Page 5

CHAPTER 5

FOX

I almost kissed Lilah.

It’s the first thought that crosses my mind when I finally talk myself into peeling my eyes open to silence my alarm that has my phone vibrating against the table. I don’t know exactly what I was thinking—and maybe I wasn’t with the six or so vodka sodas I had last night—but I almost kissed my fake girlfriend.

Apparently, I have one of those now.

I also don’t know why I stepped in and helped her against her mother. No, wait. I do know why I did that. Those things she was saying to her… They were terrible, and nobody—especially not Lilah—deserves to hear them from their mother. She needed help, and it cost me nothing but a night out to help her. Why wouldn’t I do that?

Carefully, I pull myself up from the— holy shit, is that a pink couch? I rub my eyes, then check again, and yep, that’s a pink couch, all right. I did not have “wake up on a pink couch” on my bingo card to start the new year, but here we are.

I push myself to a sitting position on the comfortable albeit godawful ugly thing and look around. I didn’t pay much attention to my surroundings last night, especially given I could barely hold myself up when I finally got Lilah wrangled into her bed, so it’s like I’m seeing her apartment for the first time.

The walls are painted a pale pink that nearly matches the furniture. White bookshelves filled to the brim with what look like romance novels line one section of the room, and a huge TV is plastered against the other. There are not one, not two, but three different gallery walls, and several pairs of shoes are lined up neatly by the door. Everything has its place; even the stack of mail on the table by the door seems organized.

If I had to choose one word to describe the apartment, it would have to be feminine , and that’s not a bad thing. Not at all. It’s exactly what I expected from Lilah, the girl who, even though completely wasted, tried to run back inside because she was worried about her high heels.

Speaking of them…

I snatch my phone off the table and text Hutch to have Auden grab the discarded footwear. He instantly replies that they’re already on it. Then he asks how I’m doing, and I send him back a thumbs-down emoji, which he laughs at. Hopefully, the rest of my teammates are feeling just as shitty as I am, and Coach Smith will take it easy on us during the morning skate. I scrub my hand over my face, my head pounding, likely from dehydration. I need water and maybe something greasy to eat, or there is no way I will make it through practice this morning.

I check the time: 7:12. If I move fast, I’ll be able to get my truck from The Sinclair and grab a shower before heading to the barn, but I’m not sure I will be moving fast anywhere today. At 7:20, I finally drag myself off the couch and find the bathroom. After doing my business, I pad into the adjoining kitchen. It takes me four tries, but I eventually find the glasses, pulling down a mug—because that’s all there seems to be—and filling it with water from the faucet.

I chug it, then refill and repeat it three more times before I’m mildly satisfied. I rinse the cup and dry it with a hand towel hanging from the stove before returning it to the cabinet where I found it. Back against the island in the kitchen, I peer to my right, letting my eyes wander down the hall to where Lilah is—based on the snores filtering through the apartment—still fast asleep.

Shit, what was I thinking last night? I mean, yes, Lilah is a beautiful woman and I’m definitely attracted to her, but almost kissing her? That’s a whole different playing field. I couldn’t help myself though. She just looked so damn good standing in the middle of the dance floor, her hair wild from all the humidity and the sweat from hours of dancing. Then she called me Arthur, and I thought I might die hearing my name on her lips.

Nobody outside of my family has ever called me by my first name, not even when I was in grade school. I was playing hockey by then, so I was always just Fox. It’s not that I hate my first name, it just feels foreign now. But hearing Lilah say it… It didn’t feel foreign at all.

A loud thunk that sounds suspiciously like someone falling comes from the direction of Lilah’s room, and I immediately shove off the counter, racing down the hall to make sure she’s okay. I toss open the door and am greeted by the absolute last thing I expected to see today—Lilah’s ass. It’s completely bared save for the strip of material nestled between her cheeks. I stand there dumbfounded, utterly fucking surprised, for a long time—likely too long. Not until I hear Lilah groan do I realize I should probably do something other than stare at her.

I spring into action all at once, reaching for her, careful not to touch her anywhere that isn’t covered. When I finally get her turned around, I brush the hair from her face.

