Undeniably Married (Boston’s Irresistible Billionaires Book 4)
Undeniably Married: Chapter 19

“Hey, Reyes,” Tony Clark, not to be confused with Tony Stark, even if he thinks he’s fucking Iron Man, calls out to me. I ignore him as I head for my locker. I’m in team clothes, track pants, and a hoodie since this is the second preseason game I didn’t play. I don’t need a shower, but I do have to change for post-game interviews. “Maybe you can give me your wife’s number. I hear she likes it up the ass from football players.”

I grit my teeth while trying to maintain my smooth mask of indifference. Even if I want to pound his face in until he’s unrecognizable and his cocky grin is toothless.

“Funny, I heard the same thing about you,” I retort and leave it at that.

Alistair, our openly gay punter, snorts under his breath, and I shoot him a covert wink, letting him know I have nothing against people being gay or taking it up the ass. I said it to be a dick—pun intended—and get a rise back out of Tony. Tony is a bit of what I like to call a football dinosaur. He likes to talk shit about things he shouldn’t, and he enjoys throwing dirty hits on the field. As far as I’m concerned, he can retire or get himself traded.

He’s been slow to get to the receiver and the ball lately, and that concerns me more than anything else.

I pull my phone out of my locker and immediately see the text from Vander.

Vander: Watch your back. Brody is fishing around with his former teammates.

Damn. It’s like Vander has a crystal ball or something.

“You weaselly motherfucker,” Tony barks affronted, and I can hear him charging my way. A shove hits my back but it’s not hard and it’s hardly threatening. It doesn’t even knock me into the locker, because he’s all bark and very little bite. He’s trying to provoke me, clearly at Brody’s request, but I have a long fuse, and he’s barely lit it.

I was wondering how long it’d take Brody to make his move.

I turn. Slowly. Standing up to my full height, which is about the same as his, I stare straight into his eyes, not wavering for a second. “Something you need, or is your roid-rage getting the better of you?”

He’s all alone with this. No one is jumping in, though they’re all clearly watching.

“Listen here, asshole. I don’t like what you did to Brody.”

“And it took you a month to say that to me, or was this just when Brody asked you to take up his charge since he’s too much of a pussy to do it himself?”

And right there. That flicker in his eyes tells me everything. Well, that and Vander’s message. “That bullshit you pulled is bothering a lot of us, and what you did on the field last week with her was crossing the line.”

That might have been, but I had this dream of her wearing my jersey, and after that, I couldn’t get it out of my head. For the last four weeks since returning, I’ve stayed in line, kept my hands to myself, and followed the rules she set for us while keeping us strictly in the friend zone. Well, anytime we haven’t been in public, that is. When we’re in public, there’s no stopping me.

I hold her hand and whisper things into her ear to make her blush and smile. I kiss her when I think I can mostly get away with it. And when we’re at home, I do everything I can to spend as much time with her as possible. Even if this past week since my little stunt that’s proven more difficult.

Still, there is only so much a man can take for so long, and after that dream, I bought the necklace and the jersey, and she wore both all game. I’ve even caught her wearing the jersey around the house because the other morning I saw her come out of her room to start her coffee, but I was already in the gym when she walked by. She slept in it. Or at least seemed to have, so I have no regrets about what I did last week on the field.

Besides, only a few fan photos leaked. Nothing major. If Brody saw one, sucks to be him, but he needed to know who Sorel belongs to, and it isn’t him.

“Like you don’t bring your wife out onto the field before the game?” I throw back at him. “She’s there before everyone. You practically hold her hand right up until kickoff because you’re so obsessed with her.”

He doesn’t have a response other than to give me another shove, as if what I said was out of line. I know why he picked today to start something with me. He thinks I’ll fight back and get myself kicked out of next week’s game because it’s preseason and not regular season, which makes it perfect for everyone because it won’t impact the team or our season.

But again, not gonna happen. I intend to play the entire game next week.

“That’s different. She’s my actual wife. Not some showy bullshit to get back at Brody.”

“So you’re cool with him cheating on her, then?” I continue, making sure my voice carries. “Even up to the night before their wedding with her friend, who was also a bridesmaid. He had no plans to stop either. None. He said it all in the texts, which I know you heard because you were in the church that day.”

“His phone⁠—”

“Don’t,” I warn. “Don’t perpetuate a lie like that. His phone wasn’t hacked. You heard what he said in the church. He admitted it.”

He shifts his weight and glances around at the other players. Again, no one is stepping in to join the Brody brigade. Tony’s on his own with this. “It still wasn’t right to run off with her and marry her on the same day.”

“Maybe, maybe not.” I shrug indifferently. “Still doesn’t mean my marriage isn’t real and that what Brody did wasn’t wrong.” I tilt my head, ready to give it back to him. “Maybe before you allow him to talk you into taking up his personal shit, you should make sure it’s a cause worth fighting.”

