Honkers Under the Holly (The Cocky Kingmans)

5. Playing House

PLAYING HOUSE

“ S on, that better not be the Manniway rookie jersey you’re stuffing in there.” Dad’s voice carried from behind a tower of boxes. “That needs proper archival packaging.”

I pulled the jersey back out of the moving box, trying to remember which of the seventeen different tissue paper colors Mom had designated for premium items. The shop looked strange all cleaned up of personal items, the display cases empty except for the last few items they taking to the Florida house. Thirty years of sports history, all going into boxes or already sold to the new owner.

“Got the bubble wrap for the signed footballs,” Tommy announced, bursting through the door with Sir Honksalot waddling importantly behind him. “And Sir Honksalot brought his organizational expertise.”

“By which you mean he’s going to steal things and hide them in random boxes?” I asked.

“Hey, his chaos has a system.” Tommy dropped the bubble wrap on the counter. “Speaking of systems, how’s the move to the love nest—ow!” He rubbed his shin where I’d kicked him.

Dad emerged from behind the boxes. “You found a place, son? Why is it a love nest?”

“Just house-sitting,” I said quickly, shooting Tommy a warning look. “For a client. Well, sort of a client. It’s a networking thing.”

“That’s wonderful,” Mom called from the back room. “Is it one of those football players you met? The ones from the party Sara Jayne took you to?”

“Yeah, Sara Jayne’s boss and her husband are heading to Europe for a few months.” I carefully didn’t mention that Sara Jayne would be house-sitting too. Or that we were pretending to be engaged. Or that I couldn’t stop thinking about how it didn’t feel like pretending at all.

“Sara Jayne,” Dad said thoughtfully, picking up a signed Mustangs helmet. “Sweet girl. Way too pretty for you.”

I rolled my eyes. He wasn’t wrong. She was hands down the most gorgeous woman I’d ever dated, or kissed, or been fake engaged to. “Thanks, Dad.”

“No, I mean it as a compliment.” He set the helmet in its designated box and winked at me. “The way she looks at you... reminds me of how your mother used to look at me when we were dating. Still does, sometimes, when she thinks I’m not paying attention.”

Sir Honksalot chose that moment to snatch a Mountaineers pennant and take off toward the back room.

Tommy sprinted after the goose. “Sir Honksalot! We talked about this! Theft is not a personality trait!”

Dad chuckled. “Never thought I’d see the day when L.A.’s most promising running back was chasing a goose through my shop.” He turned back to me. “You know, son, sometimes the best things in life come at you sideways. Your mother and I, we met when she accidentally sold her father’s entire baseball card collection to me at a yard sale.”

“I know, Dad. You tell that story every anniversary.”

“My point is, don’t overthink it. When something feels right...” He trailed off as a crash came from the back room, followed by Tommy’s, “It’s fine! Only knocked over the Bandits memorabilia.”

Mom’s voice rose in alarm. “Not the Bandits box. That’s organized alphabetically.”

I hurried toward the chaos, but Dad caught my arm. “Just... don’t let a good thing slip away because of bad timing or circumstances like your parents up and selling your house out from under you. Sometimes life gets in the way, but when you know, you know.”

The thing was, I did know.

Had known since Sara Jayne first smiled at me over a runaway goose at Oktoberfest. Everything since then, the social media scheme, the house-sitting arrangement, even this crazy fake engagement, it all felt like the universe’s extremely unsubtle way of pushing us together.

Tommy returned with a smugly triumphant Sir Honksalot and a slightly crumpled pennant, “wait until you hear about the engage?—”

“Engaging conversation we had about social media metrics,” I interrupted. “Very boring. Lots of spreadsheets. Hey, Tommy, didn’t you want to show me that thing? Upstairs? Away from here?”

“What? Oh, right! The thing. With the... spreadsheets.” He winked, so obviously I considered letting Sir Honksalot steal his phone again. Or his contract.

As I dragged Tommy toward the stairs, I heard Dad say to Mom, “Remember when we were that age and thought we were subtle?”

The next day, it felt very weird to show up with just a couple of duffle bags of stuff at the front door of the mansion I was going to call home for the next few months.

“Our master suite has the best morning light for shoots,” Magda said, leading us through the rooms of the house. “I often use it when we’re trying different lighting setups.”

I hadn’t realized that the house sitting would also involve people coming and going all the time. It meant a lot more work keeping up our fake engagement charade. No way I was letting Sara Jayne lose any of Magda’s confidence in her because of reports that we weren’t... I don’t know, engaged-acting enough.

“These other rooms are all set up as styling stations and equipment storage,” she explained. “The schedule for whose using which room and when is posted on the doors so no one disturbs anyone else’s set up.”

Sara Jayne and I exchanged a quick glance. We’d planned to take separate rooms—but it seemed like every one of the bedrooms, even in a house this size, were all going to be occupied with the modeling and photography business.

Magda continued her tour, breezing past closed doors without opening them, and it would be way too risky to try to stay in any of them.

