Page 11
CHAPTER 11
LILAH
“Holy shit.”
Fox stares down at me with his mouth agape. Those beautiful brown eyes that I seem to be getting lost in more and more often are wide with appreciation as they drag over me.
“You look incredible,” he says quietly, still unable to take his gaze off me.
It’s been a week since I last saw him, which means I’ve had time to let my nerves build about this date of ours. It seems so silly because we truly are doing things backward, getting engaged and then dating, but it didn’t stop me from panicking about tonight. I changed my outfit no less than five times and even left my apartment just to get down to the lobby of my building and race back upstairs to change again.
I can’t recall the last time I was nervous like that. Maybe in college, when I went on a date with the star quarterback, only for him to never call me again? I don’t know. All I know is until Fox opened the door, I had a giant hole in my stomach.
But now, with the way he’s looking at me… Well, all I feel is beautiful, even if I am wearing something simple. I finally settled on a maroon long-sleeved top that hugs me in all the right places and dark wash jeans that look stitched for me and me alone. I paired the outfit with heels and went light on my makeup—something that says, This is a date, and I tried hard but not too hard.
Looks like Fox went the same route with jeans and a simple gray button-up shirt that’s undone just enough to show a tuft of dark hair peeking out the top, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. And no socks. I have no idea why I find that part so ridiculously attractive, but I do. His hair is still wet like he just got out of the shower, and he runs a hand through it, another thing I find entirely too alluring.
“Come on in,” he says, stepping aside to let me pass, fresh Irish Spring hitting me as I do.
When I step into Fox’s apartment for the first time, it’s nothing like I expected. With soft gray walls, dark furniture, and low lighting, it’s cozy yet modern and perfectly suits him.
“It’s not much.” He closes the door behind us, his warmth seeping into me as he stands at my back, pulling my coat from my arms and hanging it next to the door, right beside his. “But I don’t spend much time here during the season and even less in the summer since I often go back home or travel abroad, so it is what it is.”
“It’s cute,” I tell him, glancing around, wanting a closer look at everything. “I’m sure making something yours is hard when you spend so much time traveling and never knowing if you’ll be traded or not.”
“It definitely makes settling in difficult, that’s for sure. Come on.”
Fox motions for me to follow him, leading me right into an open-concept kitchen with a large island in the center, matching appliances, and an oversized fridge tucked into the wall. There’s a breakfast bar and a table for two near a giant wall of windows that is already set.
He rounds the island in the middle of the room, settling in front of the stove as he stirs this and that, adding a few sprinkles of seasoning. Whatever he’s making smells incredible, and my stomach rumbles loudly at the scent.
Fox doesn’t miss it, laughing at the sound. “Dinner will be ready in just a few,” he promises. “Would you like something to drink while we wait?”
“Sure.”
He moves to the fridge, pulling out a pitcher of something light green. “I made some sparkling jalapeno lime lemonade, if you’re interested.”
“You made it?”
He shrugs. “It’s not too hard, and I enjoy being in the kitchen.”
Every other guy I’ve ever dated has dropped fortunes on fancy meals that leave me hungry, so of course Fox is nothing like that.
When he first suggested we go on a date, I thought it might be a terrible idea. We’re already walking a thin line, so throwing dating into the mix? It’s not exactly ideal. But now that I’m here in his apartment and he’s cooking dinner for me and grinning at me like that…well, there’s nowhere I’d rather be.
“I’d love to try it.”
“If you hate it, it’s okay.” He reaches into the cabinet and pulls out some cups while I’m busy watching how his back muscles stretch against his shirt. “But if you love it, I might just do a jig.”
“A jig? Even if I hate it, I’ll say I like it just to see that.”
He shakes his head as he turns toward me, holding our drinks. “Gotta be honest.”
But I’m not paying any attention to his words. How could I when I see what he’s holding toward me?
A mug . He noticed.
“What?” he asks when I don’t take it immediately. “Having second thoughts?”
“I…” But no words come out. They can’t. They’re stuck behind the lump that’s firmly wedged in my throat.
I have no idea why I’m getting so emotional over something as silly as a mug that reads World’s Best Goalie , but here I am.
You can kiss me if you want to.
That’s what Fox told me when standing outside my door, and though there have been several moments when I’ve wanted to since then, none of them have been as persistent as this one. I want to kiss him so badly right now that it physically hurts. He noticed. Fox noticed, and it’s the sweetest, simplest thing in the world.
“Lilah?” he asks softly.
I give myself a shake, finally accepting the lemonade.
“Sorry,” I say, curling my hands around the mug. “I just…” I blow out a breath, then finally look up at him, his brows still pinched together in concern. “You gave me a mug.”
He lifts a shoulder. “I noticed you like mugs.”
“Yeah, but nobody ever notices. Not even Auden. All she does is complain that I don’t have any other glasses.”
