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If it’s possible for a playboy ball player to melt from a smile from a woman, that’s exactly what I do. I’m ready to sink down at her feet, ready to massage, to worship those toes, even if they’re not sore like last night, ready to—
Fiona is wearing the red combat boots I bought her.
“Hey.” I smile like an idiot seeing his crush for the first time, and I really, really want to kiss her. I want to— “Hey.” I snap out of the haze of want. “Are you okay? Bexley says you saw Emelia.”
“Maybe you should ask if Emelia’s okay,” Demi cuts in. “I think you’ve got yourself a fan. And I think I’m going to head back to the others and let you two chat. Bye.” She wiggles her fingers at us as she walks away, leaving Fiona alone with me.
Me, and a group of interested and intoxicated women in line for the washroom. “You found her,” the blonde cheers.
“I did.” And I can’t wait any longer—I pull Fiona into my arms.
“Hi, there.” Fiona nuzzles into my neck. “I missed you.”
“You—” I pull back in shock. “Really?”
“Don’t look so surprised. You’re very miss-able.”
The relief pours out of me like water, and I’m about to kiss Fiona when the blonde in line tugs my arm. “Is she your girlfriend?”
“No,” I growl. “She’s my wife.” And I take Fiona’s hand and stalk away, looking for anywhere quiet and private so I can kiss her the way I really need to.
“Mase,” Fiona squeals as I pull her along. “What did you say?”
I duck into a doorway, that happens to lead to the men’s room. Fiona realizes it at the same time I do, but she only laughs as I clap a hand over her eyes so she won’t see the two men at the urinals.
“A little privacy, boys, if you don’t mind,” I say loudly as I push Fiona into the far stall. Thankfully it’s empty and relatively clean. I make a mental note to up the bathroom checks for Bubbles.
“Well, you know what they’re going to think now,” she says, giving me a mock glare.
“They won’t take pictures or try to hug me, so I don’t really care. What did Emelia say to you?”
“Oh.” And to my amazement, Fiona actually giggles. “I really felt like Taylor Swift with her posse in that Bad Blood video,” she says. “They had my back.”
“Who?”
“The girls,” she explains like it all makes sense. “Bexley, of course, but Shae and Rachel andChrissa—Chrissa is so cool,” she gushes.
“Are you drunk?” I demand.
“Not really.”
“A little really?”
“No! I mean, yes, but not really.”
I shake my head. This is a new side of Fiona—the non-making-sense side. “Fee,” I try again. “What did Emelia say to you?”
“It doesn’t matter.” She giggles again. “I told her off.”
“Youwhat?”
“I said I’d tell you she wanted to talk to you, but that you wouldn’t care because you were through with her. And Ididn’tcall her stupid, but I might have implied it, and I said she was trying to exploit you, and she shouldn’t ignore the evidence that the baby wasn’t yours. That’s where the stupid part came in. Arabella said I was a nobody, and the girls said they had my back. It was nice. What did you see in her, anyway?”
“I—” I goggle at her, realizing there is so muchmoreto Fiona than I ever realized. “Are you okay? You know she means nothing to me.”
“Well, yes, that’s what you said.”
“And you believe me?”
