Page 15

CHAPTER 15

LILAH

“Sadie is going to be so sad she missed this.”

“I thought she was mad at you because she had to hear about your engagement from your mother.”

“Well, yeah, but you know how it goes with sisters. We’re mad, but if there’s a common enemy, then…”

Auden nods, understanding perfectly. “Did you tell her tell her? You know, about the fakeness ?” She mouths the last word, not that it was needed. I knew exactly what she was getting at.

“I did. She thinks it’s brilliantly stupid, whatever that means.”

Auden makes a noise I can’t quite decipher, but I don’t indulge her on it. I’m too busy watching my mother plan my whole life before my eyes. I sigh, and Auden follows my gaze.

“Remind me again why we’re doing this?” she asks.

“Because it’s fun?”

Auden’s eyes slide right to where my mother is about thirty feet away, browsing through invitation options for my engagement party. “There are a lot of things I would say are fun, and going wedding shopping with your mother is not one of them. Especially for a fake wedding.”

“Shh!” I admonish, glancing at my mother, who is paying us absolutely zero attention. That’s pretty much been what the entire afternoon has been like, and I’m starting to wonder why I’m even here.

“She doesn’t even know we’re here. We could probably walk out of this store, and you wouldn’t hear from her for an hour or more.”

“And what? Miss picking out the perfect engagement party stationery that’s going to inevitably end up in the trash?” I run my finger over the board that’s full of paper examples. “This doesn’t seem very green. Can’t I just send everyone an e-invite?”

Auden snorts loudly, finally earning my mother’s attention, but all she does is glare at us. Auden, being Auden, waves at my mother. Her glare deepens, and I have to turn my head, covering my lips with my hand so she doesn’t see my smile. My mother turns back to the many paper options, back to ignoring us.

“Seriously, why are we here? It’s not like this relationship is going to last past this party,” Auden complains for at least the fourth time. “Let’s go get burritos.”

My stomach rumbles as if on cue. “Ugh, that sounds so good. I’m starving.”

“Then let’s sneak away. She’ll never know.”

“Are you kidding me? Selene knows all.”

“She doesn’t know you’re faking it with the goalie.”

“Auden!” I hiss at her, and all she does is grin.

Teasing me has become her favorite pastime since she learned about Fox and me. Even when the Serpents were on their bye week and I spent the whole time rolling around the sheets with my very flexible fake fiancé, she was still texting me daily with jokes, GIFs, and memes. Now, with the team on a six-day road trip, I’ve become her focus with Hutch gone. She’s made me recount everything going on with Fox at least ten times. When we aren’t talking about it, I’ve been talking about it with my mother, who is suddenly very invested and wants to be part of every moment, especially planning our engagement party. Personally, I think she just likes the idea of being able to control yet another aspect of my life. If she can’t pick who I’m marrying, you bet your ass she’s going to have a say in everything else.

It somehow makes Fox’s absence even harder because now I don’t even have anyone to relieve all this stress with, and I could really relieve some stress right now. And maybe some of his cheesy jokes. His Southern drawl. A few well-placed sugars . Really, anything to distract me from the fact that we’re planning a party that doesn’t mean a thing other than to signal the end of the weirdest contract negotiation of my life.

“You’re thinking of him, aren’t you?”

I peek over at Auden. “What?”

“Fox. You’re thinking about him.”

I huff out a laugh. “Uh, no. I am not.”

“Yes, you are. Naughty thoughts, too.” She pokes my cheek. “You’re blushing.”

I swat her hand away. “Stop it. No, I’m not.”

“You are. You are, and you like him. You really like him.” She sings this, not a care in the world who hears her. “You wanna fu?—”

“Ms. Sinclair!”

Auden’s back snaps straight, and her eyes widen. Slowly, she turns to look at my mother, who is standing right behind her, a pinched expression on her face. “Hi, Selene.”

My mother narrows her eyes at her. “We’re finished here. Let’s go grab lunch.”