He shrugs again like it’s no big deal, but it feels like a big deal. Fox is just my fake fiancé. He’s just doing me a favor. He’s not supposed to be wooing me, which is definitely what’s happening right now, intentional or not. “Maybe it’s because I’m a hockey player, and we’re sort of known for our quirks, so I didn’t even think twice about it.”
“Everyone thinks twice about it.”
“Then maybe I just didn’t care.” And fuck me if those words don’t hit me right in the chest.
Should I really be surprised, though? Fox has taken all this wackiness, like our engagement and my parents and my pink couch, with a grin on his face. Why would this affect him?
He waits for me to challenge him again, but I have nothing. So he lifts his mug and says, “?Salud!”
?Salud! because he remembers we’re still not cheersing.
With a grin, I lift my mug to my lips and take a sip of his homemade lemonade, and it was well worth the wait. A perfect blend of sweetness and spice explodes over my tongue, and it’s officially the best lemonade I’ve ever had.
“Well?” he asks when I don’t say anything.
“I hope you’re ready to dance because this is damn good, Fox.”
He sets his mug aside, then puts one hand behind his head, holding his other arm out straight ahead of him, and proceeds to do the sprinkler like he’s some dad who finally made it up on the Jumbotron at one of his games. I laugh, shaking my head at his antics, especially with how proud he looks.
“You’re ridiculous,” I tell him, but I still can’t stop smiling, and neither can he. That seems to be a recurring theme when it comes to Fox. It’s something I could get far too used to if I’m not careful.
“Would a ridiculous man agree to be your fake fiancé for an undisclosed amount of time, then ask you on a date to get to know you better?” He winks at me.
I roll my eyes. “That sounds exactly like what a ridiculous man would do. Speaking of that…”
“Uh-oh.”
“No uh-oh. Or maybe uh-oh. My mother called and has finally found time in her schedule. She wants to have lunch on Tuesday to give me my grandmother’s hideous ring.”
“I have a game on Tuesday.”
“That’s what I told her, but she’s insisting it be Tuesday. I guess her schedule is just so full she can’t possibly do it any other day.”
He shrugs. “Then I’ll make it happen.”
“Fox…”
He holds his hand up. “It’s no big deal. I’ll make it happen.”
“You know, you’re being way too nice about this whole thing. It makes me think you might have some ulterior motive.”
“No motive. I just…” He sighs, scratching at the dusting of hair lining his face. “I don’t know. In some way, you’re doing me a favor allowing me to do this.”
I tip my head to the side. “How so?”
“Well, it gives me something to do, for one. Helps me take my mind off the game, which is nice. And I don’t know…” He blows out a long, slow breath, then rushes out, “It’snicetohavesomeone.”
Somehow, I’m able to decipher it, probably because I get it. It is nice to have someone, no matter the circumstances. Love and relationships may not be for me, but that doesn’t mean I don’t like to have someone to spend my time with. Actually, I could say that’s exactly why I’ve spent so much of my time dating around. I like being with someone else and hate being alone.
So, he’s right. It is nice to have someone, even if it is fake.
“But how long are we going to keep this up?”
“As long as you need.”
“Fox, I?—”
“No,” he says, pushing off the counter. “Nope. We’re not going over this again. You’re not going to say I can’t do this. I’m doing it, and it is what it is. Deal?”
He’s so serious, his tone sharp. He means it. He wants to do this for me.
Maybe I should just let him and accept his help. I’ve tried doing this my way, and it’s done nothing to get my parents off my back. Hell, before we announced our engagement, they were pushing even harder than before. Maybe I should let someone else take the reins on this thing.
“Fine,” I relent. “But if at any time it gets to be too much, just yell ‘Brussels sprouts.’”
“Brussels sprouts?”
“Yeah, Brussels sprouts. It’ll be our safe word because nobody really likes Brussels sprouts, and they should make everyone pause.”
“I like Brussels sprouts,” he says.
“Fox…”
He laughs. “Fine. Brussels sprouts it is.” He shakes his head with a grin. “Now, how about a tour while dinner finishes doing its thing?” he asks, pointing his thumb toward the food still sizzling on the stovetop.
“A tour sounds nice.”
Fox sweeps his hands out wide. “Well, this is the kitchen.”
“Wait. So you mean the room with the stove, oven, and refrigerator isn’t your bathroom?” I side-eye him. “I am so glad I have you here to direct me.”
Fox rubs a hand over the scruff that’s lining his face, and I track the movement, trying very hard to ignore the way my brain is screaming at me, saying, I bet that’d feel good between my thighs.
He kicks his lips up in a half grin. “Can you tell I’ve never hosted anyone before?”
I raise my brows. “Never?”
“Some of the guys have been here, but they’re idiots. I don’t have to impress them by showing them my apartment.”
