Page 9

CHAPTER 9

What Just Happened?

LUCY

Dad/Richard/Asshole

Hello, darling. I heard you met Paul Harrison. If you need anything, go talk to him.

I don’t respond. There are more little dots as my father continues to type, and my blood pressure continues to rise.

Dad/Richard/Asshole

I know you have to do this thing. This little adventure working in Colorado.

Dad/Richard/Asshole

I want you to know your job is still here. It’s where you belong. You know you can’t do this on your own. I can help you. I will always help you. You know that.

I look up from the texts, attempting to unclench my jaw. He’s still typing, but nothing good is going to pop up on my phone. Just more of the same nonsense.

Two pairs of footsteps echo from outside my open office door.

Of course he thinks I need him to succeed.

He’s right. I’ve never done it without him. He thinks women need a man to define themselves, and if I ever attempt to reason with him, his eyes glaze over and he stops engaging. Some men in his generation are impossible to reason with. They always think they’re right.

Paul Harrison zooms past my office, and then the click of heels reveals his wife, Savannah, close behind.

“Paul, wait up.” She sounds flustered, and she’s practically running in her heels. “Can we talk about the bar later?”

What’s she talking about? A bar, with alcohol? The bar, as in the bar exam? January went to one semester of law school and then bailed. She said it was the most boring shit she’d ever experienced, so she never came close to taking the bar exam.

I hope I never chased Ron down the hall like that. As much as the DC FC staff were nice to my face, I bet they hated me. The daughter of the team owner. Engaged to a VP who was the team owner’s pet.

I should call my mother.

When I was in college, I asked her why she and Dad divorced. I knew, but I wanted to hear it from her, adult to adult. She’d caught him cheating. Mom suspected there’d been others, but this one was right in front of her face. Mom was in her early fifties and decided there was no way she was putting up with a cheating husband for the rest of her life. One who thought she was not pretty enough. Not funny enough.

Not good enough.

She didn’t say I told you so when I broke it off with Ron.

I’m instinctively suspicious of Paul Harrison. Rich older man, much younger woman. It’s an uncomfortable power imbalance. Makes sense he’s friends with my father, whose fourth wife is only five years older than I am. I remember what Atticus said—they’re part of the Rich White Guy Team Owner club.

I clench my jaw and spin a pen on my desk, attempting to grab it as it shoots past my laptop and off the desk, skidding to a stop outside my office door. I prop my elbows and drop my head into a palm.

It’s no wonder Dad didn’t understand why I had to leave DC FC. For him, this behavior is normal. Cheating and trading down for younger models.

If he’d have fired Ron, would I have stayed? Maybe. Probably.

I pick up my water bottle and lift it to my lips, filling my mouth, lost in thoughts of the destination wedding I’d started to plan with Ron, and how it all went up in flames with one scroll of his texts.

“Lucy.”

I gasp and then spew water all over my laptop, my notebook, and the man who’s appeared in front of my desk holding the pen that I spun into the hallway.

Then I proceed to choke on water I inhaled with the gasp.

“Christ, are you okay?” Kellen darts around the desk and pats me on the back with increasing intensity until it feels like I’m being whacked from behind with a baseball bat.

I wave a hand in the air and end with a thumbs up.

“I’m fine,” I rasp, clearing my throat.

A thumbs up. I am the least cool person ever in the history of people.

Still catching my breath, I scrunch my face and can’t bring myself to make eye contact.

Kellen walks back around to the front of my desk. I’m hoping he walks out the door and saves me even one more humiliating moment.

“Here.”

I jolt my gaze up. He’s holding out a tissue from the box on my desk, and when I take it, he grabs one for himself.

He’s got droplets of water on his face.

For the love of god.

I wipe my face with one tissue, and after dropping it into my trash can with foundation smears, I grab another and dab my keyboard.

I’m a hot mess. Like, the hottest mess. If I was on a planet that was covered entirely in lava and trash, I’d still be the hottest mess there.

“Uh, sorry about that?” I think this is the universe’s way of ensuring I’m not tempted by the most attractive man I’ve ever seen without a shirt on.

Who is in my office.

Alone.

With me.

On a Friday afternoon. Not looking like he’s planning to leave. Lordy, why? At least he’s not shirtless.

Beads of sweat pop on my forehead. Or maybe I just missed some water droplets. I ignore them, even as one starts to trickle down my face.

Help.

I’ll go ahead and add this little event to the list of reasons why I need to get out of the United States of America.

“No problem. I’m sorry I surprised you.” He glances down at the chair. “May I?”

“Yeah, yeah, of course.”

Why. Why, Kellen? Please go away and let me drown in this lake of humiliation.