Two fingers punch my shoulder. “You think you’re God’s fucking gift because your dad is the coach. You’re not. You’re just a deaf motherfucker who can barely throw the ball.”

Hmm.

“Funny, since I can hear your yapping well enough and set a team record the year I led us to the Super Bowl for the most throwing yards.” I slap my thigh and snap my fingers in an aw-shucks way. “Oh right. You weren’t on that team. You’ve never won a Super Bowl.”

He grunts. His fight was half-baked at best, but if he thought I was going to jump the first second he said boo, then he’s as dumb as his friend who asked him to pick a fight for him.

“Brody doesn’t need you fighting his battles for him,” I continue. “He can be a real man and come speak to me himself if he has a problem. I don’t owe him or you an explanation for what I did. If you don’t like it, tough shit. My personal life isn’t why we’re here. Take out your anger on the field and not with me. Brody’s not your brother, your father, your current teammate, or your son, and as far as I’m concerned, he doesn’t deserve her, and I do. End of fucking story.”

Although as I say the words, I’m hit with a glaring reality. I may deserve her, but that doesn’t mean I’ll get her, and I can say whatever I want, but that doesn’t actually make her mine.

It’s so quiet you could hear a pin drop.

“Anyone else have anything they’d like to add?” I glance around the locker room, going from face to face, but focusing in on Brody’s buddies. I knew this would happen at some point. Brody played for a year with us, and there is a comradery to a certain extent in this sport. We can be dirty assholes on the field, mouth off, and throw our testosterone around, but off the field, there’s an element of respect and brotherhood.

Or should be. That often doesn’t carry over.

Like right now with him coming after me on Brody’s behalf.

I look back at Tony. “I’m not going to fight you, but if you ever talk about my wife again, I’ll make sure you fucking regret it. I don’t have to throw fists to make you feel my weight. Others might be afraid of you, but I’m not. Remember that.”

I turn my back to him and start getting ready for the stupid press conference I’m now running late for. He storms off, again all bark and no bite, and I finish up and leave the locker room. But I’m edgy. Salty. His tantrum came at a bad time. I put my jersey and my number on Sorel, and she looked at me as if not only she could not understand what I was doing, but she hated me for doing it.

Even if she wears it, it doesn’t mean she’s wearing it for me. It’s the same with the ring.

I’m tired of pretending this thing with her isn’t real. Because it is. It fucking is. Time is slipping away from me—a third of our arrangement is already over—and I know Stone told me to be patient and do this slowly, but it’s not working. Even worse, she’s started keeping her distance from me. At first, I saw her when I’d come home, or she would.

Now, it’s like she’s avoiding me, and I don’t know what to do.

I’m struggling to concentrate because she’s all I think about. I want to feel her and taste her and smell her hair and make her smile and watch as she comes for me. It’s affecting my game. My home life. Even my friends because they’re her people too.

The only person who doesn’t know I’m in love with Sorel Fritz is Sorel Fritz.

Every move I make, every word I say, every look I give her, I find myself second-guessing, and it’s not who I am. At this point, I can’t tell if it’s a lost cause or if she simply needs more time. I don’t know, but next week is my first game, and after that, it’s season time. This is why I never dated any woman for very long. My head needs to focus on one thing and one thing only, and that’s football and making sure this season is better than last year’s.

That’s my job.

And Sorel Fritz is fucking with my head. And my heart.

Two things she wants no part of.

I put on my smile and do the press conference with the same passion and excitement as I do every week. But the moment that’s done and I get into my car, my chest caves. It’s the first time in four weeks I don’t want to go home. I’m not sure how much longer I can pretend, and I already know tonight I won’t be able to. She needs time and space, and tonight, I do too.

I call Vander since he’s single and has a very nice guest room. I would actually consider calling Owen or even my dad because I could use some sage advice, but I’m tired and just want to zone out for a bit and then crash.

“Hey, man,” he answers immediately. “What’s up? You got my text?”

“Yep. Thanks for the heads-up. Tony Clark started shit, but it didn’t go anywhere. Can I crash there tonight?”

He pauses and then asks, “Things that bad at home?”

I release a heavy breath. “I don’t even know what things are at home. I just know I can’t be there tonight.”

“You’re always welcome. Come on over.”

“Thanks, brother. I’ll see you in a bit.”

I put my car in drive and head straight out to Cambridge. Vander lives in his dad’s childhood home since his parents mostly live up in Maine and only come to Boston once a month or so. The house sits on a pretty tree-lined street, and I pull into the driveway and turn off the car. I end up sitting for another moment, feeling like I’m failing and giving up for the first time in my life.

I don’t do either of those things, and it’s eating at me like a festering wound. This isn’t who I am or how I was raised. But it’s more than that. I finally found the woman of my dreams. I even went and married her. Only before I know it, she’ll be gone, and the marriage will be a thing of the past. And I don’t know how to stop it.

I sigh dejectedly and get out of the car.