“You’re trying to impress me?”
His cheeks redden, and he clears his throat. “Want to see more?”
I nod and let him lead the way from the kitchen into the living room, our mugs of heavenly lemonade in hand. To my surprise, a few paintings hang on the walls, something I don’t think I’ve seen in a guy’s place in…well, ever. The guys I’ve dated all have movie posters up or scantily clad women, nothing like the modern designs he has.
“Wow. I love these,” I say, stepping up to one featuring multiple shades of blue.
“I can’t take the credit for it. My family may call me Artie, but it’s my sister who is the artistic one. She did these. Incredible, right?”
“I have questions. First, your family calls you Artie ?”
“Unfortunately.”
I can’t help laughing at the pained expression on his face.
“It’s cute.”
“It’s terrible, and you know it.”
“No, seriously. I like it… Artie .”
“Watch it,” he says, eyes narrowed over the rim of his mug as he brings it to his lips, and it’s kind of…hot.
He’s not truly mad, but something about the idea of seeing a grumpy Fox excites me. I don’t think I’ve seen him like that before.
He takes a drink and smacks his lips. “What was the second?”
“Huh?” I ask, already having lost track of what we were talking about, distracted by his adorable family nickname and scowl.
“You said you have questions. What was the second one?”
“Oh! How come you never told me you have a sister?”
He shrugs. “I don’t know. It never came up.”
“That’s definitely something your fake fiancée should know. Anything else you’re hiding from me, Artie ?”
Another glare, and I delight in it far too much. “Nope. I think that’s about it. Just two younger siblings, one sister and one brother.”
“Hmm” is all I say, then I point to the photos lining the bookshelf tucked away in the back of the room. There are very few books for such a large shelf.
“Are these them?”
“That’d be them.” His grin is back in full force, and he walks me to the photos. “They’re twins, so I was the outlier for my parents. That’s Russ with his kids, and yes, they’re twins too.” He points to a man squatting down next to two nearly identical children. “And this is Regan with her dog Cricket. He’s like seventeen or something and still going strong. It’s wild.” He points to the next photo, a young couple in what looks to be a courthouse, both wearing casual clothes but clearly getting married. “And those are my parents, Bonnie and Roy.” He goes to the next picture. “This is all of us at Christmas this year.”
I study each picture, especially Fox in his Christmas pajamas that match the rest of his family’s attire.
“Your whole family is beautiful,” I tell him, unable to take my eyes off them.
They all look so happy, like an actual loving family. I can’t remember the last time mine took a photo together that wasn’t for a paper.
“Are you kidding? My brother is ugly as hell. And my sister’s index toe is freakishly long.”
I laugh because he sounds exactly like a big brother should sound. I’d say the same thing about Sadie, too, and I wonder briefly what she would think of my deal with Fox. She’d probably laugh, then air high-five me from thousands of miles away for messing with our parents.
I drag my finger over the spines of the few books he has decorating his shelves. “You read?”
He sighs. “I try.”
I tip my head at the obvious frustration in his voice. “Try?”
“I, uh, I don’t read very quickly.” A shrug. “Just always how it’s been for me. It takes me a long time to concentrate and absorb what’s on the page. It can sometimes take me a month to finish a book most people can finish in a day, so school was really hard regarding reading assignments. Now, as an adult, I tend to do audiobooks more than paperbacks. It’s easier.”
His confession tugs at my heart. Not because I pity him—nothing he said deserves my pity—but because it’s clear this is something about himself that bothers him. I love that he doesn’t give up despite his struggle and keeps trying. He doesn’t let it deter him. He just finds a way to adapt. It’s admirable.
“Want to see my bedroom?” he blurts out.
I pause. He pauses.
Silence. Complete and utter silence, which is really unhelpful considering all the images currently filtering through my mind, like how we’d look there, his sheets nothing but a tangle around us. I wish I could say it’s my first time having those thoughts, but that’d be a lie. I’ve thought about it far too often over the last few days, especially since his game.
I’m unsure if Fox realizes the arena broadcasts the warmups on the screens throughout the concourse. He probably wouldn’t have made a joke about me missing his goalie stretches the other night if he did, since I didn’t actually miss them. I saw them, and I watched every last second. In fact, I was so engrossed I didn’t even notice that the concession stand worker put fire sauce on my nachos instead of mild, which definitely had me sweating the whole night.
It was worth it, though, to see his moves. I know those stretches help them, but damn if they don’t look wildly sexual, especially when you know just how good of a kisser one of the guys doing them is. I was hot and bothered long before I tried the fire sauce, and I’m hot and bothered right now, and it has nothing to do with the mug of jalapeno lime lemonade in my hand.
I squeeze my thighs together as subtly as I can, trying to chase away the ache between them that’s been steadily growing. Fox laughs, breaking the tension, then runs his hand over his jawline again, a nervous tic I find all too endearing.