“Wait,” I say. “We’re done?”

“Yes,” my mother calls over her shoulder, already moving past us to the door. “You’re doing cream with pearlescent for the engagement party. There’s a classic silver ribbon for the engagement invites. I would have loved to have knocked out the wedding invitations today too, but since you’re dragging your feet about setting a date, this will have to do.”

Auden snickers, and I shoot her a glare.

“Shouldn’t we wait for Fo—Arthur to make the final decision?” I ask my mother.

She huffs. “It’s like decorating a house. Men don’t want to be part of this kind of thing. Trust me.”

“Actually, Reed was heavily involved in the decision-making for building our house, especially when it came to decorating,” Auden says.

“When are you getting married again, dear?”

She’s baiting Auden, and my best friend is doing her best not to bite.

“We’re not engaged.”

“Ah, right.” My mother smiles victoriously over her shoulder, effectively ending the discussion.

Auden and I look at one another, rolling our eyes simultaneously as we trudge up a hill after the Wicked Witch. I have no idea where we’re going, but I’m guessing this was all planned as part of her outing today. When she called this morning and asked if I had looked at invitations yet, I asked her if she was completely insane because it was six AM, but I wasn’t at all expecting that to lead to us spending the day together. Yet here we are.

She’s wrong, though. I think if this were real, Fox would care what kind of invitations we have. Well, maybe not exactly that, but he’d want to be involved. He doesn’t seem like the kind of guy who just sits back. He’d want to have a say in his own wedding.

Guilt climbs up my throat, and it’s not the first time that’s happened today. Doing anything wedding related feels so…wrong. Not just because this is fake but because I know how Fox really feels. I know that, unlike me, he wants a relationship someday, a wedding—a real one, not whatever this has turned into.

Party, then break up , I remind myself. I’m not stealing anything from him. It’s just a party.

As we pass by a store, something sitting on the glass shelf in the window stops me in my tracks. It takes Auden a moment to realize I’ve stopped and my mother even longer.

“What are you doing, Lilah Jane? We have a reservation we need to make.”

“I just need a moment. I need to…”

I pull open the door to the shop, heading right to the display I saw from the street. I gently pick up the turtle figurine that looks like it’s made of glass, rock, wood, and I don’t even know what else. It’s so unique and so Fox that I have to have it. I carry it to the register at the back of the shop, Auden behind me the whole time while my mother stands in the doorway of the kitschy little shop looking like she’d rather be anywhere else in the world.

“What is that?” Auden asks, standing behind me as I hand it to the person behind the checkout counter.

“It’s a turtle made from materials found on Alki Beach. Beautiful, isn’t it?”

“Very,” I tell them, tapping my card to pay.

“Would you like it wrapped?”

“That’d be wonderful.”

“Since when are you into turtles?” Auden asks as they wrap the adorable figurine I know Fox is going to love.

“It’s not for me.”

Her brows pinch together. “Then who is it—” Her face lights up. “Oh.”

“What?” I say, not at all liking the look she’s giving me. It’s one of those obnoxiously knowing looks. I just wish I knew what she knew.

“Nothing,” she says with a shrug.

“Here you go,” the worker says, handing me the wrapped gift.

“Thank you,” I tell them before turning back to Auden. “What were you going to say?”

“I wasn’t going to say anything.”

I hold back my irritated groan. “Yes, you were. About the turtle.”

“It’s a lovely turtle. That’s all.”

I glare at her, but she doesn’t budge, refusing to tell me whatever it was she was going to say. No, she just smiles, and it’s the most annoying smile in the world.

“Whatever,” I mumble, exiting the shop with another thank-you to the worker and another dirty look from my mother.

She speeds ahead of Auden and me—seriously, how does she walk so fast in those heels with these hills?—as we continue on our way to the restaurant. We don’t talk, we just keep walking, my mother complaining about how late we are because I just had to stop for a little trinket.

