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  And then Hawk pushed open the glass doors and there was no more time to worry or think. What had seemed like a mildly-annoying but mostly-harmless group of paparazzi had transformed and descended on Frankie and Hawk like a pack of wild dogs, yelling and shoving as they closed in from all sides.

  Hawk had been right—it was definitely overwhelming—but Frankie did his best to smile while trying not to cling helplessly to Hawk’s large frame as they walked the short distance to the car. He knew the paparazzi were shouting questions, but all he could really hear was the whir-and-click of a dozen cameras that all seemed to be just inches from his face.

  By the time Hawk had deposited Frankie into the passenger seat and closed the car door behind him, Frankie was completely blinded by the hundreds of flashes he’d just been subjected to. Outside the car, he could hear Hawk’s voice—polite but firm—telling them to back off, that they didn’t need to be so demanding, that they needed to give his boyfriend some space.

  Hawk’s boyfriend. Even though he knew it wasn’t real, it was still weird for Frankie to think of himself that way. Even more weird to hear Hawk say it.

  “I’m sorry,” Hawk said, taking Frankie’s hand again the moment he’d sat down in the driver’s seat and closed the door behind him.

  The paparazzi were still pressed against the car, still snapping hundreds of pictures each second from every direction, but Frankie could almost forget about all of that when Hawk looked at him so sincerely and rubbed his thumb in little circles over the top of Frankie’s hand.

  “It’s, um… okay,” Frankie said, managing a weak grin—a real one this time, not the kind that was for photographers and the public. “You were right when you said it was going to be overwhelming.”

  “I should’ve done a better job preparing you for all of that. I guess I’m just so used to it that I take all of that,” he gestured to the frenzied, shouting people on the other side of the glass, “all of them for granted. I get so distracted when I’m with you that I forget you’re new to the circus.”

  “Distracted?” Frankie asked, wondering how Hawk could possibly be distracted by him, when he had all of that going on. “By me?”

  “Every single time.” Hawk laughed and shook his head. “I know it sounds… corny, I guess? But there’s just something about you that makes me forget about all of that other stuff whenever we’re together.”

  Oh my God, if this is all for the cameras, I swear I’m going to just die. Or at least cry.

  Yeah, definitely cry.

  “Isn’t all of that—” Frankie nodded toward the crowd outside, “the reason we’re together in the first place, though?”

  He hadn’t wanted to ruin the moment by asking, but… he had to know. Was it all just for show? Was any of this real?

  “I guess it was—or… is, maybe…” Hawk trailed off, shrugging.

  Frankie wasn’t sure if Hawk had actually answered the question—he definitely hadn’t made it through a complete sentence—but what Hawk had said at least partly confirmed what Frankie had been trying to remind himself: This was still mostly just make-believe.

  Just pretend.

  He swallowed, reminding himself that he'd known it all along, right? So he really, really shouldn’t be disappointed.

  Hawk opened his mouth to speak again, but then shook his head as if he was waging—and possibly losing—an argument in his head. With a sigh, he finally continued. “Look, Frankie, I know we have an agreement and all of that, but I want you to know that—” he swallowed hard, then squeezed Frankie’s hand, “that there’s more to it than that. It’s not all about giving them what they want. Not all the time.”

  “And what do they want?” Frankie’s voice sounded quiet and distant, even to his own ears. He wasn’t sure where this conversation was going, but it had his stomach in knots and he was afraid that the hand Hawk was clutching so tightly might start to sweat if he didn’t get things figured out pretty quickly.

  “Right now? They want me to kiss you.” Hawk gave a little grin. “I told them to back off.”

  Frankie felt the corners of his mouth twitch, and—disappointed in reality or not—he was smiling again before he could stop himself. Just the thought of kissing Hawk again reminded him of all the times it had already happened in his dreams.

  And of course, the one time it had actually happened—an experience that Frankie was more than ready to repeat.

  “Well…” Frankie nibbled his lip, still grinning far too widely for how serious the conversation had turned a moment before. “Maybe we could give them a little bit of what they want. You know… maybe just this once.”

