Page 7

Chapter 7

Alexis

A loud rapping on the door interrupts my unbroken loop of Taylor Swift songs.

Swallowing against the fear rising in my throat, I reach for my phone to call Alissa as a witness. My fingers just graze the cold glass of the screen when I hear, “Lex, it’s me. Open up.”

I slack a sigh of relief. Blake.

When I open the door he’s leaning against the frame, his arms crossed over his toned chest, making him seem even broader. His curly brown hair is still wet from his post-game shower, the faint scent of his eucalyptus shower gel lingering in the air around him. “You weren’t at the game.”

The words are simple, an easy fact that cannot be disputed. But his tone? His tone is almost hurt, like he had actually been looking forward to having me there. But that’s silly; there’s barely a moment to chit-chat during those games, so me being there or not makes no difference.

“Very observant.”

He shoots me a look that says don’t test me. “Girlfriends go to their boyfriend’s games. I scored and wanted to point at you in the crowd, but you weren’t there. You should have been there.”

I shrug. “I had a ton of work to do, and the cold of the ice rink makes me flare up. Besides, Alissa was there, wasn’t she?”

Blake lets out an exasperated chuckle. “Sending your identical twin to go in your place doesn’t count. I’m not kissing your sister.”

“You’re not kissing anyone, period,” I say, my brain locking on the possibility at once, imagining the way his lips would feel on mine. The thought alone sends a shiver of longing through me, and I can feel my cheeks starting to tinge pink.

Pull yourself together, Moore.

Blake laughs. “We’re supposed to be dating. Of course there will be kissing.”

Somehow, I hadn’t thought of that. Who in their right mind believes a couple to be in love if there’s no kissing? No physical touch, no intimate gestures. When I agreed to this…farce, I did so for the money and the possibility of getting Hudson to leave me alone—which, so far, has been working. I had been so caught up in that I hadn’t considered what it meant to be convincing; the fact that I had to surrender myself, at least in some part, to Blake. That I would have to let him touch me and kiss me whenever he saw fit, and I had to do the same with him.

Fucked. I am so utterly, completely fucked.

And not even in a fun way.

“Sure, but, like, on the cheek.” I spin on my heels, diving into the kitchen to keep Blake from seeing my panic. A moment passes before I hear him follow, gently closing the front door behind us.

“Is there a reason why the mere thought of kissing me makes you break out in hives?” Blake perches on the side of a chair, staring pointedly at my hands. I look down and promptly drop them; I didn’t notice I was scratching.

“It’s not you.” I turn my back towards him, busying myself with getting us both something to drink, my breathing unsteady as flashes of Hudson flood my mind faster and faster until all I can hear is a sharp ring.

A hand closes around mine, and the ringing stops.

I turn to find Blake standing behind me, his eyes filled with a sadness I can’t quite place. “It’s him, isn’t it?”

There’s no use in hiding it. “Yes. He was the last…I mean, I sort of haven’t…”

It’s all so stupid, I know. Blake is so vastly different from Hudson. Blake doesn’t yell, or make sudden movements. Everything he does seems well thought-out, at least when it comes to me. Hudson could never be like him if he tried. But while my mind knows this, my brain has yet to catch up.

“I’m not him,” Blake says gently, softly, as if he’s still trying to calm me down. “We won’t touch until you want us to, and you can always tell me to fuck off. But I will never hurt you. Being with me… it shouldn’t be something to fear.”

His eyes are like a steady mountain brook, calm and blue, and I cling to the shards of peace I feel when I meet his gaze. “What should it be like, then?”

“Easy.” Blake’s fingers glide across my cheek, sliding a stray lock of hair behind my ear. “Safe. Good. You can be you, and I’ll be me. No pretending, no lies.”

I hold his gaze, the feeling of his palm on my cheek warm and comforting. “What if I can never touch you? If we never kiss?”

“Then you’d be the first,” he says, and though there’s a small smile on his face I can hear the sadness in his voice. “But I don’t need to touch you to prove you’re mine.”

I blink. “But you just said?—”

“What I said doesn’t matter. We will find other ways to convince them. Your comfort comes first, always.” Blake looks conflicted for a moment, but before I can say anything he adds, “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry for whatever happened to you. You deserve to be treasured without fearing affection.”

A smile pulls at my lips. “So you’re treasuring me now?”

“Like a goddamn pirate treasures his booty,” Blake smirks, leaning in to add, “And this particular booty is very cute.”

