“Friend of yours?” RJ asks, obviously referring to Walter.

“Yes. He is.” I adjust my purse. I want to tack on that it really isn’t any of his business, but I refrain.

“Does he work in IT or something?”

I frown. “How did you know that?”

He smirks. “Lucky guess.”

“Walter is nice. Not everyone is built like a Greek god and gets to be a celebrity.” As if I need to stroke his ego. Based on everything I’ve seen in my internet searches—which is all I have to go on, since I have no idea where the lies end with him—he and a good percentage of the female population of Chicago know how amazing his body is. I push past him and head for the coffee shop next door. I know the baristas here, and there are always a lot of regulars, so it feels like a safe space.

RJ grabs my hand. “Sorry. I’m just . . . jealous and being petty.”

I purse my lips and try not to let the butterflies in my stomach get the best of me.

RJ puts his hand on the small of my back, inciting another storm of butterflies. He also opens the door for me and pays for our coffees and pastries, although I order a decaf tea because I’m already having enough trouble sleeping these days without hopping myself up on caffeine at dinnertime.

He picks out a table in the corner, and we settle into our seats. I’m barely out of my jacket when two teenage boys approach us asking for autographs. For the next half hour RJ is bombarded every two minutes by another group of people asking to take pictures and wanting an autograph. Teenagers, college kids, adult men, and fawning women who rudely drool all over him with me sitting right there across the table. It’s incredibly overwhelming. And enlightening.

This is his life. This is what happens to him every time he goes out in this city. It’s what he knows, and I have to assume it’s much worse depending on where he is and who’s around him. I consider all the pictures I’ve found since I discovered his true identity, and a very small part of me can understand how difficult it would be to have a relationship that involves any kind of equity.

He would never know if he was wanted by someone because of his fame or because of who he really is. And isn’t that another question I don’t have an answer to? The man I was with in Alaska was kind and sweet and down-to-earth. But this . . . it’s completely different. And this is what his life is really like.

I move aside, unable to handle the number of people clamoring to get close to him, and allow his fans to mob him while I observe from the sidelines. RJ is gracious and accommodating and charismatic, but I can sense his frustration by the tic in his cheek as more people gather for selfies. Finally, once everyone has had their picture taken and he’s signed all the hats and random pieces of paper people shove at him—and even a couple of magazine spreads—he gives me a pained smile. “Is there somewhere we can go that’s a little less openly public? I should’ve worn a ball cap—it helps make me less identifiable.”

“There’s a park not too far from here. We could go there?” I offer. He can’t come up to my apartment. Not yet. Maybe not ever, depending.

I use the bathroom before we leave, and when I return RJ has fresh hot drinks for us in take-out cups. I don’t know what to think about this entire situation. Walter is nice, he doesn’t travel for work, and he doesn’t make a scene or get mobbed when we go out in public. And he’s been very accepting of my current situation and my obvious reluctance to get into a relationship.

I decide I need to just be honest with RJ—it’s really the only way I’ll know for sure what his real intentions are. If he can’t handle the truth, then he’ll disappear from my life again, and that will be that.

We find a secluded bench in the park down the street from my house. There are parents seated on the other side, near the play structure, but otherwise it’s peaceful.

“I’m sorry about that. I probably should’ve suggested we just come to a park in the first place. It’s not always this intense, but the season is starting soon, so we’re getting a lot of promo. I’ve been trying to stay off the media radar, but being team captain makes it tough.” He stretches his arm across the back of the bench, fingers brushing my shoulder.

“Can I ask you something?” I fidget with the sleeve on my cup, picking at the edge so I don’t have to look at him. He’s just so disarmingly beautiful.

“Yeah, of course.”

“I don’t understand why you’re so intent on pursuing me when you could have anyone you want. What am I to you, other than the woman you pretended to be someone else with for a handful of weeks?”

“That’s the thing, though, Lainey. I wasn’t pretending to be someone else. Yes, I lied about my job, but everything else was me—you got the real me.”

“But did I really? Because what I saw back there, isn’t that the real you? Is that what happens to you whenever you go somewhere and people recognize you?”

“I just wanted someone to see me, authentically see me, and I felt like you did. I never felt more like myself than I did when I was with you.”

I consider that—and how, for those weeks I was with him, I’d felt like the best version of myself. He made me feel safe and special and important. “I have to tell you something.” I clutch my tea, trying to find the resolve to spit the words out. I can’t decide anymore if I want him to still be the man I spent those weeks with or the lying jerk who recently dropped back into my life. Both are complicated for very different reasons.

“Okay. I’m listening.”

I shift, turning toward him, knowing I need to see his reaction when I tell him this, because for better or worse, it will change everything.

“I have a son.”

CHAPTER 17

DO THE MATH

Rook

“I—what?” I don’t know what I expected her to say—maybe something along the lines of I’m still in love with you. Or I missed you, or I used to be a fucking circus clown, but I have a son was definitely not on my list of possibilities.

“His name is Kody, with a K.” She sets her tea down and pulls her phone out of her pocket. Her hands shake as she keys in the pass code. “He was born on April fourth, about ten days earlier than expected. The pregnancy was good—I was very healthy, and I had a wonderful doctor and lots of support. Although my family was not happy about it, there was really nothing they could do.” She’s still looking down at her phone as she continues to talk, like she just wants to get it all out. “It took me a couple of months to realize I was pregnant when I came home. I’d thought I was lovesick, but then I missed my period two months in a row, and I went to see a doctor, and well . . .” She cradles the phone to her chest. “He’s four months old now.”

I suddenly feel like I’m choking. It’s also like being hit with the most extreme case of déjà vu in the universe. It’s like Sissy part two—except worse, because I spent six weeks with Lainey, screwing on every available surface. We’d used protection. Well, except that once. And it was only for a stroke—one delicious, amazingly memorable stroke. But she got her period the next day, so everything was fine. And it lasted all of three days, so it didn’t slow us down much, if at all. I’m so shocked, and frankly really freaked out, that the first words out of my mouth are “You’re fucking with me, right?”