“What are you… How did you…”

I suck in a breath, trying to get my racing thoughts to calm. What the hell is even happening right now? How did she end up on the floor? How did she lose her pants? What would that thin strip of material feel like between my teeth?

Stop it, Fox. Stop it right now.

I settle on “Are you okay?”

She huffs, glaring up at me with puffy eyes still coated in last night’s makeup. “No.”

I tuck my lips together to keep from laughing. “Why are you on the floor, Lilah?”

“Because I thought it would be a fun place to sleep.”

Someone is not a morning person. Noted.

“I fell out of bed,” she says with a frown as she sits up. “What else do you think happened?”

“I wasn’t sure,” I say honestly.

And I wasn’t. I had no idea what happened. All thoughts went out of my head the second I stepped into the room and got a peek at her ass in the air. Her round, very well-sculpted ass. Does she do Pilates?

You know what? It doesn’t matter. What matters is making sure she’s okay.

“Did you bump your head? Bruise anything?”

“Only my ego,” she responds, pulling at the white comforter wrapped around her. “The damn blanket got tangled around my feet.”

She huffs, giving up trying to wriggle free from it, and I’m grateful. I’m not sure I could handle seeing half-naked Lilah again today.

She squints up at me. “Why are you here?”

It’s a fair question, or at least it would be if she hadn’t begged me to stay for twenty minutes last night. She tried pulling me into her bed, but I refused, telling her I’d sleep on the couch.

“Come on. My bed is huge. We can share it, and I’ll be the little spoon.” She tugs on my dress shirt in an attempt to get me to slip into her bed.

It’s tempting, I won’t lie. But she’s drunk, and I’m not letting her make decisions like this when she’s not of sound mind.

“No,” I say.

“Fine.” She rolls her eyes dramatically. “Then you can be the little spoon.”

I laugh, pulling free from her grasp and laying her hands gently against her chest. “I’ll stay, but I’m not sleeping with you.”

“Oh my god. Did you just ask me to have sex with you, Arthur ?”

I choke on my own spit. What the hell did she say?

Lilah bursts into a fit of giggles. “Oh, Foxy, you should see your face. I’m teasing. I am teasing!” She stops laughing suddenly. “But not about you staying. You’re staying, right?”

I smile. “I’m staying, Lilah.”

She breathes a sigh of relief. “Thank gosh. No trying to feel me up in the middle of the night, okay? Because you’re cute, and I just might let you.”

Then she rolled over and promptly fell asleep. Our conversation now tells me she doesn’t remember a single moment, and I’m unsure if I’m glad or not. I’m curious what else she does or doesn’t remember, like me nearly kissing her.

“I wanted to make sure you were okay,” I tell her instead of relaying everything that happened last night.

I did want to make sure she was okay. Even if she hadn’t begged me to stay, I would have anyway, even if it meant I had to sleep in the hallway outside her apartment door.

That earns me a soft, sleepy smile. Even in her state, it’s cute.

“Such a gentleman.” She lets out a big yawn, then falls back onto the blanket heap on the floor, tugging the blanket up around her shoulders, dangerously close to showing me that she’s not wearing any pants again. “What time is it?”

“About seven thirty. I was just getting ready to leave, actually. Practice.”

She wrinkles her nose. “Ew.”

“Ew?”

“I can’t imagine moving right now.”

I chuckle. “That’s fair. Are you going to stay here all day?”

“Yes.”

“Can I at least get you anything?”

“Water?”

“You got it.”

I push to my feet and pad back into the kitchen. I grab the same mug I used earlier and fill it with water before searching through the cabinets and her pantry for something light to eat in case she needs it. The only thing I can find is four different flavors of Goldfish, so I grab those and the mug, then head back to her bedroom.

Lilah is still on the floor, but I can tell she’s still awake from her breathing. I set her provisions on her bedside table, head into her connected bathroom, and riffle through her cabinets until I find a bottle of ibuprofen. When I return to her room, she’s moved, now on her back.

She cracks one eye open. “I think you might be the best fake boyfriend I’ve ever had, Fox.”