A laugh ripples from my throat, easing my nerves and relaxing my muscles. I turn my face away to hide the blush creeping into my cheeks—it was just a joke; there is no reason to think he meant anything with it.

“Next game, I’ll be there.”

“You better,” Blake says and walks to where he’d stashed his gym bag at the door. “Or I would have gotten you this for nothing.”

He pulls a messily-wrapped package from the big side pocket and hands it to me. From the sight, there is no doubt in my mind that he wrapped it himself, and a fuzzy feeling spreads inside my chest at the thought. It means he thought of me when I wasn’t even around, and he went out of his way to buy and wrap something for me.

And I’ve been avoiding him all week like a jerk.

It takes some peeling, but I eventually get enough tape loose to unwrap the paper, revealing a gold-and-black hockey jersey with his last name and the number nineteen displayed proudly on the fabric.

“You want me to wear your number?” I glance up at him, trying to figure out the depth of the gift. I know girlfriends wear their boyfriend’s number, and it would be weird if I showed up without his. But to be presented with his jersey makes it all too real.

Blake laughs. “Of course I do.”

“Thank you.” I press the jersey against my body. It’s too big, but that’s a good thing. It will retain more heat that way, which will hopefully keep out most of the cold in the arena. I’m sure he only got this size because he didn’t know mine, but it works out in my favor.

“Oh, don’t thank me just yet,” Blake says with a mischievous grin. “Tomorrow, I’m picking you up for Miller’s party.”

Miller, or Jaxton Miller, is our school’s quarterback. Every single year he throws a party that can be heard across town, and the drama of which keeps the school paper occupied for weeks. It is, by all accounts, my personal brand of hell.

I shake my head with vigor, but the sight only makes him laugh.

“Come on, you owe me. Besides, no girlfriend would let her boyfriend go to a party like that by himself. Not going would kill our ranking before this thing has even started.” Blake leans against the counter, all hard muscle and smug smiles. Damn him. He knows the contest is my Achilles heel.

“Okay, fine. I’ll go.” I sigh. “But that’s that. No more owing each other.”

“Not so fast. I’m not sure you’ve considered the vast possibilities of me owing you .” He winks, and I bite my tongue to keep myself in check as a thousand ideas spring to mind. Most of them involve us in as little clothing as possible, and they are definitely not worth speaking. I can only hope he doesn’t notice my cheeks darkening a shade.

I straighten my spine, trying to copy the confidence my sister carries herself with. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

“Mmhm,” Blake affirms. My breath catches as his fingers brush the outline of my jaw, his eyes flitting to my lips for just a moment. “Whatever you want, you’ll get. You just gotta say the words.”

“A trip to Iceland? A puppy? One of those bookshelves that’s secretly a door to a very private room?” I raise my brow in challenge as my finger drags slowly down his chest. It’s clear he was talking about sex, not monetary favors, but it’s too much fun to mess with him to take any of it seriously.

Blake, as if seeing right through me, merely smiles, and the sight of it stirs something deep within me. “I’m not sure you’ve got the room in this dorm for a secret door, but the other two are very doable. Just tell me where and when.”

“Alluring,” I say. “But you’d have to owe me first, right?”

“Right.” His eyes lock on my lips again, and I feel my resolve disappear at a break-neck pace. I suck in a breath as my heart thunders in my chest, his lips drawing me in like a magnet.

Fuck it. What’s the harm, anyway? It’s not like we have a shot at winning this thing. Maybe having sex with Blake is just what I need: a chance to make new, positive sexual memories.

Slowly, I lean in until I can feel his breath on my skin, my lips almost brushing his. His palm goes up to caress my cheek, but he doesn’t close the gap.

“I should go,” he whispers. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

I try not to let my disappointment show as I watch him take up his gym bag, cold rushing in wherever we touched.

Miller’s party might not be an official part of the contest, but it’ll be so packed with people that it can break our believability before we’ve even begun. After tomorrow, everyone will know about us, and the real challenge will begin.

So far, Blake has talked a good game about me being his girl and him wanting me, but when he had the chance to kiss me just now he didn’t take it. He must be having second thoughts. I’m sure he wasn’t planning on being chained to someone with this much baggage.

“Do you still want to do this, Blake?” I ask. “Because after tomorrow, there is no way back.”

His shoulders sag, and for a moment I think he’ll call it off. But then a sleepy smile crosses his lips and he says, “I’ll pick you up at eight.”

With a final glance he walks out the door, leaving me more confused than ever.