I ignore her, my mind thousands of miles away, all the way in Toronto. I wish I could say this is the first turtle I’ve bought since Fox has been gone, but it’s not. It’s just the first one Auden’s seen me buy. I can’t seem to stop myself, though. Every time I come across a turtle now, all I can think of is the sweet Southern boy who has made it his mission to save each and every one.

“It’s for Fox,” I tell Auden quietly as we stand inside the restaurant, my mother talking to the ma?tre d’, explaining to them that we’re late because of her daughter. I’d be bothered by her throwing me under the bus if not for Auden, who is still sporting that damn grin.

“I kind of figured.”

“He collects them.”

“That’s cute.” Still grinning.

“It’s not a big deal.”

“Okay,” she says, but she doesn’t sound like she believes me at all. If anything, it sounds like she thinks it is a big deal. A very big deal.

And worse? I think she might be right.

“Go, go, go!” I scream at the TV, knowing full well Lawson can’t hear me as he flies down the ice, the puck on his stick as he skates farther and farther away from the opposition.

He drags the puck back, and it goes right over the goalie’s shoulder and into the net.

“Yes!” I jump off my couch, stomping my feet in excitement as the camera pans over to Fox, who skates to the bench where the other players are going wild.

The Serpents are up three goals, the only one from Minnesota coming from a deflected shot that Fox had no chance to stop. Or at least that’s what the commentators said, and I trust their judgment more than mine considering I still don’t really know much about hockey, just that I’ve come to love watching it. I’ve found myself glued to my TV since Fox has been on the road, not wanting to miss a single minute of his games. I’ve tried not to read too much into that.

The players on the ice skate along the bench, high-fiving their joyful-looking teammates, and each one gives Fox a tap. Even with his nerdy The Lord of the Rings mask featuring a drawing of Gandalf surrounded by “You Shall Not Pass” in elvish-styled font, you can see him smiling.

He’s having fun. He’s having so much fun. It’s so different from the Fox I watched a few weeks ago. He looks relaxed, totally at ease. Even when the teams start battling in front of him, shoving their sticks anywhere they can get them, he still looks calm and collected, like nothing in the world can touch him.

I don’t know for certain if it has anything to do with our “relaxation” sessions, but I certainly don’t think they’ve been hurting things. We have video-chatted every night since he left. It all started when I sent him a picture of his sock, which he couldn’t seem to find the last time he was here. It was stuck behind my dresser, and I still have no clue how it got there since we didn’t even get close to it. Still, I sent him the photo one night after his game, and he called me immediately. One thing led to another, and I ended up with my clothes off, both of us panting into the phone.

They’ve won every game since.

The puck is dropped at center ice, and this time, Minnesota wins it back. They dump the puck into the Serpents’ zone, then chase after it, winning it in the end. It all happens so fast—Fox is calm, making save after save as they throw pucks on net repeatedly, then the next, he’s on his ass, and the goal horn sounds throughout the arena.

The crowd goes wild, and the Serpents stand there stunned. So do I.

“That was interference! That was goaltender interference right there!” the commentator for the Serpents says emphatically. “No way that goal isn’t coming back.”

The woman on the other mic agrees with him, and they begin talking rules and blue paint and even bring in some analyst who used to be a referee while the officials on the ice huddle by the penalty and watch the play over and over on a tablet. They show the clip on TV, the commentators breaking down exactly why the goal is going to be turned over, and I couldn’t agree more. There’s no way it’s going to stand.

“Oh, oh. We’ve got a decision. We have a decision,” the female commentator announces as the official skates to the middle of the ice.

“After reviewing the play, it was determined there was not goaltender interference. We have a good goal.”

The arena erupts, and the camera pans to the Serpents’ bench. They’re pissed. Hell, I’m pissed, and I’m not even playing the game.

“That was bullshit!” I yell at my TV, again not caring that they can’t hear me.