“That came out way more sexual than I intended,” he says, the tips of his ears red.
I laugh, too, pretending I am not thinking about everything I’d like to do with him in said bedroom.
Nope. Not thinking of that at all.
“Come on.” He brushes by me, careful to avoid touching me, then leads me down the short hallway with three doors.
He points out the bathroom first, then his bedroom at the end. When he pushes the door open, I’m hit with that same warm-mahogany-and-Irish Spring scent I’ve come to associate with him. I don’t know what cologne he uses, but it’s officially become my favorite.
A crisp black blanket covers his neatly made bed, and I wonder if he made it because he knew I was coming over or if he’s simply that neat. Given the state of the rest of his apartment, I’m betting on the latter. I tear my eyes away from it as quickly as I look at it, trying not to focus on it too much, fearing those images might pop right back to the forefront of my mind, and I focus on the rest of the room: clean and organized, which is exactly what I expected.
When we backtrack down the hall, he passes by the remaining door in the hall on the way out, and I stop.
I point to it. “Will this take me to Narnia, where I’ll find a lion and witch?”
He chuckles. “Uh, no. That’s just m-my…office. Nothing really to s-see in there.”
My eyes fall to slits at the shakiness in his voice. “Fox, you just showed me your bedroom where all we did was stand in the doorway without a fun sexual innuendo or you trying to take advantage of me. Now you want to pass by your ‘office’ because there’s nothing to see in there? Not a chance.”
I grab the handle, pushing the door open, and he lunges at me.
“No! Wait! I?—”
But his protests are futile. I’ve already opened the door and found that Fox—the sweet, Southern gentleman I’m pretty sure would never hurt a fly—lied to me.
“Now, this is a secret,” I say, stepping into the room that isn’t an office. No. It’s more like a shrine mixed with an office. Or, from the looks of his setup, a gaming room. “What is all this? Are you worried I’ll think you’re a nerd for gaming?”
“You know that’s a gaming computer?”
“I’m full of secrets, Artie.” I shoot him a wink, which makes his blush deepen even more.
“Look,” he says, following me into the room, “I know this probably looks really weird, but I swear there’s a good reason for it all.”
I quirk a brow at him. “Really? Because I’d love to hear it.”
“Well…”
He picks up one of the hundreds of glass and ceramic turtles on the shelves, which take up an entire wall of his “office.” He holds it out to me, and I take it. I study the little figurine carefully, loving the details of the green and brown. It looks almost lifelike, like it might tuck its head back into its shell at any moment.
“Do you remember those videos they showed us in school about how horrible plastic is for the ocean? The ones of the poor sea turtles with straws stuck up their noses or those six-pack rings that hold soda cans together? And we were supposed to ‘Save the Turtles’ by recycling and cutting those up?”
“I remember.” I set the small turtle down and pick up another figurine, admiring the details of it. “They were traumatizing. It’s why I only use paper straws even though they totally suck and disintegrate within five minutes.” It hits me, and I gasp. “Please tell me little baby Fox took that to heart and decided to save all the turtles?”
He nods. “He did. I did. I, uh, rescued many, many turtles over the years until my parents said enough and I had to pick hockey or the turtles. I picked hockey, of course, but I continued rescuing the turtles in other ways by collecting these little guys.” He grabs another figurine from the shelf, holding it so gingerly, and I smile at how extra tiny it looks in his giant hands. “Then my parents got in on it, and eventually my siblings, too. It took on a life of its own, so now I have this.”
He sets the turtle back on the shelf, then takes the one I’ve been holding and puts it back in its place, his touch light and loving. It’s so sweet and gentle, and I think this might be my favorite moment with Fox so far. He’s always been a little soft, but seeing this side of him, knowing he’s kept all these figurines to “save the turtles” in his own way… I don’t know. It makes me like him more than I already did, and I already liked him a lot.
You can kiss me if you want to.
And for the second time tonight, I want to. I want to press my lips right to his and kiss this wonderful man. He’s so good and so pure and so much more than I thought he was. I’ll admit I had some preconceived notions regarding hockey players being meatheads. I knew I was wrong about that when Hutch proved otherwise a long time ago, but now that I’m spending time with Fox, I can see how wrong I really was.
And that might be more dangerous than me wanting to kiss him again.
“What?” he asks when he looks over at me, and I know it’s because I’m beaming at him like a total fool.
“You, Arthur Fox, are somehow nothing and everything like I thought you would be.”
“Is that a bad thing?”
“No.” I shake my head. “It’s a good thing. A very, very good thing.”
He grins, and I swear I feel its warmth down to my toes.
“Come on,” he says, holding his hand out to me. I slip mine into his, curling our fingers together like it’s second nature. “Let’s go have some nachos.”