I walked toward her, sliding my palms down her arms, and cupping her elbows.
“I know this is sudden, and I know it’s caused a lot of upheaval for you, but could you stay for my game tomorrow? Having you there would help with the Green Card situation.”
Ida Jane wrapped her arms around her middle and nodded. “There’s no way for me to get back in time for work, so I let Olive know I need the day off. She’s not happy about rearranging my appointments.”
“I’ll talk to her,” I offered. “She likes me.”
Ida Jane shook her head. “Don’t. I’ll fight this battle on my own.”
“But I can—”
“No, Maxim. Just please stop. I need to do this my way.”
I scowled, not liking her slumped shoulders or the unhappiness that drifted off her. “Why are you upset? Tell me what’s wrong, and I’ll fix it.”
Her lower lip quivered, and she turned away. “There’s nothing to fix. This just wasn’t how I saw my wedding…” Her accent grew stronger as she blinked back tears. A few leaked from her bruised eye. “I thought my daddy would walk me down the aisle, and I’d wear my granny’s tiara and veil…” She sighed. “I’d like to take a bath.”
“Right,” I said. “Sure.”
Impotency raged through me. She wanted her family there—of courseshe did. Even if our arrangement was mutually beneficial and based on attraction, I should have realized that a quick trip to a justice of the peace wouldn’t be how she’d ever expected her wedding to go.
“I could get down on my knee,” I offered.
She snorted, something she did involuntarily that seemed to call me on my bullshit.
“What if we posted to social media?” I offered.
“With my face all bruised? If my mama saw that, no doubt she’d show up with her Henry and blow a hole in you.”
Ah, a Henry must be a type of gun, then. No, I didn’t want that. But I’d seen my teammates’ social media posts. They documented big moments.
I found I wanted to do that, too. Like when I slipped my ring on her finger. I gulped, my guts freezing with ice. Hell, I didn’t have a wedding band.
“I’ll be back.” I edged toward the door of the suite.
“All right,” she said, distracted.
She snagged the champagne bottle and a glass and headed toward the bathroom, dashing the last of my hopes that this night would end better than one of my fantasies.
* * *
Ida Jane
Maxim founda jeweler who would bring rings over to the hotel, he said, when he offered me tamales—my favorite comfort food—after I exited the bathroom in nothing but a robe. I’d rinsed out my panties but had no other ones to put on.
“How did you know I like tamales?” I asked, inching toward the table while my mouth watered.
“Millie. I had her send me a comprehensive list of your favorites.”
I blinked at him. “Foods?”
“No, favorite things. That includes foods, champagne.” He inclined his head toward the bottle in the vat of ice next to the table. “Waters—you prefer lime sparkling—running shoes, though you don’t run. Also, dog breeds, TV shows, underwear brands.”
I squeaked. “You know my favorite underwear?”
“Of course. It’s Hanky Panky, the same kind your mother wore.”
I covered my eyes. “You did not just talk to me about my mama’s undies.”
