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I’m smiling when I say it. Because every time I do, it feels a little bit cooler—more exciting and amazing.
“So are you guys . . . dating?” Hailey asks. “Like a couple?”
Small towns are awesome in a lot of ways, but they can also be brutal. Because opinions are like assholes—everyone’s got one. And this is never more true than in a town where everybody knows everybody, and whispers can be deafening and judgements permanent and labels stick for life.
I’m not going to let anyone have a chance to give Jason shit about his mother, or to think badly of Lainey—not on my watch.
“Yeah, we’re dating. In a relationship. We met before Jason and his mom came to Lakeside.”
Quinn smiles and passes Jason an “I told you so” look that girls pull off so well.
“We’ve kept things private for a few months,” I say. “But now we’re going public. I care about her very much, and . . . she’s my vole.”
The kids stare at me.
“Your what?” Louis asks.
“My prairie vole—look it up, you’ll learn something. But the point is, we’re together and I couldn’t be happier.”
Jason gives me a subtle nod of approval and I feel like I just aced my first Dad-material test. Thank Christ.
“That’s so romantic.” Daisy sighs.
“It’s cool when old people get together,” Keydon says.
“Yeah,” Min Joon adds, “I read an article about this couple who met in the nursing home and got married a couple months before they both died. They were cute.”
“Hopefully, we’ve got a couple years left before the nursing home comes for us,” I reply dryly.
“Hold up, hold up.” Louis raises his hand. “Just because you’re with Jay’s mom, that’s not gonna like effect the curve or anything, right?”
They all await my reply with rapt attention, because the curve is right up there with Wi-Fi—one of the most important things in life.
“No guys, it’s not going to affect the curve.”
There are sighs of relief all around.
And Martin adds, “Good for you, Coach Walker. It’s nice to see you settling down. And congratulations on the baby.”
I make a mental note to email Mrs. Smegal—to remind her that she’s got a great kid.
And I make a bigger note to talk to Lainey—to let her know that as far as Lakeside is concerned, we’re a couple.
For the first time in almost a decade, I’ve got a girlfriend . . . kind of.
This is gonna be interesting.
Chapter Eleven
Lainey
“We have to date.”
I look up from the curtains I’m sewing for the nursery—a billowy cream-colored fabric that will have the effect of puffy clouds floating around the windows.
Dean looks young when he says these words—mischievous and playful—the kind of look a boy would wear if he was trying to convince a girl to cut class and make out behind the gym. Totally irresistible.
“Or . . . you know fake-date. Act like a couple. Pretend.”
“Fake-date? Sounds like the plot of a rom-com.”
Dean fingers the end of the curtain. “Maybe. But the fact remains we have to go out—show our faces around town, together.”
“It’s not like we’re hiding.”
“Yeah, but we need to act like a couple. Hit up the diner, the bagel shop, the movies—we have to hold hands, walk with my arm around you . . . kiss.”
My traitorous eyes go right to his mouth—that gorgeous, sinful mouth.
“Kiss?” The syllable comes out high pitched and strangled.
Dean grins. “Yeah. I mean, if you’re okay with that.”
It’s terrifying just how okay I am. In fact, I’d be good with practicing right now.
Instead, I clear my throat. “Why do we have to do these things?”
Dean explains the question he got in class from one of his students and how he answered.
“So, you want to like—protect my honor? How old-fashioned.” I laugh.
“Yeah, your’s and Jay’s honor. I have a reputation around town and mother insults are still a thing. ‘Your mom is dating Coach Walker’ is a lot weaker than ‘Coach Walker fucked your mother and knocked her up before she even knew his last name.’ That could sting.”
He makes a valid point.
Or maybe I’m just deluding myself. Letting myself be swayed by the argument that will lead to holding Dean’s hand, going out with him, kissing him wherever, whenever—because that’s what I really want to do. Because the more I get to know him, the more I want him, and all the reasons I told myself we shouldn’t get physically involved feel thinner by the hour.
Dean moves in closer and slides my hair back from my shoulder, toying with the feather earring hanging from my earlobe. And his voice shifts gears, losing some of that playfulness, dropping low and tantalizing.
“Of course, anytime you want to stop pretending we’re doing the deed and make it a reality, you just need to say the word, beautiful.”
My pulse quickens as his tone washes over me, his tempting words—talk about lethal. Dean Walker’s voice should be labeled a weapon of mass seduction.
