Page 59 of The Game Plan

And since that barista twinkled her eyes at me, I’m going to get my own ring, too. Sienna and I are in this game together, as a team, and for the next eight weeks, I want everyone to know that I’m hers, too. Even if it’s temporary.

* * *

We’re met in the underground car park of Tiffany’s by one of the store’s security staff, suited for the occasion, despite Sienna and I being dressed much more relaxed. I like the pomp and ceremony of it, though. Every woman deserves a bit of pomp and ceremony, right?

We might drive each other crazy but Sienna and I live together; on the road we’re sharing a room together. She hangs out with my friends and my brother. We can’t keep this a solely working relationship anymore, can we?

We’re friends, I think, and I do nice things for my friends. So, this is me, doing a nice thing for a friend who I am totally crushing on – aesthetically only, obvs.

“Mr and Mrs Harris, lovely to see you,” the guy says, extending a hand first to Sienna, which I have so much respect for, and second, to me. I’m buying this ring but it’s her they need to impress and if they don’t, we’ll be having a closed-door night in some other store, until she gets the special treatment.

I do though smirk at the sound of Mrs Harris. That won’t sit well with my wife, even if she’s clearly too distracted to react on this occasion. It makes me doubt whether this is all okay. We agreed I’d buy her a ring. It’s in the rules. But as we ride the elevator and she subtly fiddles with her clothes, I wonder if her rare silence is discomfort.

I slide an arm around her back and lean into her ear, my nose capturing the scent of vanilla in her hair as I do, and tell her, “You look fine, Si. Incredible, in fact.”

She leans into my hold, the way she did when we saw Carl at the fair. Most likely for appearances, since we’re not alone in the elevator cart, but it feels nice, honestly. Kind of real fake, rather than fake fake.

Then she rests her head on my shoulder and says quietly, “Do you know, when I was a girl, if anyone tried to shorten my name or give me a nickname, my mom hated it. She had an inferiority complex when she was among the other moms at school. My parents didn’t come from much and she had this constant need to be seen as someone else. Someone… better.”

She looks up to me and I think we exchange understanding. I can’t wholly empathize because I was always born into that class system, but Sienna’s work ethic and her need to please people makes a little more sense, for this tiny insight.

“You’re the only person who’s ever called me Si and I’ve not told you to stop.”

I swallow deeply, something sticking in my throat. “Is it okay? I don’t have to call you Si if you don’t like it.”

She looks away from me but she’s still watching our reflection in the mirrors surrounding us as she settles her head back onto my shoulder. “No, I like it. It makes me feel wild, like the sea. Everywhere. Serene and ominous. Calm and strong, all at once.”

Her eyes hold their next blink for seconds.

She is those things. All of them, all at once.

Alongside being a gigantic pain in the ass.

The elevator pings and we’re greeted by three more staff, all ready to wait on us and all referring to us as Mr and Mrs Harris. Jax and Sienna Harris. I suddenly feel taller than I have in skates, facing off against some of the biggest, strongest men in sports.

Sienna gasps as she accepts a glass of champagne from one of the staff – Julie – who has set a bottle, two glasses and a tray of chocolate-covered strawberries on a table for us. The store is empty of customers but all the lights are on, making every gemstone in the store sparkle.

On top of the counters, already laid out, are trays of rings with the minimum value I told the store Sienna was allowed to choose – $50,000 – and the upper limit is whatever she deems appropriate for putting up with me and my mess for three months.

My own mother would call herself priceless for putting up with Dad, TJ and me – not so much Sas.

So, I tell Sienna, “Do your worst, babe, I only have one request.”

She turns from gazing at the vast space full of rings to look at me.

“Whatever you choose, I want a band to match, for me.”

Her eyes narrow. “You want a wedding ring?”

I take a step forward, closing the gap between us, and subconsciously drop a hand to her hip, firm and svelte in her Pilates pants. “I do. If the world is going to see you as off the market, then I want to be clear that I’m off the market too.”

Her expression is completely deadpan, eyes fixed on mine. I truly have no idea what she’s thinking and for the first time since I’ve known her, no matter how much her boss lady tailored clothes and killer heels can intimidate others, Sienna in activewear with wispy hair scares me.

There’s a tightening in my chest that’s unfamiliar, and that unfamiliarity is terrifying.

I do.

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