Blindsided (Fake Boyfriend 4)

“I, uh …” I have absolutely no idea what to say.

Talon laughs, but it’s awkward and sounds forced. “Yeah, that’s my thoughts on it too. I, uh, dunno what that was.”

“I wasn’t entirely sure if it was real or a drug-induced hallucination.”

There’s a pause, because this conversation is awkward as hell, and clearly, we both think it necessary to add to that awkwardness. If it did happen, why? And how?

“Would it have at least been a nice hallucination?” Talon’s voice is small, and this whole time I’ve been wondering if I imagined it because I’ve wanted him that close to me for so long.

I haven’t even had the chance to wonder how he felt about it all. “Have you ever … uh, you know—”

“Been so blindsided by a kiss that I don’t know which way’s up anymore? Don’t know whether I’m going crazy or getting turned on by two guys going at it is normal? Uh, no. That’s all new.”

“Wait, you got turned on by who?”

“Jackson and Noah.”

I thought I saw something in his eye the day he told me he walked in on them, but I’d dismissed it because I thought there was no way.

“Have you ever …” Talon asks, “kissed another guy?”

I suck in a sharp breath and wonder if yes is the wrong answer here. I have kissed guys. Not many, but a handful or so in the year between Talon leaving USC and me graduating the following year.

“Pancakes!” a little—but fucking loud—voice says in my ear, and I jump. I didn’t even hear the squirt come in.

I cover my half-hard cock with my blanket, because I really don’t want to have to have any sort of grown-up talk with my niece about that. Nope, nope, nope. Anatomy and sex and all that is totally my sister’s problem.

“So, I can’t talk about this right now,” I say into the phone. “Little ears are listening.”

“Who’s that?” Gabby yells some more.

Talon’s laugh is warm. “She sounds cute.”

“That’s because you’re eight hundred miles from all the noise.”

Gabby pops her hip out with the attitude of her mother. “Who. Is. It?”

“It’s Marcus Talon,” I say, and her entire face lights up as she reaches for my phone. “She wants to say hi,” I tell him.

“All right.” His tone is more amused than annoyed we’ve been interrupted.

I hand her the phone, and she presses it to her little ear.

“My mom says you get sacked more than anyone else in the league.”

“Gabby!”

“It’s true,” she says.

Talon’s laugh is so loud I can hear it from here.

“She said you hold onto the ball for too long, which is why you get tackled all the time.”

I take the phone back off her. “Okay, you’ve had your fun. Go help Grandma with the rest of the pancakes.”

She doesn’t move.

Talon’s still laughing when I put the phone back to my ear.

“So, yeah, that’s about the extent of my next few months. I don’t think I’m going to get a minute to myself ever. Feel sorry for me.”

“How old is she?” Talon asks.

“Five.”

“Hmm … can five-year-olds read yet?”

“Not big words.”

“Cool. What I have to say might be easier over text anyway.”

Before I can reply, the call ends, and I find myself in a stare-off with a five-year-old. A minute later, a text comes through, and I’m the one to break my gaze from Gabby first.

“Mommy only lets me have half hour screen time.”

“I’m pretty sure Mommy doesn’t want you to eat pancakes either.” I cock a brow at her, and even at her age, Gabby understands my underlying threat.

Then I realize I’m threatening a child. I don’t think I should ever be a parent.

Gabby runs off, and I go back to my phone.

Talon: So your sister thinks I’m bad at football, huh?

I snort.

Me: You remember what Vanessa’s like. She went to USC too.

Talon: Shit. She’s a mom now?

Me: Yup.

Talon: Is the kidlet mine?

Me: You better be fucking joking.

Talon: HAHAHA. Of course, you fucker. Sisters are off-limits.

Me: Not cool, bro.

There’s a long pause before the next text comes through.

Talon: Kinda feels like we missed out on a lot of each other’s lives.

Me: Yeah, well, football and life happened.

Talon: I meant what I said in the bathroom. That I’ve missed you.

Okay, nope. Texting is not easier. My stomach does a weird flip thing, and as I read over it again, it keeps doing it until I feel physically ill. I keep staring at the words that could either mean everything to me or continue to string me along on Talon’s hook.

Talon: And I really liked kissing you.

I blink rapidly, making sure I’m reading what I think I am. What am I supposed to say to that? My fingers type out three different responses:

I liked it too.

You should have. I’m awesome at kissing.

Are you drunk?

I end up deleting them all, and he beats me to responding.