“How are you settling in?” Kellen lowers himself down, leaning back and laying his arms on the armrests. He then lifts his forearms suddenly. “Oh, it’s just a bit wet.”

“How much water did I spit out? I’m like a freaking sprinkler system over here.”

Kellen chuckles, and I’m mesmerized by the rough stubble on his jawline and neck, as if he hasn’t shaved for a few days.

“I have to say,” he says, “you have made me laugh more in the past few weeks than anyone has in a long while. ”

“As long as you’re not laughing at me.” I cross my arms and try to look indignant, but it just makes him laugh again.

I don’t hate the sound. It’s deep and kind of throaty, raspy, like maybe he’s telling the truth about not laughing much.

“Where’s Waffles?”

“It’s Taco now, not Waffles.” I shove a chunk of curls off my forehead. “Wait, no, now it’s Harry.” I’d been reading an article about Prince Harry last night online and Taco seemed excited. I think people names are funny for pets, so now I have a dog named Harry.

My friends liked Taco better.

“Harry?”

“As in Prince Harry. Oh, maybe it should be Prince Harry then? Hmm. That sounds better.”

“Right.” One side of Kellen’s mouth quirks up into another smile.

“Anyway, he’s at daycare.”

Kellen’s eyebrows shoot up.

“The Delightful Doggy Palace.”

“That’s a thing?”

“What do you think dogs do when their people are at work? Prince Harry would just pee everywhere. Anyway, he loves daycare. It’s going great.”

It’s not going great.

Prince Harry keeps picking fights with other dogs. He does this by peeing on them.

The other dogs do not like this.

And the daycare people give me crap for changing his name. Something about consistency and training. Whatever. What do they know about dogs, besides most things?

“Well, good for Prince Harry.” Kellen runs his hand through dark locks, and I suppress a wistful sigh. “Sorry to stop by so late on a Friday, but I thought I’d finally give in to your messages to meet up for media training.”

“I assumed your lack of response to my latest pings meant you didn’t really want to do it.”

“You sent quite a few messages.”

“Did I? I don’t remember, how many?”

“One or two, I think.”

Five. It was five.

“But I hadn’t noticed you didn’t respond.” Lies . “When do you want to meet? Have any time next week?” I click through to my calendar, then glance up when he hasn’t responded.

“What do you think about going on a hike tomorrow?” Kellen crosses his arms.

“Tomorrow?”

“Yes.”

“Saturday?” I blink.

“Yup.”

“Like, the weekend?” I tilt my head. He wants to meet up with me on the weekend?

“Uh-huh.” Kellen nods. “Today finishes up, then you go to sleep, and when you wake up, it’s tomorrow. Saturday. The weekend.”

“You want to hang out with me on a Saturday?”

“I feel like I’m talking to my five-year-old daughter.”

I laugh. “Sorry. It’s Friday afternoon and it’s been a long week.” I’m still confused, but I’m definitely not going to ask for clarification again.

He clears his throat and rubs the back of his neck. “While you’re thinking about your Saturday schedule, I have another topic.”

“Go ahead. But just so you know, my Saturday schedule is very busy.”

“I’m sure.”

“I have to walk Prince Harry at least three times.”

The other corner of Kellen’s mouth turns up. I like making him smile .

“Well, you should bring him on the hike.”

“I’ll do that. What were you going to ask?”

“It’s weird as fuck.” Color creeps up Kellen’s neck, and I’m super curious to hear what’s making him so uncomfortable.

“I can be a bit weird, so no worries.”

“Okay.” He cracks a smile. “I have this issue.”

I cock my head and wait for him to continue. The man looks so nervous that maybe he’ll forget about me spitting water all over his face.

“Paul Harrison hates me.”

“Wow.” I huff a laugh. “That’s not at all what I expected you to say. Why does he hate you?”

“What did you expect me to say?”

“No idea. Literally. But if I’d had a list, that would’ve been at the bottom of it. Or… not on it at all.”

“Right.” Kellen presses his lips together for a beat. “He thinks—but is completely wrong—that I am interested in his wife.”

“Oh. That’s… really bad.” I’d gotten the impression from Atticus that Kellen is a good guy, but is he?

“Yeah.”

“Are you?”

“No,” he says firmly and shakes his head.

I blink about a million times. Why is he telling me this? Kellen clears his throat. I push my hair off my forehead and sigh.

“Well, Paul and my father are friends, and I’m pretty sure he’s spying on me for him.”

“I’ve heard that.” Kellen nods.

“Atticus.” I make a mental note to chastise Atticus for sharing too much information.

“Yup. I also heard that your father is reporting what he hears to your ex-boyfriend.”

