Page 72 of Sweet Oblivion

“Do I have to?” I ask no one in particular.

“Yes, you do,” Lexie says as she pulls cupcakes from the bag. “Social-media optics, remember? We’re doing reels and stories and posting a ton of pictures of us all supporting our men.”

“Really?” Dillan groans as she walks out of my room with one of Ryker’s jerseys in hand. “My man fights in an octagon. He doesn’t run around on a football field.”

Lexie rolls her pretty eyes. “Your dad is the quarterback coach. Stop moaning.”

“Fine,” she grunts and holds out the jersey. “Now put this on and smile.”

“You just want Kyrie back.” I blow a kiss on her chubby cheek and swap my baby sister for my fiancé’s jersey. Pretty sure there’s something wrong with this equation.

With a quiet huff, I walk into the bathroom and throw the door closed behind me, then strip out of my shirt and slip into his jersey. Beneventi is stretched across my shoulders and ninety-six is stitched in big, white numbers. I try tucking it in, but it swallows me whole. When that doesn’t work, I knot it at my waist and watch as one sleeve falls off my shoulder.

Oh well. It’s going to have to do.

My fingers dance along my neck, skimming over the nearly non-existent bruising there— finally—and the ring catches in the light as I move. It really is beautiful, even if it is a constant reminder of what this is and what it isn’t.

Pretty sure the lines between the two are starting to blur.

But not today.

Today is for show.

Time to make social media my bitch.

I flip my head upside down and fluff my hair, then stand up and add a touch of gloss. If we’re posting this stuff on my social media, I might as well try to look good.

“Okay.” Lexie grins, pursing her lips. “You look... really good.”

“I look like I’m playing dress-up,” I laugh and cross the room.

“No.” Kaleigh jumps up and moves next to me. “You look like you belong to Ryker.”

My stomach flips. Hard.

“I don’t belong to anyone.” The words are out before I even think them through, and the room around me quiets.

Ashton waddles next to me and tucks her arm in mine. “Relax,” she says gently. “No one is trying to take your independence away, Lane. But tonight?” She straightens the jersey and fixes my hair. “Tonight, you’re his, and we’re going to make sure every single one of your followers and Ryker’s knows it.”

She hands her phone to Dillan. “Would you take a picture of us, please?”

“Of course,” Dillan snags Ashton’s phone and holds it up, one brow lifted as she stares at Ashton’s belly stretching the jersey she’s wearing. “Maybe angle a little, Ash.”

“Watch it, Dillan,” Ashton snaps, and the rest of us laugh, breaking the tension in the room.

Okay. Maybe I can do this.

Newsflash.

I can’t do this.

Watching the game? That I can do.

Cheering for the team? I’ve been doing that for years.

But faking it for the camera? I hate doing that.

I sit on the floor with Kyrie between my legs as thesecond half starts, doing my best to ignore the girls every time someone decides to try to catch a candid pic. The Kings defense lines up, and Ryker takes his position.