My (Mostly) Fake Wedding - Penelope Bloom Page 0,49

around to cheer when Chris’ team did something good.

Watching Chris play was bizarre. I knew the goofy, carefree guy who seemed to have a maximum speed of casual. On the field, he shouted out plays, dodged giant men who looked like they wanted to take his head off, and hurled the football further than it seemed like it should’ve been possible.

It was a little embarrassing to admit it, but I couldn’t help taking in the tens of thousands of screaming fans and thinking how many of them probably would’ve killed to be in my position. It made me think about how much I’d been fighting my feelings for him, and why? Because I was scared.

I was scared he’d take what I gave him and discard it when it didn’t suit him anymore.

Chelsea bumped my shoulder during a time out when the crowd noise wasn’t quite as deafening. “So?” she asked. “Damon tells me you and Chris might not be pretending anymore.”

I shot Damon a look, who had taken a sudden interest in a piece of lint on his suit. Bastard.

“It’s complicated.”

Chelsea smiled, almost in a nostalgic way. “Complicated isn’t always a bad thing, you know.”

“Simple would be better, though.”

“Would it? When was the last time something simple was right? Isn’t it always the complicated, convoluted things that end up working out for the best?”

“I don’t know, but I wish I knew what the right decision was.”

“I think all the guys I was with before Damon seemed like easy decisions. We had similar interests, or we shared friends. So of course, it made sense to try a relationship. And all of those failed. And then I finally ran into the most complicated, infuriating man I’d ever met.”

Damon was now almost in a meditative state as he tried to remove a piece of fiber that had become lodged in his suit sleeve.

The game resumed, and it was apparently an important play because the crowd immediately started roaring and stomping their feet until all I could do was smile and nod at Chelsea.

Complicating and infuriating equals love? Was that the message she was trying to sell?

I stared out at the field while Chris crouched with his hands halfway shoved up a large, sweaty man’s ass. He shouted something, turning his head to either side, then stomped his foot for the ball.

I grinned. If Chelsea was right, then I could consider myself madly in love with Chris Rose.

With the ball in his hands, he backpedaled, scanned the field, and then the next thing I saw were two extremely fast men tackle him at the same time from opposite directions. Chris crumpled to the ground clutching his shoulder.

30

Chris

Medical machines beeped, doctor’s talked in hushed tones, and I was lying on a cozy hospital bed. I was also loaded up with enough sedatives and painkillers that I felt a little bit like I was floating a few feet above it all.

I glanced down at the thin blanket covering me, which was tented up from the impressive, inexplicable erection I had. “Why am I so erect?” I mused aloud.

I rolled my head to the side, spotting Belle. “Oh. That’s why.”

Belle was shielding her eyes in embarrassment. I couldn’t figure out why until I noticed the nurse beside her. And the intern who looked fresh out of college. And the doctor. And the tall, fancy looking guy at her side I didn’t recognize.

She approached my bed and tried to position a pillow to cover me. In the end, it took a few seconds and two pillows to fully shield my aggressively erect cock. If I hadn’t been pumped full of enough drugs to get an elephant high, even I might’ve been slightly embarrassed by the ordeal. As it was, all I could do was watch with light-headed amusement.

She leaned down to whisper something in my ear, but I thought she was coming for a kiss so I tried to plant one on her. She flinched back, then seemed to think better of it and gave me a light peck on the lips. “Chris,” she said softly. “My brother, Asher, is here. Please try not to mortify me any more than you already have.”

I shot upright. “You have a brother?”

The fancy guy I’d noticed approached. He was tall, well-groomed, and had a little edge of “I’ll shoot your knees out if you cross me” about him. I decided I liked him, so I stuck my hand out. “I’m erect,” I declared. I blinked. That wasn’t right. “I’m Chris,” I