“Hey,” he says with a nod. “Just watching the weather roll in.”
He’s putting on a brave face, but I can see the worry as I plop down beside him.
“You scared?” I nudge my knee against his.
“Eh.” His eyes flick toward me. “Little bit.”
We sit in silence, the air thick with that postshower, prestorm stillness. My hair’s already starting to dry, the breeze picking up a few strands and tossing them around my face.
“Did your trainer say anything new?” I ask, just to break the quiet.
“He said to ice the knee tonight. That I shouldn’t overdo it.” Maverick laughs under his breath. “Guess we’ll have to stick to indoor cardio.” A beat. Then he glances sideways at me. “You know what’s weird?”
“What?”
“This.” He gestures between us. “How easy this feels.”
I nod slowly, the tight knot in my stomach giving just a little. “I was thinking that too.” How I don’t want to go home; not now, not in a few days when the rental is up.
“Annabelle?”
“Hmm?”
“What if we didn’t undo it?”
The knot in my stomach cinches tighter and then slowly starts to loosen, unraveling into something warmer, scarier, more impossible.
“What does that mean? There is no marriage certificate—we’refine.” I turn my body to face him, folding my legs beneath me. “Why would you want to stay married?”
His mouth quirks. “You said it earlier—when we go back to real life, I go back to football and you go back to weddings. But what if we’re not supposed to go back the same way?”
The sky growls, low and distant. I tuck my knees to my chest. “I don’t know if I’m built for your world,” I whisper.
Maverick snorts. “Of course you’re cut out for it. You’re so fucking awesome.” He inhales a breath. “Also, I uh—kind of have something to tell you.”
Oh?That gets my attention.“What?”
“So, uh. When you were in the shower, I was checking messages, and honestly—had a shit ton of them. You should check your phone too. I bet you have a lot.”
I crane my head. My cell rests on the coffee table, and I have no desire to haul my ass to the living room to retrieve it now that I’m settled into this chair.
I stare at my new fake husband expectantly. “What do you have to tell me?”
He fidgets. “Our fake marriage has gone viral.”
A beat of silence stretches.
I blink.
Blink some more.
“What do you mean? What went viral?”
Maverick runs a hand through his hair, clearly bracing for impact. “It means Cousin Evy posted a photo with us in it—and although she didn’t tag me, a shit ton of other people did, and now ...” He shrugs helplessly. “She got forty-two thousand likes on her post, and she only has eight hundred followers. I’m sure she’s freaking the fuck out right now.”
I gape at him. “Forty-twothousandlikes?” My brain cannot compute. “On one photo?”
“Well, no. She posted a slideshow of her cousin’s wedding.”
