanksgiving. My policy doesn’t have a waiting period, so if we get married, she’ll be fully covered on day one. Her and Nella.
Something about that makes my chest puff out a little, the thought of taking care of them. Of those girls being mine.
CHAPTER
THIRTEEN
AMBER
“I’m not going to change my mind,” I tell Ford for the millionth time. “I get to hang out with my best friend for a few years. Why would I change my mind about that? And I finally have an excuse to move to D.C.” I’m actually not lying about the moving part—that’s what I’m most excited about. But the marriage part? It makes my tummy hurt a little…not because it’s Ford, I trust Ford more than anyone. Last year I was planning a real wedding, though. To a man I was really in love with. A man who shattered my heart.
“Because,” he says, then pauses, his deep voice sounding even deeper with how tired he is from traveling and from their game tonight. “It’s marriage.”
The word marriage brings heat to my cheeks. I’ve avoided wedding stuff for so long. It’s just a reminder of my failed engagement—and a fiancé who had a million red flags, all of which I ignored.
“We do need to hammer out the details,” I say, pushing off of my disastrous kitchen counter. Not a countertop that’s custom made like Ford’s, but one with peeling laminate that’s supposed to look like granite but failed miserably.
I attempt to open my junk drawer, yanking hard to get it open. Something inside is caught and keeps it from opening. Finally, it pulls free. I dig around in the mess, hoping to find a pen and paper. I find several tubes of acrylic paint, a few paintbrushes, some lip-liner, and a clean-ish napkin. Good enough. I grab the lip-liner and flatten the crumpled napkin on the countertop. Which is difficult, since the tiny amount of counter space I have is littered with dirty bottles and dishes.
I might not be a neat freak like Ford, but my apartment isn’t usually this bad. Today was insane, dealing with the car, a teething baby, scheduling a procedure—one that I’ll need to reschedule now—and of course, planning a wedding.
“Okay, I have a pen and paper,” I say, opening the cap of my lip liner.
Ford makes a pleasant, throaty sound. It sounds like he’s half humored and half annoyed. “You just have a napkin or something, don’t you?”
