Page 163 of Securing the Pucking Rebound

“No, never. Well, that’s a lie, I’m pretty sure I once got married on the playground when I was in kindergarten. But I’m not entirely sure how official those are, so …”

“Ah, yes. I’ve heard those marriages are the worst to get out of. Good job you have enough money to pay for a good lawyer.”

Laughter erupts. It’s the kind of laughter that threatens to bend you in half as you lose yourself to it. The kind I haven’t experienced in so, so long.

“I’ll make sure I look into that. I’d hate for it to cause me issues with my future wife.”

Sienna’s giggles cease for a few seconds, leaving nothing but silence in their wake.

“Wife, huh?”

“Yeah,” I say, trying not to let images of what she might look like in a beautiful white gown, walking toward me with all our friends and family watching take over. “I always figured I’d get married someday.” And I’ve only ever thought about it being you.

Suddenly, all I can think about is tonight. Not the date I have planned, but her potential reaction to it.

Tonight, there is every possibility that she’s going to figure everything out, and as much as I keep reassuring myself that it’s going to be okay, I know it’s probably a lie. I can keep telling myself that it isn’t going to be a disaster. She’ll understand. She’ll…

She’s not going to understand.

I’ve been lying to her for months. Sure, it’s not a bold-faced lie, more of a lie of omission, but I’m not sure she’s going to see the positives in the situation.

“Are you okay?” Sienna asks, sensing the sudden change in me.

“Y-yeah, of course,” I lie. Again.

Picking up our plates, I walk toward her small dining table and set them down. Only a few seconds later, she’s following me with our coffees in hand.

I don’t say anything as she takes her seat opposite me, and I keep my eyes locked on my breakfast.

I hate myself for it, but the guilt of what I’ve done is eating me whole.

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

Just tell her.

“I’m nervous,” I confess. It’s the best I can do right now.

Telling her now would be wrong. She’s got to leave for work in the next thirty minutes. It wouldn’t be fair to do that to her.

But tonight is fair game? She still has work in the morning.

Maybe Saturday night would have been better.

“About what?”

Finally, I look up, and the second my eyes land on hers, I relax a little.

“Tonight,” I admit. “I’ve never taken anyone on a proper date.”

“You have,” she argues.

“It’s…it’s not the same. Tonight is…you’ll see,” I say cryptically.

“You’re still not going to tell me what we’re doing, are you?”

“What the fuck is with you today?” Darcy asks a few hours later.

Sweat trickles down my face, and my shirt is stuck to my skin as I push harder than I have since starting rehab with him.