  Hawk’s brows knitted together for a moment, and then he burst out laughing. “Frankie, I—you’re the best. Honestly. But we don’t have to do anything you’re not comfortable with. I promise that I’m okay with whatever you want to do—or don’t want to do.”

  “I know.” Frankie leaned in and sucked in a sharp breath, then swallowed hard, his smile slipping just a little as he realized how bold he was being. “But I want to.”

  Even if it’s pretend.

  “Okay,” Hawk’s voice was just above a whisper, and as their lips met, Frankie felt Hawk’s words more than heard them. “And just so you know… I want this, too.”

  In the back of his mind, Frankie was aware of the cameras and the yelling and the constant flare of flashbulbs that illuminated the interior of Hawk’s car. But he barely noticed any of that, because Hawk Hawkins was kissing him again, running one strong, firm hand up Frankie’s arm until it reached the back of his neck.

  A low moan escaped Frankie’s lips as that hand pulled him in closer… tighter… until all the distractions were pushed aside and all of his senses were filled with just one thing.

  Hawk.

  And suddenly it didn’t matter if it was real or not, or who was watching or how long it might last.

  All that mattered was this moment.

  This man.

  This kiss.

  It was perfect.

  Chapter 11

  Hawk

  Hawk closed his eyes and tried not to focus on the fact that he was on a cold, uncomfortable, barely padded exam table. Tried not to focus on the fact that he’d rather be doing almost anything besides the physical therapy that his doctor had ordered.

  “Keep breathing, Hawk. Slowly, consistently, as deep as you can. In and out. In and out.” The physical therapist—Steven? Stefan? Whatever—was nice enough, but Hawk had to grit his teeth to avoid rolling his eyes every time the man reminded him to breathe.

  Breathing wasn’t the problem.

  Well, except for the deep breaths. Those still hurt like a bitch.

  But the main problem was that all of this breathing was taking time away from… whatever else Hawk could be doing with his time. Things like watching paint dry, or counting blades of grass.

  Or, more likely, counting down each passing second until Frankie was off work.

  “How many more breaths, Doc?” Hawk lifted his head and made eye contact with Steph-whatever, trying to smile through the pain in his ribs. “I think that was at least fifty, right?”

  Physical therapy was a bitch, and even though Hawk wanted to get better—and back to his regular training—he still had to remind himself that while these exercises might feel like torture, he and the doc ultimately shared the same goal.

  Steven-or-Stefan shook his head, looking like he was trying not to laugh. “I think it was thirty, if I’m being generous. How’s your pain, on a scale of one to ten?”

  “Maybe a three…”

  It was a lie. After what had felt like an eternity of uncomfortable breathing, his ribs were on fire.

  “Good. So you’d be happy to do a few more?”

  Hawk groaned in response. He was really starting to hate Steven-or-Stefan.

  Fortunately, the physical therapist wasn’t a complete sadist, and he gave Hawk a hand to help him sit upright.

  “Actually, I think we can call it a da
y,” Stephen—according to his gold-plated name tag—said. How did he even pronounce that? Like an F… or a V? “I think you’re making pretty good progress, though, Hawk.”

  “Thanks, Ste—uh, doc.” Hawk smiled—his first genuinely happy moment since arriving at the torture-chamber-disguised-as-a-clinic that day. “I really appreciate your help. Do you think I’ll be able to play again in time for pre-season training in a few weeks?”

  Hawk’s question was met with an apprehensive look and a cautiously optimistic but measured tone.

  “Maybe.” Stephen gave a little shrug. “But you have to keep in mind that your body isn’t going to bounce back from injuries as quickly as it might have ten years ago—or even five years ago. You’re getting older, Hawk, especially by pro football standards.”

  Hawk grimaced, as much from the unwelcome not-quite-a-pep-talk from not-quite-Steven-or-Stefan as from the lingering pain in his ribs.

  “But this stuff—this breathing and conditioning and training—it’ll all help, right? I need a few more years on the team, doc. It just… has to happen.”

