Page 66 of Off the Mark
“Fifteen. But that extra thirteen is backup.”
He arched a brow. “And how many did you make last night?”
I peered out over the crowd, avoiding his smirk. “I don’t know…thirty?”
“Okay,” he said, like a doctor about to give a diagnosis. “That’s not normal. Or at least it’s normal the same way that when I want to make Tabitha breakfast in bed, I get up at dawn. Cook two ‘practice breakfasts’ using recipes from Mom and Midge. Eat them. Decide they’re not good enough for my wife. Cook two more. Eatthose. And take the fifth breakfast up, but only after I feel it’s perfect.”
I eyed him warily. “That sounds messed up. This marriage thing is no joke, huh?”
He very pointedly looked down at the pile of signs I’d made for Charlie’s race day. “How many breakfasts would you make for Charlie then?”
My brain sputtered out at even trying to consider all the details of this pretend scenario. Breakfast in bed meant Charlie Maddox. In myfucking bed. Two days had already passed since that almost-kiss in the lobby, and I hadn’t known a minute of peace since.
What would you do right now if this wasn’t fake?
Based on the amount of filthy, nonstop fantasies I’d indulged in over the last forty-eight hours, the answer was whatwouldn’tI do with a naked, eager Charlie in my bed?
And then I’d spent half the night glittering poster board with things likeCharlie Maddox Is #1!Really, I had no right to be giving Dean shit about his breakfast story.
“Rowan.”
“What?”
“How many breakfasts?”
I shoved my sunglasses up with a grin. “I don’t know, dude. One? Because I’d get it perfect on the first try?”
His response was to purposely—and sarcastically—pick up a sign. “Cool. I’ll be here at this race, acting normal, standing with my best friend who is pretend dating that blond woman on the dirt bike over there in a way that is also normal. Because you and Charlie have always been just friends and only friends.”
I coughed into my hand, trying not to laugh. “Yo, did I mess with you this much the summer Tabitha moved home?”
“Oh, it was so much more,” he said, smiling now. “Also,one breakfastmy ass.”
I was mid-laugh when I noticed mister Greek tragedy himself—Steve Duncan— ambling through the crowd of fans. Today’s look saidI’m rich but also I go to brunch,and it was obvious when he recognized me.
“Not this guy again,” I said, deflating a little. But I waved anyway, since there would only be a few events left for me to reel in donors, and I was growing desperate for cash.
“Which guy?”
“Potential donor for the center,” I said out of the corner of my mouth. “Don’t tell him you used to be a boxer. A couple nights ago he described my injury as aGreek tragedyand insinuated that Charlie needed a man’s stabilizing influence in her life.”
Dean grunted into his coffee. “Our favorite kind of sports fan.”
Steve made his way to us, and if he was embarrassed about the things he’d said to me at Charlie’s press event, he didn’t show it.
He clapped me on the arm like we were old friends. “Beautiful day for a race, eh, boys?”
“Yep, sure is,” I said, shoving the signs behind me with my foot. “It’s nice to see you again. This is my buddy Dean.”
Steve extended a hand but Dean just kept drinking his coffee, wearing a subtle version of his oldDean the Machineexpression. I didn’t think Steve recognized him. But he did drop his hand like it was no big deal before propping both on his hips.
“Nice to meet you too, Dean. How do you two know each other? Do you follow the moto circuit too?”
Our eyes met, and Dean inclined his head. I realized I might have a tiny hook after all.
“We work together in South Philly, where we’re from,” I said, nodding back at the skyline in the distance. “At a neighborhood rec center. We do food for seniors, programs for kids, social work support, that type of thing.”
Steve bobbed his head. “A rec center? Like funded by the city?”
