Page 145 of The Fake Out

I swallowed. The only thing I wanted to do was throw myself in his arms. But I hadn’t come all this way for nothing. “Are we being recorded?”

“Yep,” one of the camera people replied.

“Come on.” Chris glanced around the room before he grabbed my hand and pulled me toward the front of the room.

“Chris, Chris,” the reporters shouted. “Do you want to make a statement?”

He stopped so fast, I ran into him. Still smiling, he wrapped an arm around my shoulders and grabbed one of the microphones on the table. “Here is my statement: It was a great game. But now, ladies and gentlemen, I’m going to go enjoy this grand romantic gesture in private.”

The room erupted in laughter. But he was on a mission. He tossed the mic to Sherrod and we were moving again toward a door in the front corner of the room. It opened on to a long, wide hallway where people were milling around. He pulled me along, opening and closing doors as we went until he found an empty room. The door shut behind us and he flipped on the light to reveal we were in a small supply closet.

I put some distance between us—the whole two feet the room allowed—and held up a hand. “Don’t distract me with your smiles and twinkly eyes. I have things I need to say.”

He tried (and failed) to rein in his smile. “I’m listening.”

I pulled the check out of my bra where I’d stuffed it to keep it safe. “I don’t want your money. I’ve returned it every time and it keeps coming back. Our contract became invalid.”

He frowned. “How?”

“Because it was a business arrangement. No feelings allowed, remember?” I ripped up the check into tiny little pieces and tossed them in the air.

Chris nodded.

“I screwed up. I had feelings. I have feelings. So many feelings, and I was scared of the feelings, like you said. I’m still scared of the feelings. I know I kept saying that happily ever after isn’t real. The thing I kept getting stuck on was the ‘happy’ part. But it’s the ‘ever after’ part that’s important. Because we won’t always have happy times. Sometimes we’ll be angry or sad or hurt. Sometimes life will be hard. But the ‘ever after’ part means it’s us together. Forever.”

Chris studied my face, his eyes warm.

I took a deep breath. “I love you. You’re the only person I want to do ‘ever after’ with.”

Smiling softly, he took a step toward me, tucked a piece of my hair behind my ear.

“I need you to say something,” I whispered. “I’m kind of dying here.”

“Do you believe in love at first sight?” he said. “Or should I walk by again?”

I closed my eyes. “You’re going to torture me right now?”

He crept a few inches closer, his eyes twinkling. “If you were a chicken, you’d be impeccable.”

I laughed. “This is my punishment.”

“Are you a time traveler?” He picked up my hand and tugged until I half fell into him. He smelled so good—soap and cinnamon gum and Chris. “Because I can see you in my future.”

I grinned and curled a hand into his shirt. “I think you have to kiss me.”

One of his eyebrows arched. “Is that so?”

“Yes.” I nodded solemnly. “That’s what comes after the grand romantic gesture and a declaration of love. You don’t want to disappoint people when we retell this story, do you?”

One of his hands settled on my lower back, the other slid through my hair to the back of my head. His eyes dropped to my mouth and my heartbeat sped up. “Sprinkles, the only person I’m worried about disappointing is you.”

“Don’t call me Sprinkles.”

“You suit me just fine,” he whispered against my mouth.

Then, finally, he kissed me.

EPILOGUE