  There was no way this kind of injury—a couple of stupid cracked ribs—was going to be the end of his career. He’d fought too hard for too long and come too far to let that happen. So if he had to take a hundred deep breaths and do shoulder blade squeezes and bicep curls until his arms fell off, well… that’s just what he’d do.

  “We’ll get you there, Hawk,” Stephen smiled reassuringly and gave Hawk’s knee a squeeze. “Try not to stress about that and just focus on your recovery, okay? I’ll see you back here the same time next week.”

  Hawk nodded, but couldn’t find the words to explain that there really wasn’t any way to separate his recovery from his career—the two went hand in hand.

  Even if he’d had the words or the will to explain all of that, he wouldn’t have had the time, because as soon as Stephen had left the room and Hawk had eased himself down off the table, his phone vibrated in his pocket, instantly making him smile as he fished it out in the hopes that Frankie had somehow made it out of work early.

  His smile slipped as soon as he saw the screen, though. With a sigh, he swiped to answer.

  “Hey, Corbin. What’s up?” Hawk tried to sound upbeat—he didn’t have any reason not to talk to Corbin, after all. But just… no. With the less-than-stellar prognosis from the physical therapist, Hawk wasn’t really in the mood for one of Corbin’s tirades or stress-inducing lectures. Unless the man was calling to tell him he’d secured Hawk a spot on the Falcons’ starting lineup, Hawk didn’t really want to be bothered. “Any good news for me?”

  “Yes, actually.” Corbin sounded happier than Hawk had heard him in a while, his normally gruff and no-nonsense tone replaced with something that was almost… jovial. “Quite a bit of good news, as a matter of fact.”

  “Oh, really?” Hawk was smiling again, the promise of good news enough to make him more than willing to talk to his agent, after all. “Tell me everything. I could use a little pick-me-up.”

  In the background, Hawk could hear papers shuffling as Corbin cleared his throat.

  “You’re in all the papers and on all the blogs and gossip sites. People are going crazy to see pictures of you with this delivery boy.” Corbin laughed—laughed, something Hawk couldn’t ever remember happening within the past couple of years—and continued, sounding almost incredulous. “This idea of mine was pure gold. Pure gold.”

  Hawk turned his head to muffle the snort that he couldn’t quite suppress. Of course Corbin was going to take credit for the fact that the press was going crazy over the date night photos of Frankie. And, to be fair, it was Corbin’s idea, but… it was all starting to feel a little cheap, if Hawk was being honest.

  It was becoming clear that Corbin looked at Hawk’s friendship—or fake relationship, or… whatever—with Frankie as being something disposable, just another form of advertising. Hawk didn’t feel that way, though. Not at all. It might have started as just a fun idea, a way to pass the time in Bridgewater and sure, to throw the press off the trail of his injury at the same time. But his feelings for Frankie—whatever those feelings actually were—weren’t just for the tabloids. Hawk felt closer to Frankie with every passing day, and he was starting to resent the way Corbin was talking about him.

  And Frankie for damn sure wasn’t just some “delivery boy.”

  “He has a name, Corbin.” Hawk took a deep breath—one that would’ve made Stephen proud—and tried to keep his tone level. “It’s Frankie. And I’m glad we’re getting good press out of it, but… let’s not go overboard. I’m not gonna be sleeping well until I’ve got a contract in front of me.”

  “You let me worry about the business side of things, okay?” There was the gruff, almost rude tone that Hawk had become accustomed to. “Everything is going great so far. I’m even in talks with a couple of places for endorsement deals—which came after all of this publicity, I might add. So I think I know what I’m doing here. You just keep up the act and keep your little boyfriend in line. I hope he understands how serious this whole thing is.”

  Hawk sighed again and looked at the clock. Did even good news have to come with a dose of dickishness? And more importantly, was Frankie ever going to get off work and save Hawk from this tedious day? They didn’t even have plans that night, but just the idea of talking to Frankie had been enough to make Hawk push through the physical therapy—and now, through the call with Corbin.

  And then, as if he’d appeared simply from Hawk’s thoughts, Frankie was suddenly standing there in front of him. With flowers in his hand. Smiling the same bright, warm, ray-of-sunshine smile that Hawk had just been thinking of.

