I hurry to add, "I'm not saying anything over the top or anything, but like social media stuff. Staged things, just for the camera. You know, that sort of thing." I sound like I'm rambling, probably because I am. Yet I continue. "Like if INS or ICE came looking and we are both on social media, but we're never in it together, it might be a little sus."
"So that picture I posted was a good start then, I reckon."
I nod again, relieved that the waitress finally delivers our food. We eat in silence for a few minutes. I'm taking small bites, trying to look like I have manners and not tear into my food like a caveman.
I'm not saying I normally do that anyway, but suddenly I'm super self-conscious. Xavier Henry is hot and famous, and he has to pretend to be in love with me. I've got to keep my awkwardness on the DL.
In between bites, Xavier says, "Is there anything you want specifically stated in the contract? I can have Tony add it."
"Who's Tony?"
"My agent and business manager. He handles all my dealings. He's the one who sent me the draft. I'll be frank—it was shocking how quickly he produced it. I'm starting to wonder what sort of thing goes on at his agency."
"Maybe," I say, swallowing a mouthful of grilled cheese, "there's like a whole group of athletes and celebrities in the same boat. Like with fake marriages and beards and stuff. Oh!" I exclaim. "I'm your beard!"
"I think not. I'm not marrying you because I want to appear hetero when I'm elsewise oriented. I'm marrying you to make a better career move. To save my career, actually."
"Oh, right." I settle back on the bench. Mentally I slap myself for saying something so stupid. "So, then, what do we do now? I've never been in a fake marriage before. Hell, I've never been in any sort of business arrangement of any kind."
"Neither have I, so I'm not really sure. But since we'll be spending a bit of time together, perhaps we could get to know each other some?"
"I think the time for that will come, but I have other questions. Like how quickly does this marriage need to happen? I'm guessing you're on a timeline." I take a small sip of my water.
"Don't you want to look at the contract?" He nods at the phone in my hand.
I know I should. The smart, responsible, non-impulsive thing to do would be to table this discussion until I've read the entire thing cover to cover, highlighting and tabbing items for discussion and negotiation. My eyes glaze over at the mere thought. "Is it okay if I have my lawyer look at it?" It seems like a grown-up thing to say. And to do. Like, have a lawyer.
"Certainly. I'd encourage that."
I don't really have a lawyer, other than my brother. I'm not even sure this is in his area, but he's got to be able to decipher all the terminology, right?
"And yes," he continues, "I'm in a bit of a time crunch, the sooner we can make this happen, the better."
It's at this moment that I realize I know nothing about soccer, nor the structure of the league Xavier plays in. Hell, I don't even know what it's called. He did say his season was done. "Why the rush? I thought the season was over."
"Technically the regular season is done, but I'm never done. Sometimes I train more in my 'off-season' than I do during the season. It's when I get to really drill down on the things that need work and need improvement. I trained for all of the COVID shutdowns, and emerged from the downtime faster and stronger than ever." Color fills his cheeks. "I'm not saying that to be boastful. I work very hard for my sport, which is why I'm going to such drastic measures to keep playing."
I have no idea what it's like to feel this passionate about anything. Maybe, once I start writing this story, I will.
Chapter 20: Xavier
This is all going too well. It's too smooth to be reality. At least in my reality.
Ophelia is adorable. She's funny and self-deprecating. She does not take herself too seriously, and she's definitely not a status seeker. I'm not sure I can even recall the last woman who chatted me up who wasn't interested in my celebrity.
She's the opposite of everyone I've ever dated, which is a breath of fresh air. She's got a bit of chaotic energy about her that reminds me of Mum, especially when she rambles. I actually think the two of them would get on famously, and I can picture them sitting at the kitchen table over a cuppa, talking for hours.
What I can't figure out, as she sits next to me on the T back to her apartment, is why she's doing this. What's in it for her?
She knows virtually nothing about football, so I don't think she's a cleat chaser. She's not a social climber. Based on what she posts on ClikClak and from our past interactions, I think she's genuinely looking for love.
And she knows that's not what this is about, so again, why is she doing this?
No sense in beating around the bush. I've got to know.
"Ophelia, please don't take this the wrong way—"
"Which automatically means I'm going to take this the wrong way, you know," she interjects. She bumps me with her shoulder.
