Total pages in book: 132
Estimated words: 125213 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 626(@200wpm)___ 501(@250wpm)___ 417(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 125213 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 626(@200wpm)___ 501(@250wpm)___ 417(@300wpm)
People loved the album.
Was Aleks about to kiss me?
They were crying. The Internet was exploding.
Was Aleks about to kiss me… when he didn’t have to, when it wasn’t for show?
“See?” Aleks said, knuckles tapping my chin. I blinked up at him, feeling like I was living an out-of-body experience. “Told you so.”
His eyes held mine in the softest caress, like he didn’t just have me ready to mount him had we been left alone for even a second longer.
Was that what he wanted, too?
Did he want… me?
Or was it all still pretend?
“I think it’s time for our second act,” Isabella said, chugging half her glass of champagne before she tilted it toward me. “The rising action, if you will.”
Giana bounced a little on her toes, wearing her excitement in her wide gray eyes as Aleks and I shared questioning glances.
Isabella chuckled a bit at our discomfort, waggling her brows as she slid up next to Aleks and patted him on the chest.
“Hope you’re ready to go ring shopping, bad boy.”
Her gaze turned to me next, playful and yet as serious as a heart attack when she added three words that finally did my shaky heart in.
“It’s proposal time.”
So Weird
Aleks
A week later, eight of the top-ten songs on Billboard’s Top 100 were from Mia’s new album.
And of course, she held the number one spot.
The album streams were outrageous, the kind of numbers that had every radio and television show host talking about Mia Love and her particular kind of magic. She was days away from announcing her tour, and as if the fans weren’t already going wild wondering what cities she’d be in and how they would get tickets, we were about to give them all fangirl heart attacks.
A jeweler was showing up at my condo in twenty minutes.
We were picking out a ring.
And tomorrow, I’d propose.
The thought had my heart racing. I knew now that Mia wanted a family, from what she’d told me when we talked about her breakup with Austin. She wanted to get married. She wanted to have kids. And it didn’t matter that our little engagement was going to be fake.
I wanted to make it memorable for her.
There had to be a part of her that didn’t love this, even if it was saving her album release and helping with the tour. She wanted the real thing, not something pretend.
So, I’d do my best to give her what she deserved.
As for me, this would likely be the only time I had this experience — fake or otherwise.
I would never admit it out loud, not to myself or to anyone else, but I longed for a family, too. I wondered what it would feel like to have a woman to come home to after each game, to have a child or two running around a big house. What would I teach them? How would I show them a home life better than I had? What part of me would live in them?
That was always where the fantasy ended.
Because when I thought about that, about how they’d be stuck with my genes, it stopped me from dreaming. The dream became a nightmare.
I didn’t want to subject any woman to a lifetime of putting up with me, and I couldn’t stomach the thought of failing as a father to an innocent child.
Mia looked a bit green in my kitchen as Isabella ran over the plan for today. I wondered what was going through her mind, if her thoughts were as chaotic as mine right now. Her bronze arms were folded over her middle, hair tied into a low bun at the nape of her neck. She wore a Dodgers baseball cap, an oversized t-shirt, and black biker shorts — the hem of which disappeared under her shirt and made me wonder if she was even wearing pants when she first showed up.
Isabella and the team had managed to sneak her in without anyone being the wiser, but now, paparazzi had been tipped off that I was having a jeweler come to my condo, and they were camped out downstairs waiting to get proof of it.
It was Mia’s first time in my place here in Tampa. She’d visited a few times when I lived in Seattle, but never here.
It was crazy how she could make a condo feel like a home just by walking through the door.
Maybe it was because we grew up together. Maybe it was because in that big house in Chicago, she was the warmth and comfort that made it not feel intimidating. Whatever the reason, having her here in my space again brought a familiar, nostalgic ache to my chest.
I watched her as she took it all in, as her gaze snagged on each piece of furniture and décor.
I was a simple man. I didn’t need much, nor did I want it. If I was being honest, my main goal was to keep my place clean for when I brought a woman home with me. Most of the items that filled my space were picked out by my interior designer and had very little to do with my preferences.