But all of our arguing is pointless. The game continues, and even after conceding that goal, the Serpents manage to score on an empty net and pad their lead. They walk away all smiles because they’ve won their fifth in a row.

Not that I’d ever admit it to anyone—not even Auden—but I spend the next two and a half hours pacing my apartment, my phone in hand as I wait on his call. I’ve all but given up, tucked cozy in my bed and nearly asleep when my phone rattles against my bedside table. I flick my light on, grinning when I see the name on the screen.

“That was one hundred percent interference.”

Fox laughs at my greeting and sits back against the headboard in his hotel room. “Yeah? You a rules expert now?”

“Of course I am. I also have eyes. His own teammate pushed him into you. They should have called it back.”

He scratches at the stubble on his cheek, and I try to act like I don’t miss the feel of it between my legs. “Yeah, probably. But we still won.”

I smile. “You still won.” I settle into my own bed. “Where are you?”

“The Sinclair St. Louis. We just got in. It was a quick flight.” He lets out a yawn. “How was your day?”

My heart thumps in my chest. It’s such a simple question, but I like it all the same. I’ve never really had someone who cared about how my day was before.

It’s all fake, Lilah. Don’t get used to it.

“It was good,” I tell him, ignoring the thoughts trying to push through my mind. “Auden and I got pedicures.”

“That sounds nice. Been a while since I’ve had one.”

My brows rise. “ You get pedicures?”

“Yeah. Why does that surprise you?”

“I don’t know. I don’t think I’ve ever dated a man who admitted to that,” I say as he shifts around in the bed, trying to get comfortable.

There’s a slight pause, and it takes me a moment to realize what’s caused it.

I don’t think I’ve ever dated a man who admitted to that.

Shit. It makes it sound like what we’re doing is real. I don’t know why I phrased it that way. Perhaps just a slip of the tongue or maybe something more. Either way, Fox continues, acting as if nothing happened, and I’m surprised at the relief that floods me.

“Not manly enough of me?”

“No, no.” I shake my head. “If anything, I like that you admit it. Most guys wouldn’t. They’d just sneak in and out of the shop, then scoff when other men bring it up.”

“I used to go with my mom.”

“You used to get pedicures with your mom?”

“Stop looking at me like that.” I’m rewarded with another one of those rare scowls of his, and just like before, I enjoy it far too much.

“Like what?”

“Like that’s the sweetest thing you’ve ever heard.”

“Well, that is the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“Even sweeter than me trying to save the turtles?”

I look at my nightstand where three figurines sit, the ones I’ve collected for him in his absence. I can’t believe how excited I am to give them to him.

“Eh, I don’t know about that,” I say, looking back into the camera.

His signature grin comes back. He flicks his chin toward me. “Did I wake you?”

I look down at my flannel pajamas dotted with white circles on a pink background. “No. I wasn’t asleep yet.” It’s not technically a lie. “Too wound up over that bad call to sleep.”

He laughs. “Careful, you’re starting to sound like an actual hockey fan.”

I think I am an actual hockey fan now, and it has everything to do with the brown eyes grinning at me all the way from Missouri.

“Since you played tonight, you won’t be playing tomorrow, right?”

“Nah. It’s Dash’s net tomorrow night. But that’s good. He has a better record against St. Louis than I do.”

“Do you keep track of all that stuff?”

“Eh, sometimes. Usually, I try to ignore all the stats and shit like that, but sometimes it comes in handy. Some teams just have a goalie figured out, you know? Don’t want to hop in the net if that’s the case and give up those two points.”

“You guys are number two now, you know.”

“Heard some rumblings.”

It’s clear from the smile teasing his lips he’s well aware of this and damn proud of it. He should be, too. I’ve seen how hard he’s been working. I know their play earlier in the year weighed on him, especially his own, but it seems he’s finally finding his groove.