Sir Honksalot waddled past the French doors out in the garden, as if he’d already claimed the entire estate as his domain. Through the windows, I could see his luxury pet house being assembled by Jones’s personal assistant. It had a fountain. An actual fountain.

This goose sure was good at winning hearts and minds.

“Now, the main house alarm codes,” Magda continued, but I was distracted by Sara Jayne’s subtle shifting beside me. She’d been quiet since we’d arrived, and I wondered if she was as overwhelmed by all of this as I was.

We’d been on exactly one and a half dates. While I’d spent plenty of time fantasizing about having her in my bed, I doubted either of us thought we’d actually be stuck with only one bed for the both of us like this.

A bed that, as we discovered when Magda threw open the double doors to the room that was designated as ours, dominated the room like a cruise ship had docked in a sea of sea-colored carpet.

The theme song from “The Love Boat” popped into my head.

“Brand new memory foam especially delivered for you two this morning,” Magda said with a knowing smile that made my ears burn. “Jones insisted all the beds in the house be ultra-comfortable, supportive and durable.”

She winked at Sara Jayne. “Have fun breaking it in.”

Sara Jayne made a sound that might have been agreement or possibly just pure panic.

“I had everything in here reorganized last week, so there’s room for both your things. Though Sara Jayne, darling, we’ll need to clear some space for the wardrobe from tomorrow’s shoot.” Magda said, checking her phone, which she grimaced at.

“Well, dears, it looks like you’ll have to put up with Jones and I another two days. She showed us her phone briefly, not that I caught what was on the screen. But Sara Jayne’s eyes went wide. “Illustrated Sports just won’t wait for me to get back from the Amalfi coast to wrap up casting.”

She typed something, sending off a rapid fire message, then looked at me. “You don’t happen to have any clients nearby that could do a test shoot at four, do you, Mac, darling?”

Did I? “Would an L.A. Bandits running back work?”

“Oh, perfect. I always forget Tommy is here. Sometimes it’s hard for me to remember he’s all grown up. Call him will you, while I break the news to Jones that we can’t leave, at least until Monday.” She air-kissed us both. “Don’t worry about unpacking now. Plenty of time for that after the shoot!”

She swanned out, leaving us alone in what was apparently our bedroom. Our very much singular bedroom. With its very much singular bed.

“So,” I said intelligently.

“So,” Sara Jayne agreed.

From the garden, Sir Honksalot’s triumphant honk suggested he’d discovered his fountain.

“I can sleep on the floor,” I offered.

Sara Jayne turned to me, her expression fierce as she glanced down at my knee. At least, I think it was my knee she was looking at below my belt. “We’re adults. We can share a bed for a little while without it being weird. Can’t we?”

The problem was, everything about Sara Jayne made my pulse race in a decidedly non-platonic way. Sharing a bed, even just for sleep, seemed like an exercise in exquisite torture.

A hint of pink bloomed up her cheeks, and she looked at the doorway, lowering her voice to a whisper. “If Magda and Jones are here for two more days. We have to make this look convincing.”

She was right. And I was in so much trouble.

A crash from the garden interrupted whatever I might have said. We rushed to the French doors to find Sir Honksalot had indeed discovered the fountain. He appeared to be teaching it who was boss.

“Well,” Sara Jayne said, fighting a smile, “at least someone feels at home already.”

I looked at her, hair falling loose from her braids, trying not to laugh at our goose’s aquatic dominance display, and thought— I’m already home. That’s the problem.

After a dinner where Jones regaled us with stories about his playing days while Magda continued to take calls about the model casting for Illustrated Sports, Sara Jayne and I found ourselves alone in our room. Our room. The phrase still made my pulse skip.

She stood at her suitcase, pajamas clutched to her chest. “I’ll just...” She gestured toward the en suite bathroom.

“Right. Yes. Good idea.” Smooth, Jerry. Real smooth.

While she changed, I tried not to think about the fact that we’d be sleeping in the same bed. Instead, I focused on practical things. Like changing into my sleep pants and t-shirt. And wondering if I should have packed nicer pajamas than my old college sweatpants. And absolutely not thinking about how Sara Jayne’s toothbrush was already on the bathroom counter, right next to mine, looking like they belonged there together.

She emerged in soft-looking pajamas of a tank top and shorts printed with little clouds, her face scrubbed free of makeup. She looked younger, softer somehow. And absolutely beautiful.

“Bathroom’s free,” she said, not quite meeting my eyes.

When I came out a few minutes later, she was perched on the edge of the bed, looking about as nervous as I felt.

“I really can take the floor,” I offered, eyeing the vast expanse of carpet.

“Don’t be ridiculous.” She fixed me with that fierce look I was coming to know well. “You have an old injury, and that carpet isn’t nearly as plush as it looks.”

“It’s not that bad?—”

“Mac.” She patted the space beside her. “We’re both adults. And we need to make this look convincing for two more days. Come to bed.”

The way she said it, so matter-of-fact yet slightly breathless, made my heart do complicated things.

I slid under the covers on the far side, trying to maintain a respectful distance without looking like I was avoiding her. The bed was enormous, but I swear I could feel the heat from her body across the space between us.

