The Rule Book

by Sarah Adams

There’s a teasing spark in her green-gold eyes and I have to turn away, so I don’t kiss it off.

Her beautiful ass became my calendar, and—yeah, that’s not something I should be thinking about anymore.

I’m angry that I want her. And frustrated that I can’t have her.

they will tell me about the thing they found in your bedside table a few months ago.” My smirk drops. They wouldn’t.

“I don’t want to go off and act like some hotshot for a designer when there’s a big chance I’m going to get cut before the season even starts! Everyone—and I do mean everyone, thinks that the Sharks are going to give my position to Abbot, and when that happens, I’ll look like the idiot who didn’t realize he had egg on his face. Dapper—and anyone else you’ve made deals with—will come back and dissolve our contract. So no thank you. I prefer to keep laying low and focusing on my game and nothing else. I won’t get distracted, and I won’t preen around in a suit when I might not even have a job this year!”

I believe in you. I do, Derek.”

You’re a freaking ox, Derek, but you have to believe in yourself too or no one else is going to.” She pauses long enough to take a breath. “Get your muscled ass out there and bet on yourself. Take the endorsement deals. Do some interviews. Post your training content that shows you working hard and crushing it. Don’t give up just because a few narrow-minded people say you should! And stop using my career that I’ve worked my ass off for as a play toy. It’s not fair to me and frankly it’s beneath you.”

“You don’t smile enough anymore.”

“I’m ready to know what happened,”

I think you would have offered to marry me and support me instead, promising I’d never have to work a day in my life.” Derek’s eyes flash with something I don’t recognize, but a second later it’s gone, and he just looks sad.

And maybe none of those reasons are good enough for you to forgive me but—” “They are,” he says gently, but still the force of those words hits me like a boulder to the chest.

“Are you still in love with her?” For once I’m too tired to fight with him. “Yes, I am. Deeply. Terribly.”

“I do still love her. I think I always will. And even more pathetic, I think part of why I’ve been hazing her with chores around my house all week is because I just like having her near me. I like hearing her laugh and her silly quips and the glares she shoots me when she pretends to be upset with me. I like her—more than I’ve liked anyone or anything in my entire life.”

“Nora.” Derek turns and levels me with a look so full of memory and emotion that my knees nearly buckle. He doesn’t say a single word, but his warm eyes say everything: I know you don’t wear pants at home. And I already know exactly what you look like without pants. In fact, I know what you look like completely naked in my bed.

Derek evidently notices because before I know it, his arm goes around my shoulders—pulling me in close to his side to stabilize me.

And every now and then, when we stop to wait in a line, I allow myself to fully lean against him and take little catnaps. Professionalism starts tomorrow.

We both stand, and I pick up my backpack, but Derek takes it from me before I can strap it on my back and hoists it over his shoulder instead.

he doesn’t even wake me up to tell me my head is lying against his arm.

damn she’s so pretty.

I deposited Nora at her room and told her I’d tie her down if she didn’t sleep.

I wouldn't go to sleep either then

“I…I can’t do this. I thought I could, but I can’t. I need to dissolve our contract.”

I can’t get over you.

Hey, I’m still in love with you and unless you love me back, we can’t do this because it hurts so damn much to be near you and not have you. But then she says, “Is it…do you…do you still hate me?” My heart rips down the middle. Do I hate her? I hate that when your mouth curves into a smile, I can’t kiss it. I hate that you hold my heart in a vise grip and you have no idea. I hate that I’ve never been able to move on from you—not for a single day. I hate that if I were to tell you all of this, you’d leave, and I’d be left vulnerable and bleeding out at the bar.

“What can I get you?” he asks, and then with an obnoxious smirk, he tacks on, “My number maybe?” And now I have the strongest urge to slam his face down into the bar and break his nose.

all the while keeping her hand fixed on my neck. Her thumb glides up and down my skin and I doubt she understands how completely she’s torturing me right now.

And why am I contemplating sweeping her into my arms and carrying her straight up to my hotel room?

(because I guess he feels like dying tonight). But Nora doesn’t see him. She’s staring at me.

“Was Matthew Macfadyen the best Mr. Darcy to ever grace the screen?”

Fucking love you.

“To the official end of us,” she says in her usual candidness, making me want to laugh even as my chest hurts at the thought of losing her. “To the end of us.” Our glasses clink together and then we both toss back our drinks.

A man is in my bed. Oh god, not just any man. My ex-boyfriend turned ex-client is asleep beside me.

he’s just gathering my hair back and placing a cool cloth against my overheated skin. The sweetness of it doubles my tears.

So many nights where I would sit in front of him on the couch, eating a bowl of ice cream and cereal while he braided my hair. I taught him how when we first started dating, and he did it as often as possible after that.

We stare at each other’s ring fingers. “It’s possible…” he begins with a measured calm, “…that we got married last night.”

That is not only a ring on my finger, it’s a… “A tattoo,” I say in a faint whisper. “We…got tattoo wedding rings?”

“It’s all over the Internet, Mac.”

you guys posted a photo on Derek’s Instagram of you two last night.”

“You were fully clothed, but your tongue was down his throat and you two were holding up your ring fingers like middle fingers. A very screw-you-we’re-in-love photo. Epic…but…” “Trashy.”

I find myself smiling. There’s a man in front of me gesturing for me to take the meds and water I thought he was getting for himself. And there’s a woman who I endlessly respect on the other end of the phone looking out for me.

“You’re a good friend, Nicole.” She’s silent a moment before answering. “We’re not friends.” And then hangs up. But I don’t take it personally because I know it’s a lie.

He slides his arms around me and holds me like my soul has been craving. I melt against him, savoring every inch of our connected bodies.

“You didn’t let me give up,” he says, his voice a soft rasp in my ear. “And I’m not going to let you give up now.

Lift your arms.” I’m so lost and confused and scared of my future that I don’t even fight him. I raise my arms above my head. Derek closes his eyes before peeling off my shirt. Goosebumps break over my chest as he reaches around and unclasps my bra. Next he shucks my pants and underwear until all scraps of clothing are like fallen leaves, heaping on the floor at the end of a season. I’m standing completely naked in front of him, but he never opens his eyes. I wish he would.

“I think we should stay married,”

what if we convince them that it’s real. That…we’re staying together and purposely got married?”

“Why would you even consider doing that?” His smile curves softly and when he shrugs, the combination is almost sad. “Because it’s for you.”

Derek’s eyes drop to my mouth—they hold there long enough for me to wish it were his mouth on my lips instead of his eyes.

He only smirks and removes a little piece of paper. It’s yellowed, and the creases are so well worn it looks like it could tear into halves from a light breeze. I know what it is without even having to open it, but I reach my arm out from behind the curtain and take it from him anyway. My fingers itch for the memory. To be taken back to the time when I wrote this. “It’s the IOU I gave you.” I remember the day like it was yesterday—waking up almost as hungover as I am now after Derek had taken care of me all night despite having only just met me. And since I’m not comfortable with people helping me out of the goodness of their hearts, I gave him an IOU to redeem at any point. “I want to use it now,” he says confidently. “I want you to stay married to me for damage control—you owe me.”

He then plucks the IOU back from my fingers, refolds it, and seals it into his wallet once again. This is mine, his eyes say.

Derek’s hand moves under the desk to settle on my thigh. The weight of his heavy hand melts against my leg and the bouncing quiets immediately. He squeezes once, and instinctively (as well as irrationally), my body eases. For the first time in my career, I realize I don’t have to face this obstacle alone.