So I guess she remembers that part of last night.

“Have you had a lot of fake boyfriends?”

She closes her eyes again. “Nope, but I can already tell you’re going to be the best.”

I smile, even though she can’t see me.

My phone buzzes in my pocket and I pull it free to find several texts from my teammates, wondering where I am, I’m sure. I’m the perpetually early one on the team. Even though we still have fifteen minutes until practice starts, this is late for me.

“I gotta go,” I tell her, backing away.

She grunts.

“I’ll talk to you later?” I cross the threshold.

Another noncommittal noise.

“Bye, Lilah.”

I’m just outside her bedroom when I hear her.

“Bye, Arthur.”

Even though my head is killing me, I’m still dehydrated, and I’m undoubtedly walking into practice late, I still have a smile plastered to my face the whole time.

“Come on, Coach. You can’t be serious.”

“Oh, I’m very serious, Lawsy. Actually, I’m so serious, you get an extra lap.”

He groans but wisely—something rather unusual for Lawson—doesn’t say anything else.

We’re all feeling the repercussions of last night. All of us except for Coach Smith, who, if I remember correctly, left around 11 PM because it was “way past bedtime.” Naturally, we made fun of him for being so old after he left, but now… Now, I kind of wish I had left early, too. Maybe I wouldn’t be so damn hungover right now.

But then, I also wouldn’t have stayed over at Lilah’s, meaning this morning’s events wouldn’t be burned into my mind. Even though I’m pretty sure I’m moments away from puking, I still can’t get the image of a sprawled-out Lilah out of my head. It’s wrong. I shouldn’t be thinking of her, especially not in a moment of vulnerability like that, but still. It’s right there at the forefront, no matter what I do.

“Fox!”

“Coach?”

He narrows his eyes at me. “I said, hit the net after the skate, yeah? We’re doing shooting drills, and you’re up first.”

“Yes, sir,” I say, fighting a grimace.

The thought of trying to stop pucks right now is making me queasy. Or maybe that’s just the booze trying to talk back. I don’t know which.

“Go!”

Coach Smith blows his whistle, making nearly all of us jump, and we take off at a slow pace. It’s funny because Lawson could easily win the fastest skate competition without breaking a sweat, but today there is no chance any of us will win anything.

“Ten bucks says Lawson pukes first,” Keller says, skating beside me.

“Twenty says it’s the old man,” Hayes chimes in behind us.

“I’m not…” Locke swallows down the urge to vomit. “Old.”

Keller laughs—or at least it sort of sounds like a laugh—and says, “You definitely can’t hang, that’s for sure.”

“Shut up, Kells. You’re barely hanging on yourself,” Lawson argues.

For the first time, Keller doesn’t have a comeback, probably because he knows Lawson is right. It’s funny because I was drinking so much because I was dancing and having a good time, as were the other guys, but Keller? I don’t know why he got so drunk, especially since he stood on the sidelines, rolling his eyes at us and shouting obscenities nearly the entire time. I’m not sure if that makes me more curious as to why he was drinking so much or sad because it was obvious he was doing it alone.

Still, it doesn’t change the situation we’re all in right now.

“I hate this,” Dash, our other goalie, grumbles. “I’m glad it’s you in net first instead of me.”

“I wouldn’t be so happy about that. The first few clappers will be a breeze, but they’ll eventually gain energy. You’re going to get the worst of it.”

His mouth drops open like he’s just now realizing it, too.

I laugh, then pat his shoulder. “Sorry, bud.”

He hangs his head with a muttered “Fuck” as we finish our lap. Lawson keeps going as we all get set, me between the pipes and the other guys forming a poor excuse for a line. Usually, they’d be stick-handling pucks, flipping them into the air, and shooting them down the ice. Now, they’re all just standing there, using their sticks like life rafts, and there’s no doubt they are the only things keeping them afloat.

The first shot comes from Locke, who winces as he swings back for a slapshot, and not because he feels terrible about tossing the puck my way. He just feels bad in general. Next up is Keller, who is a little more eager to toss it my way, but it’s still nowhere near his usual pace. The rest of the team take their shots, and we go through the line a few times before I swap spots with Dash, who I swear is now green, and then skate over to the bench to grab water.