“This is weird, isn’t it?” she whispered into the darkness after I’d turned off the lamp.

“Little bit.”

“Should we like... talk about it?”

“The weirdness?”

“All of it.” She shifted, and I could feel her looking at me even though I couldn’t quite see her face. “The fake engagement that doesn’t feel very fake. The way you smile at me when you think I’m not looking. The fact that I really want to move closer, but I’m afraid if I do, I won’t want to move back.”

My heart stopped. Then started again, double-time.

“Sara Jayne...”

She shifted closer, and I wanted to kiss her and touch her and spread her thighs, losing myself between them. But Sara Jayne moved first, putting herself right into my arms in a way that felt perfectly natural. Enough that when my arm ended up around her, it didn’t feel like crossing a line.

She fit perfectly against me, her head tucking under my chin like it was made to rest there. Her hair smelled like vanilla and something floral, and I tried very hard not to think about how right this felt.

“Is this okay?” she whispered.

Did I want to fuck her? Yes, absolutely. But holding her like this was something almost more overwhelming than my need for her. I closed my eyes and let myself imagine more than just one night with her. I imagined years and years together. “Better than okay.”

“Good.” She yawned. “Because you’re really comfortable. And warm.”

I pressed a kiss to the top of her head before I could overthink it. “Get some sleep. We have weeks to figure out the rest.”

But as her breathing evened out, and she curled closer in her sleep, I wondered if maybe we’d already figured it out. Maybe we were just waiting for our hearts to catch up to what they’d known since that first day I saw her.

A quiet honk from the garden sounded suspiciously like approval.

I woke sometime in the night to find Sara Jayne had turned in my arms, her face now inches from mine. Moonlight filtered through the French doors, casting silver shadows across her features. One of her hands rested against my chest, right over my heart.

She must have felt my breathing change because her eyes fluttered open, meeting mine in the darkness. For a moment, neither of us moved.

“Hi,” she whispered.

“Hi.” My voice was rough with sleep.

Her fingers curled slightly against my t-shirt and her eyes sparkled in the night. “I meant what I said before. About this not feeling fake.”

I reached up to brush a strand of hair from her face, letting my fingers trail along her cheek. She leaned into the touch, and something in my chest tightened. Other parts of me below the belt tightened too.

“None of it feels fake,” I admitted. “Not since the day we met.”

She shifted closer, erasing the last inches between us. “Mac?”

“Hmm?”

“Kiss me?”

Thank fuck. I cupped her face in my hand and brought my lips to hers. This wasn’t like our previous kisses, playful after the party, sweet during our goose adventures. This was slow, deep, full of everything we hadn’t been saying.

Sara Jayne made a soft sound and pressed closer, her hand sliding up to the nape of my neck. I traced the curve of her hip, then the dip at her waist, marveling at how perfectly she fit against me. When she gently bit my lower lip, I had to stifle a groan.

She pulled back just enough to meet my eyes, her breath warm against my lips. “I know this is all happening so fast...”

“Yeah,” I agreed, though I couldn’t stop my fingers from tracing patterns along the small of her back. God, I wanted her so badly.

“And we’re still just getting to know each other...”

“True.” I pressed a kiss to that spot below her ear that made her shiver.

“And we’re living in someone else’s house...”

“Also true.” My hands found their way under the hem of her pajama top, skimming the soft skin of her waist.

She arched into my touch. “So, we should probably take this slow.”

“Probably,” I murmured against her neck. I could make incredibly slow, sensual love to her if she wanted me to.

“Be responsible adults.”

“Absolutely.” I captured her lips again, and for a few long moments, being responsible was the last thing on either of our minds.

Finally, Sara Jayne pulled back, her chest rising and falling rapidly. “Mac?”

“Mm?”

“We’re not being very responsible.”

Dammit. I pressed my forehead to hers, trying to catch my breath. If she wanted to put on the breaks, that was entirely her choice. I wanted nothing but enthusiastic consent from her. While I was absolutely sure I could push and end up with her under me, giving her orgasm after orgasm, I would wait until she wanted that as much as I did. “No, we’re not.”

She traced my bottom lip with her thumb. “I want this to be real. All of it. Not just because we’re caught up in the moment or the pretense or?—”

I kissed her softly, cutting off her words. “I want it to be real too. That’s why I can wait.” I smoothed her hair back from her face. “We have time.”

She smiled that smile that had been undoing me since day one. “Six entire weeks.”

“And after that?”

The way she smiled up at me, the way it made my heart forget how to do anything else but beat for her. I knew I was falling so fast and so hard for her, I would never get back up. “After that, we won’t have to pretend we’re pretending anymore.”

She settled back against me, her head tucked under my chin, one leg tangled with mine. Her breathing slowly evened out, but I stayed awake a while longer, memorizing the feel of her in my arms.

Six weeks. Six weeks to turn this beautiful chaos into something real. Into something that felt as right as holding her right now.

I was pretty sure we wouldn’t need nearly that long.