  Hawk had to blink hard for a second to make sure he wasn’t, in fact, just imagining the whole thing. But no. Frankie was definitely there. Definitely waiting and nibbling at his lip while Hawk stood and stared.

  “I’ll have to get back to you, Corbin.” Hawk hung up the phone without even waiting for a response. Whatever. He’d deal with any hurt feelings or bruised ego later. None of those things mattered when Frankie was standing there looking sweet and adorable and so damn delicious that Hawk was tempted to scoop him up in his arms without even worrying about or waiting for a reason for why he was there in the first place.

  Frankie held up the small bouquet of flowers—all different colors and beautiful in its simplicity—but Hawk couldn’t quite seem to take his eyes off Frankie’s face, his smile, his bright eyes and full mouth.

  “I, um, brought this for you.” Frankie took a step forward. “The guy out front told me you’d be back here, but, um, I didn’t mean to interrupt, so um… I can go, though, if you want—I mean… if you’re busy?”

  He didn’t make any move to leave, though, and Hawk shook his head. “That’s the last thing I want.”

  He closed the distance between them and took the bouquet from Frankie’s hands, letting his own hand linger as it brushed across Frankie’s fingers. His skin was always so soft and warm, and Hawk had to use every bit of willpower he possessed not to set the flowers aside and just kiss the beautiful man in front of him.

  Jesus, he really was kind of sprung, wasn’t he? He sure as hell wasn’t going to tell Juan that he’d been right any time soon, though. Juan would never let him hear the end of it.

  “I finished with my deliveries a little early,” Frankie continued. “And I knew you’d be here today and how much you weren’t looking forward to it, and I just sort of put this bouquet together—” He took a deep breath, then smiled again. “Sorry, I’m kind of rambling, I guess.” He swallowed hard, still clearly—and adorably—nervous. “But anyway, I was just sort of… thinking of you? And so… here I am.” He shrugged and nodded toward the flowers. “Surprise.”

  Hawk laughed and held the bouquet out at a safe distance as he used his free arm to finally pull Frankie in for a tight hug. “Best surprise of the day,” he murmured, planting a kiss on the top of Frankie’s head. “Best surprise ever.” Then, p
ulling back a little, he said, “Thank you. You’ve seriously made my day. And I was thinking about you, too.”

  “You were?” Frankie cocked his head to the side. “Really?”

  “All the time, lately,” Hawk said, meaning it. In fact, it would’ve been easier to list the times of day when his thoughts weren’t occupied by the cute florist. “Hey, what are you doing tomorrow night?”

  Frankie shrugged. “Um… nothing? Why?” Then, with a hint of apprehension in his voice, “Is there some sort of publicity thing we’re supposed to do?”

  Hawk shook his head and kissed Frankie’s forehead, just because he could. Just because it felt right. And nice. And necessary.

  And because he felt like an ass for that moment of doubt that Frankie had expressed.

  Frankie had clearly been overwhelmed by the paparazzi during their date a couple of nights before, and Hawk should’ve anticipated that better. He should’ve been more protective of Frankie, or should have prepared him better, or… something. But it was too late to fix the past now; all Hawk could think about was how he wanted to do better.

  “No, nothing like that,” he said, taking Frankie’s hand instead of trying to figure out a way to kiss him again. “But there’s sort of a big fireworks show over in Harrisonburg tomorrow night, and I thought maybe we could go?”

  Hawk smiled as he felt that weird butterfly feeling that he got whenever he was around Frankie. What was it about the guy that made him so happy and nervous and… almost giddy?

  “If you don’t have other Fourth of July plans, I mean. It’s like a twenty minute drive, and it would be at night, so nobody would really recognize us, and the press wouldn’t expect us to go there, so—”

  “Yes,” Frankie said, mercifully cutting off Hawk’s babbling by standing on his toes and giving him a short, sweet kiss. “I’d love to go.”

  “Okay, so… it’s a date, then.” Hawk couldn’t stop smiling—might not ever stop smiling, actually. And that was fine with him. As long as Frankie was around, he didn’t ever want to stop.