“Ex-fiancé. Shit, my brother really needs to keep his giant mouth shut.”

Kellen fidgets in his seat, smoothing his jogging pants and then scratching his forearms.

“Ok, I give up. I’m enjoying our heart-to-heart conversation, but how can I help with your problem?”

“I was hoping we could help each other.”

“How so?” I furrow my brow. “By murdering Paul? Or my father? Or my ex? Oh, all three??” I fake excitement.

“Nothing illegal.” Kellen’s eyes twinkle. “But what if there was a way for your father and your ex to hear how fantastically you are doing here in Fort Collins? How your life is happy and perfect?”

“That sounds amazing.”

Kellen swallows.

“Dude. Spit it out. You’re making me nervous.”

“If you and I pretend to date?—”

I literally gasp, and then laugh, and then quiet at the solemn look on his face.

“Shit, you’re serious. Okay, go on.”

“—then maybe Savannah will back off, and Paul will turn his attention away from me. Then I don’t have to worry about getting traded because the team owner hates me. And you can show your ex-life how happy you are without them.”

My eyes must be as wide as one of the communal dog bowls at the Delightful Doggy Palace. Which is kind of gross, when you think about it. All these dogs sharing drool and mixing it together in big bowls? Yuck.

“Then they’d think—know—how well you’re fitting in here. How great your job is going.”

I’m incapable of responding for a full minute. Is he serious?

“You want to fake date me?”

“Mmm, yes. That’s what I’m suggesting.”

I laugh again at the absolute absurdity of it all. Not only the general concept of fake dating, but that anyone would believe that I’d end up dating Kellen Bassey, a gorgeous star hockey player .

“Fake date so you can help me create a certain image of my life to my father and my ex?”

“And I can keep my spot on the team.”

“Wow.”

“Don’t answer now.” Kellen holds up a hand. “Why don’t you think about it, and we can talk about it on our hike tomorrow? If you want to talk about it. We don’t ever have to speak of it again.”

“Oh, the answer is definitely yes.” Something akin to joy rushes through my veins. This is ridiculous. Hilarious. Perfect.

“Really?” Kellen’s cheeks lift with a grin.

“Yeah. Really. I think we have some serious plot holes to work out, but I’d love to help you with your Paul Harrison problem. And I’d also love to get my father off my back.”

“Excellent. Thank you, I guess.” Kellen stands. “So I’ll pick up you and Waffles tomorrow morning. Taco? Prince Harry.”

“Prince Harry. What kind of hike is this?”

“An easy one. Good views.”

“So when you say easy, you mean someone who never hikes could do it?”

“Yes.”

“And I should let a random man take me into the mountains?”

“Fair point. But you’ll have Prince Harry to protect you.” He blinks slowly and is painfully charming.

“I’m not really a big hiker.”

“No problem. Wear layers. And sturdy shoes. I’ll pick you up at eight.” He steps backwards toward the doorway.

“Eight in the morning? Is that necessary on a Saturday?”

“Yes. You’re still staying with Atticus?”

I nod, and Kellen pulls out his cell phone.

“What’s your number? Just in case I need to get ahold of you.”

I tell him my digits and he smiles at me. Yes, I just gave my number to a hot professional hockey player.

Kellen starts to walk out but pauses in the doorway and turns back to me. “And I’m not a random man. I’m your fake boyfriend.”

And with that, he disappears from my office.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” I laugh in the empty room. I feel like an insane person.

What just happened?

I’m just going to go ahead and fake date a hockey player? How can I possibly pull this off?

It’s almost five o’clock. Maybe I’ll head out early and go buy some hiking boots. I definitely don’t own any sturdy shoes. I pack up my stuff and tap my phone as I leave my office, flicking the light off and pulling the door shut behind me.

Me

You’ll never believe what my plans are for tomorrow

January

OoooOOooo do tell

Raleigh

Story time!

I smile and keep typing as I walk down the hallway, through the arena, and out to the parking lot. Before I can press send, another message pops up.

Kellen

Hey, love muffin, it’s your fake boyfriend

I burst out laughing.

Me

Love muffin?? What the hell?

Kellen

We should probably come up with cute pet names for each other. Isn’t that what boyfriends and girlfriends do? If you don’t like that one, I can keep brainstorming

Me

Are we twelve years old? And… how do you not know what people in a relationship do?

Kellen

You don’t have to be mean

I look around the parking lot and see a pair of squirrels frolicking up a tree.

Me

Sorry, squirrel

Kellen

Squirrel?

Me

I’m not good at this either, okay??

Kellen sends a laughing emoji, and I don’t lift my eyes from my phone until I get into my car.

This might actually be fun.