“You good?” Hutch asks before squirting a stream right into his mouth. He swishes it, then spits it out onto the ice before doing it again, this time actually drinking it.

I nod. “I’ll live.”

“Quite a party last night.”

“It really was. Didn’t expect to drink so much, that’s for sure.”

He starts to laugh, but it turns into a grimace. “Yeah, that’ll happen when Auden and Lilah get together. It’s like they revert to their college days and see who can do the most shots.”

Lilah.

Once again, my mind drifts back to her pert ass and the fact that I left her lying on her floor this morning. Did she ever make it back into bed? Did she take the pills I set out for her? Has she had any fluids? Something to eat? Is she even awake right now? The concern for her is at an all-time high, and I’m not sure why. Is it because she’s my fake girlfriend now? Or is it just because I’m like everyone says—too nice for my own good?

“You two seemed to hit it off.”

It’s not a question, but it’s not not a question either. It’s almost like Hutch is fishing for something. I don’t know what, but I decide not to indulge him. Something about it tells me to keep quiet, especially the whole faking-being-her-boyfriend part. Given how we’re both barely functioning this morning, we haven’t discussed the repercussions of our decisions last night, and I’m not sure when we will either. Maybe I should swing by her place later to check on her. And I guess maybe figure out just what all this scheme of ours entails.

“She’s a nice girl.”

He nods with a smile. “Yeah, she is. And talented as hell, too. Auden was so excited they were working together again, even if it was just a team party. She wouldn’t stop talking about it.”

Lilah was like that last night, too, though I’m not sure she even remembers. Every chance she got on the dance floor, she’d ask me what I thought about the party, if the decorations were too cheesy or if they were classy. I think I told her about fifty different times that it was the perfect combination of laid-back and classy, and I meant every one of them.

“They going to do more?”

He shrugs. “I don’t know. Right now, Auden is just sort of doing whatever makes her happy in that moment, and she deserves that. They both do after how hard they worked.”

He’s right. They do. I wish Lilah’s mother understood that instead of crapping all over her life. It might not be Lilah’s name on the side of those hotels, but she helped build them just as much as Auden did. Her mother should be a lot prouder of that than she is, that’s for damn sure.

I still can’t believe the shit I overheard her saying last night, the way she spoke to her daughter. No—the way she berated her daughter. There was no pride in her voice, only criticism. And then to try to force her into dating some guy Lilah has no interest in? It’s ridiculous. Yes, my mother is concerned about my dating life—or lack of one—but she would never interfere like that, especially not to try to impress her friends. Mostly because her friends don’t care one lick, but still.

It’s why I stepped in when I did. I’ll gladly sacrifice one night if it means Lilah won’t have to go on a date with someone her terrible mother sets her up with.

“Anyway, thanks for making sure she got home okay. Auden really appreciated it.”

I lift a shoulder. “It was no big deal.”

It really wasn’t. I would have done it for anyone, even if they weren’t my fake girlfriend.

“Hutch! Fox! Quit gossiping and get back to work!” Coach Smith yells, and with reluctance, we follow his orders.

The rest of practice drags by—and lasts about thirty minutes longer than usual, making me sure Coach Smith is trying to kill us—and when I finally make it back to my truck, the only thing I want to do is grab food, go home, and sleep for the rest of the day.

Which is why I’m shocked when my truck ends up in front of Lilah’s apartment building, a bag full of greasy breakfast sandwiches on the seat next to me. I stare up at the trendy-looking building with its sharp edges and mixed-material siding and try to figure out what I’m doing here.

Am I just checking on her? Am I simply being a good friend? Or am I here because I agreed to be her fake boyfriend, nearly kissed her, and saw her naked ass all in the last twenty-four hours? I’m unsure, and honestly, I don’t care.

I snatch the food from the front seat and make my way into the building. I punch in the elevator code she slurred out to me last night, and the car takes me to the fourth floor. With a deep breath, I knock on her door and wait.