Final Play (Fake Boyfriend 6)

Noah leans closer to yell over the strip club music. “I kinda feel like this is counterintuitive.” Says the gay guy getting a lap dance from a woman.

I eye the girl grinding on top of him. “For you guys, maybe. You didn’t have to accept the lap dance.”

He shrugs. “I always think everyone should experience things at least once.”

Miller laughs. “And?”

Noah hands the stripper a crisp fifty to leave. “It’s not horrible, but … Meh.”

“Meh,” I scoff. “Meh, he says.”

Noah nods toward the other side of the bar. “At least Maddox looks like he’s having fun.”

We look over toward a semi-private booth with a curtain half drawn. Maddox sits on Damon’s lap while getting a lap dance from one of the strippers.

I laugh. “Fun? He looks like he’s in heaven.”

When I turn back to Miller and Noah, Miller’s got his contemplative stare going on.

“What’s wrong?” I ask.

“You want that?”

I know he’d give it to me. It’s just a lap dance. But it’s too close to our old life—the one where we’d share women and I was oblivious to Miller’s feelings.

I don’t want to ever make him feel that way again.

There’s a difference between wanting something and needing something. I need Miller like I need air. Nothing else. Everything else is fun and disposable.

That part of our lives was a huge wake-up call for my denial. Sure, it took a long time for me to figure it out, but it was. It was denial wrapped up in sex. Dangerous combo.

I reach for his hand. “I have everything I need right here. In fact, I want you to give me a lap dance.”

I try to pull him into my lap, but he’s heavy and fairly intoxicated, so he falls to his knees between our seats.

I stare down at him. “This works too.”

“I’m kinda scared of what’s on this floor.”

I laugh and let him up. “Fine. You can give me a lap dance later.”

What we have is forever, and next week I get to prove it as we say our vows in front of about five hundred people in some small-town nowhere New York.

The things we’re doing to keep this wedding private.

Who’s ever heard of O’Leary anyway?

“Where’s Ollie and Lennon?” I ask.

“They were smart and came up with some bullshit excuse to be late to the lady bar,” Noah says.

I purse my lips. “Convenient.”

“We’re here. We’re here.” Ollie appears with Lennon behind him.

I narrow my eyes. “Where’ve you been?”

Lennon’s mouth opens. Then closes. “I was … uh, work meeting.”

Ollie rolls his eyes and nudges his boyfriend. “Tell them.”

“I … I … I’m starting a podcast. A sports one. And … I was at a vocal coach. Who I’ve been seeing for the past six months. And she thinks I’m ready to do it. And, and, and …”

Ollie wraps his arm around Lennon. “And you’re going to kill it.”

“That’s amazing,” Miller says.

“It is. You’d be perfect,” Noah adds.

Lennon turns to Miller. “I was kinda hoping … that maybe now you’re retired … that maybe you’d … y-you’d be interested in doing some podcasts with me. Like as a guest.”

“I promise he won’t be this stutter-y on the air,” Ollie says. “He’s just nervous to ask you.”

Miller looks at me, and I think we’re sharing the same thought. Offers like this are bound to happen. A lot of them he’ll want to do. But finding one to fit in with my schedule once the season goes back is going to be hard to find.

“You can do it from Chicago,” Lennon says. Maybe we’re all sharing the one thought. “We don’t have to be in the same room.”

I break into a giant smile as Miller’s face lights up.

“Then fuck, yeah, I’m in. It sounds awesome.” Miller stands and crushes Lennon in a hug.

“We ready to get out of here?” I ask. “Go to a gay bar to satisfy everyone else but the grooms?”

Noah doesn’t understand I’m being passive-aggressive. That or he’s ignoring it. Knowing him, probably the latter. “Yes. Finally!”

Miller hangs back while everyone else goes for the exit. “You cool with the podcast thing?”

“Of course. It sounds perfect.”

“Even if I’m going to be professional and totally call you out when you fuck up a play on the field?”

I wouldn’t have it any other way, but I’m not going to tell him that. Instead, I’m doing the typical Talon thing. “That’s fine by me, because we both know I don’t fuck up on the field.” I point to myself. “Football legend, remember?”

“Oh, right, sorry. How could I forget?”

In unison, we say the same thing, because he knows what’s coming. “Four-time Super Bowl champ, thank you very much.”

I pull Miller close and kiss him, because this is the exact reason I’m marrying him. He calls me on my shit, and I love him for it.

Chapter Nineteen

MILLER

The breeze whips by us as Talon directs the rented convertible down narrow and windy roads.