Player (A Secret Baby Sports Romance)(71)

I skip texting her back and just call her.

“Hi, honey!”

“Hey, Mom. What are you doing in Beverly Hills?”

Mom usually avoids driving anywhere in LA. Actually, she’s not a big fan of leaving her West Hollywood neighborhood at all.

“Oh, I’m with Natalie, honey.”

I raise a brow. “What?”

“Well we’re just doin’ a little bit of girl shopping, that’s all!”

My mom sounds out of her mind happy on the phone, and there’s a pang of guilt that lances through me. It’s knowing this is fake, and knowing that Natalie is probably feeling the same thing. Not to mention the state we’re in right now having not spoken since “the collector’s” phone call the other morning and my subsequently shit handling of the situation.

“Austin honey, if I haven’t said it enough,” Mom’s voice lowers, still full of glee. “She is the just the sweetest thing, you know!” She chuckles. “You did real good, honey.”

Fuck, this fake divorce is going to be rougher on my mom than either Nat or me.

Maybe.

I shake my head. “Lunch sounds good, Mom.”

I frown as I hang up. Will it be worse on my mom? It’s a weird thought, but it’s like having Natalie in my life has become natural. She fits into every facet and in ways I never saw coming.

And she’s making me a better man, there’s no denying that.

I groan as I rub my temples, trying to remind myself why this whole thing is “fake.”

Money.

Fucking money ruins everything. That’s not what you think about when you’re coming up broke as fuck in nowhere Texas. But when you have it, and see it, you know its true.

Money fucked up her family, what with her dad. And money is fucking up any chance I have of seeing what this could be. Because that ship has sailed. The whole impetus for this girl even being around me is that I offered to pay her.

I have a hard time seeing how that might transition into “lets see where this may go” or anything stupid like that.

And anyways, I’m Austin Taylor - relationships? Being tied down? Nah, that’s not me anyways.

Right?

Six months. Six months more and then this little experiment will be over, and I can go back to the way things were. Meaningless, casual flings with terrible and trashy girls.

I scowl as I grab my keys and head out the door, trying to figure out what the hell is wrong with me and why that plan sounds like the worst.



I pull up on a side street in Beverly Hills near the address my mom eventually figured out how to text me where she and Natalie are. Looking around, I see Mom’s car outside this little nondescript shop half a block up the street, which means they’re probably still shopping.

I shrug as I jog across the street and walk over to the place. Nat and I haven’t spoken more than the bare minimum to each other in two days, but I push that aside.

Just get in, see where they’re at, and then go have lunch.

No big deal.

I’m surrounded by white the second I walk into the place.

Aw, shit.

A bridal shop; of course, in the middle of my swirling mind-fuck of emotions and conflicting thoughts about Nat and what this all is, I walk in to her and my mom at a damn bridal shop.

My brow furrows as I walk past racks of white frills and lace, past elegant, high-necked faceless mannequins modeling shit straight out of a damn Disney movie. I shake my head.

What the fuck are you doing in-

The sound of laughter and my mother’s boisterous voice filters out from the back of the store.

It feels fake that they’re here, doing this. Because whatever fucked-up thoughts I’m having how Natalie’s making me want to be a better man, or however confused I am about the way I feel about her…

She’s not really my wife - not in principle, at least. She’s just a girl I’m paying to play pretend.

It’s a dark thought.

I sigh and head towards the sound of them, pushing some sort of poofy pink thing out of the way, ducking past a rack of what look like padded bras, and pulling at the curtain that leads to the back of the shop.

Shit.

And right then, every grumbling thought, every confused notion, and every single worry I have just fades away as the breath leaves my body. Hell, the fucking world stops spinning for a moment and time stops as my eyes lock onto the utter vision standing in front of me.

She’s head-to-toe in white and lace, standing up on a pedestal in front of a trifold mirror. She doesn’t see me, and I move back a little, peering though a small slit in the curtain.

God she’s beautiful.

She’s stunning actually, a damn vision that takes my fucking breath away, standing there in silk and lace.

She looks so damn happy, and so damn perfect up there on the pedestal - the perfect wife. She laughs at something my mom says, blushing in the mirror and turning to glance at the back of it. My mom beams at her, fanning herself dramatically as she tells Natalie how wonderful this whole thing is and how gorgeous she looks.