He sits forward, then tugs his shirt over his head, falling back against the headboard, his hair now a wreck. Though I’ve seen him shirtless countless times, I still find my mouth drying at the sight of him, the dim hotel light casting the most delicious of shadows. He looks tired, but a good tired. Like he’s spending his time doing what he loves and wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world. I like him like this.

“Lilah?”

“Hmm?” I ask, pulling my attention back to him.

He chuckles lightly. “I asked what color you got for your pedicure.”

It’s so silly, but I like that he asks, that he cares enough to ask.

Fake, Lilah , I remind myself, something I’ve had to do much too frequently lately.

“Blush. We figured since Valentine’s Day is coming up, we’d get something girlie.”

He frowns. “We’re on the road then.”

“When?”

“Valentine’s Day.”

Disappointment tumbles through me, and I try to push it away as quickly as it comes. Why the hell I’m disappointed by that, especially when I’ve never cared about Valentine’s Day before, I don’t know.

I lift a shoulder, trying to appear unbothered. “That’s okay.”

“I’ll make it up to you.”

“Fox, I don’t expect you to take me out for Valentine’s Day.”

“What if I want to?” he challenges, tilting his chin up.

If it were anyone else, I’d fight them on this, but for some reason, I want Fox to take me out.

“Fine,” I relent, rolling my eyes to make it seem like I’m doing him a favor. “We can do something.”

“Good.” He grins, and I have to shuffle around because I swear the simple action goes right between my legs. “I’ll plan something.”

“I like diamonds. Big ones,” I tease.

“Noted,” he says, and it’s a little serious .

“I’m kidding. Don’t you dare get me diamonds, Arthur Whatever Your Middle Name Is Fox.”

“Francis.”

I can’t help it—I laugh, and it warrants another scowl from Fox.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” I say once I finally settle down. “Arthur Francis? Are you sure your parents love you?”

“Very much. I might even be the favorite child.”

“You’re the oldest, which means you’re automatically not the favorite. Trust me, I know from experience.” I have never been my parents’ favorite, not even in all that time before Sadie came along, and especially not after. “The youngest always wears the favorite crown. Though I’m not exactly sure how that works if your younger siblings are twins.”

“That’d be Russ, then. He’s the baby by five minutes.” He yawns, reaching up to scratch at his chest. “And that’s not always how it works. Your parents just suck.”

I snort. “You can say that again.”

He opens his mouth to do just that, and I cut him a glare. He laughs, but it’s cut short with another yawn.

“Sorry,” he says, scrubbing a hand over his face. “These long road trips start to catch up to me near the end.”

“Do you like them?”

“I used to love them.”

“What changed?”

He doesn’t say anything, but he doesn’t have to. The red stealing up his cheeks says it all for him.

Me. I’m what changed that for him. The craziest part of all? I want to be the reason he misses home. My breath quickens, and for the first time since our nightly phone calls began, it has nothing to do with anything sexy.

No, it’s the realization that this thing with Fox hasn’t just gotten out of hand with my mother planning us an engagement party. It’s gotten out of hand because I like spending time with Fox far, far too much. Because he’s the first person I think to call when I find something funny. Because I’ve been buying turtles for him.

“I’m tired,” I announce suddenly.

For a moment, Fox looks hurt. Then he nods.

“I should probably get to bed myself. Never know if they’ll need me in net tomorrow or not.”

“I’ll watch,” I promise, telling myself I’m not watching for him but because I’m a hockey fan now.

It’s just because you love the Serpents. That’s all it is, Lilah. It has nothing to do with wanting to catch even the tiniest of glimpses of Fox waiting in the wings. Nope. Not at all.

“Thanks.” He gives me a soft smile. “Good night, sugar.”

“Good night, Arthur…Francis.”

He groans, and it’s the last thing I hear before I end the call. When I tuck myself into bed, I do everything I can to not think of Fox and the fact that he misses me. Even more, I try not to think about how much I miss him and what that might mean.

As I drift off to sleep with a smile, I know I’ve failed on both counts and am oddly at ease with it.