I just need a night to figure it all out and perhaps sleep this feeling off. Maybe kick Vander’s ass at Madden.

The back door opens, and Vander is inside holding a beer. I really, seriously want one, but I won’t. “I always knew you’d come knocking at my door again.”

I roll my eyes at my friend but chuckle all the same. “Miss me, sweetheart?”

He claps a hand on my back. “Like a raging case of herpes.” He offers me a beer, and I shake my head. “I get to be you for the first game.”

I grunt. “Fine. I’ll still kick your ass even if I don’t get to play as me.”

“Wanna bet on it?”

Fuck yeah, I do. “Loser has to make breakfast.”

Mondays are my days off, though today is the first one I’m not looking forward to. Typically, I’m sore as hell. Bruised and aching and the only thing I want to do is sit on the sofa, watch game film, and not move again until I have to. Today I’m not sore, and while I could watch game footage, I didn’t play, and we’re not playing against that team again this year.

I could watch other games, but I’ve done that already, so there isn’t much I’m missing, and I know my playbook inside and out.

So basically, I have a full day with not a whole lot to do. Worse yet, tonight I have one of the Abbot-Fritz galas to attend. Yet another ruse when I show up with Sorel Fritz posing as my wife on my arm. I don’t even know what her schedule is for the day, so I’m not sure if I’m meeting her there or if we’re going together, and I simply don’t have it in me to text her and ask only to have her blow me off in one fashion or another on her crusade of avoidance.

I decide to go for a long run around the city since it’s still very early, not even seven, but when I unlock the door to my apartment to get changed into running clothes, I’m shocked by what I find. Sorel isn’t at work. She’s asleep on the sofa, wrapped up in a throw blanket. She looks so sweet like this, all curled up and small with her blonde hair all over the place and her dark lashes fluttering.

I’m almost tempted not to wake her. She must need the sleep, but I can’t imagine what she’s doing on the sofa. The TV is on, the sound so low I can’t hear it, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t on. It’s set to HGTV, and I realize there’s still so much about her that I don’t know. Does she always watch this station when she watches TV alone? Is she secretly into home décor and renovations?

I watch her sleep for a moment, warmth spreading through my chest. She’s the first good thing I’ve seen in over twelve hours and easily holds my attention. Without thinking twice, I cross the room and shut off the TV. She doesn’t stir, and I lower myself to my knees. I debate leaving her like this or picking her up and carrying her to her bed. She clearly needs the sleep if she’s this out, but I think she has work today and is likely late.

Before I can come to a conclusion, her eyes flutter, and her marbled hazel eyes, swirling with color, framed by dark lashes and light eyebrows blink at me. And then narrow. She sits up quickly, immediately putting space between us.

That’s… unexpected.

I sit back on my haunches, my brows furrowed. “What’s wrong?”

She brings her knees and the blanket up to her chest. A barrier. I’m starting to need a manual for how to deal with her without fucking something up. She certainly keeps me on my toes and is never boring, I’ll say that much.

“Nothing’s wrong. I must have fallen asleep out here is all.”

“If nothing’s wrong, then why are you looking at me like you’re disappointed to see me?”

Her expression clears and becomes unreadable. Unfazed. “Why would I be disappointed to see you, Mason? It’s not as if you’ve been out all night and didn’t bother to text or call only to return home when it’s barely dawn out wearing the same clothes you wore during your press conference last night.”

I tilt my head. In my attempt to pump the brakes and give her the space I thought she needed, I’ve made her… what? Worried, jealous, uncertain.

“I’m sorry I didn’t call or text,” I tell her because, yeah, that was pretty inconsiderate of me. I shouldn’t have done that. For a year, I’ve watched Sorel knowing she was untouchable to me. Forbidden. I’m still getting used to her being here. “I haven’t had to check in with anyone since before college. It wasn’t intentional to be rude or dismissive. I went and crashed at Vander’s last night.”

She scoffs and shoots off the couch, going around the other side of the coffee table to avoid me completely. “Don’t lie to me, Mason. I’ve had enough of that to fill a lifetime. If you were out fucking someone all night, just own it.”

I stand, watching as she marches down the hall toward her bedroom. “You’re so goddamn blind,” I yell after her, losing my patience. “Christ, when will you open your eyes and see what’s right in front of you?” She pauses, and I take advantage. “I didn’t fuck anyone last night. Truth be told, I haven’t fucked anyone else since you walked into my life. I want you, Sorel. I slept at Vander’s because it’s been killing me to come home night after night with you here and know that I can’t touch you or be with you. This last week since I put my number around your neck and kissed you on the field, you’ve erected a wall to keep yourself safe from me. When will you realize there is no one your heart is safer with than me because no one will ever take better care of it than I will?”

She doesn’t turn around, though her voice shakes with emotion as she rasps out, “I have to get ready for work. I’m late.”

And then she runs off, her door slams shut behind her, and she leaves me here to feel like the biggest chump in the world.