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He tilts his head, taking in my expression. “Dessert’s pretty good too. But you already knew that.”

My knees threaten to buckle. “You—”

“—moaned my name,” he finishes, smug as sin. “Every damn time.”

I blink rapidly because my brain has officially short-circuited. Because he’s standing here in those damn joggers with his damn pecs out, voice like honey and heat, and my entire nervous system is screaming jump him . Right here. In this stupid, overlit kitchen.

I can’t do this. I cannot do this.

Instead, I spin back to the cabinet to grab the nearest mug and yank open the coffee tin. It’s only when I pour the first bit in that I notice the design.

White ceramic with black printed script across the front.

My girlfriend is hotter than this coffee

I pause and turn slowly, holding it up.

“Explain this.”

Chase doesn’t even blink. “Gift from the hockey gods.”

“You bought this.”

“Nope. Appeared in the cabinet. Destiny.”

I roll my eyes and take a sip. “You are insufferable .”

He grins wider. “Careful, baby. That’s my favorite mug.”

“ This is your favorite mug?”

“Yup.” He leans against the counter, watching me like a little shit. “Something about the design just speaks to me.”

“No wonder you needed an interior designer.”

He hums, delighted. “God, you’re grumpy in the morning…” He lifts his coffee to his lips, eyes glinting over the rim. “Anything I can do to make it better?”

“Yeah. Shut up.”

“There she is,” he chuckles, satisfied. “My favorite girl.”

I shoot him a look. “You’re pushing your luck.”

He flashes me a grin, daring me to do something about it. “That’s the plan.”

“Chase,” I warn.

He beams. “Mmm. Say it again.”

I don’t answer, just roll my eyes and drop into the seat at the breakfast bar. He got what he wanted. My disdain, my exasperation. His first name.

The rest of the morning unfolds around us, slow and strange, a weirdly pleasant fever dream.

Chase eventually disappears into the bedroom to change and returns in joggers and a backwards cap, a hoodie slung over his shoulder.

“I’m heading to the rink,” he says, grabbing his keys off the counter. “Informal skate. Might grab lunch with the guys after, so don’t burn the place down while I’m gone.”

I flip him off without looking up from my phone. “Don’t buy any more coffee mugs.”

He grins. “Stop using my favorite one, then.”

And with that, he’s gone. Leaving me in his condo. Alone. It should feel awkward, but it doesn’t.

I pad around in my socks, fill the dishwasher, straighten the throw blanket on the weird couch he pretended he could sleep on, then end up back in the kitchen where I make myself another coffee and admire the ridiculous mug for a full thirty seconds before finally conceding. It is kinda funny.

By early afternoon, I’ve migrated to the guest room. Curled up in the armchair with my laptop, waiting for my mattress to arrive and sipping sparkling water from the mini fridge Chase panic-stocked like a bunker. I’ve cracked open work emails twice, but mostly I’m just scrolling.

No weird notifications. No new messages. Just regular social media chaos and a couple of memes from Lulu in the group chat.

I exhale, letting my shoulders drop. Maybe it was a one-off.

The phone lights up.

That’s between us and God ??????

Charlie: image attached Bump check! 7 months and waddling like a penguin ??

Claire: You look SO GOOD. That bump is elite.

Tamara: You look smug. Is it because you finally got your revenge foot rub?

Charlie: YUP. Jake did the full spa treatment last night. Soaked, scrubbed, lotioned

Lulu: Iconic behavior. If I ever get pregnant, I wanna be pampered and feared like a tiny goddess.

Claire: Okay but we are NOT getting distracted.

Tamara: ZOE.

Charlie: Yes. Let’s discuss.

Lulu: You survived your first night cohabiting with Chase

Zoe: Barely.

Tamara: Are you walking funny or what?

Lulu: We all know what went down last night.

Zoe: Nothing went down.

Charlie: Except you.

Zoe: OH MY GOD.

Lulu: This is a safe space. Just tell us how many times he made you see God.

Tamara: Zoe. Babe. It’s us. You can just say he railed you so hard you blacked out.

Zoe: I’m going to throw my phone into the sun.

Charlie: You’re dating a pro athlete. Stamina. Testosterone. Don’t lie to the woman actively experiencing the results of it.

Zoe: Can we not?

Claire: Come on, you’ve been fake flirting for years, now you’re actually dating, and he MOVES YOU IN to keep you safe? He’s feral for you and we all know it.

I don’t respond to that. Because if I do, I’ll have to play along, and that requires imagining him railing me. Which he technically has, and then that means I’m crafting a lie built on actual real-life experience, using very real memories of his hands, his mouth, his everything.

Which would be fine, except I’m currently living in his condo. Surrounded by his scent. His stupid, perfect face. His bare Calvin Klein chest and the damn coffee mug that says I’m hotter than his Americano.

So, I don’t play along. Instead, I deflect.

Zoe: He told me I have to wear his jersey at the home opener.

Tamara: Well duh

Claire: That’s the WAG starter pack, babe.

Lulu: I’d let a man ruin my credit if he told me that

Charlie: My first jersey pic is still framed in Jake’s closet. You’re about to enter peak hockey girlfriend era.

Zoe: It feels weird. Like, possessive

Lulu: It is possessive and it’s insanely hot

Tamara: He wants the world to know you’re his. Let him.

Claire: Just wait until he wants to rail you IN the jersey.

Zoe: I’m leaving

Lulu: Wait, just picture it. The jersey, nothing underneath. He’s pulling on the hem…

Zoe: GOOD. BYE.

I roll my eyes and toss my phone onto the armrest, laughing quietly to myself.

God, I love those girls. After checking a couple of emails on my laptop, I pick my phone up again and end up scrolling through Instagram.

Somewhere between a post about enneagram types and a reel of a Golden Retriever learning to open a fridge, I spot a reposted lineup rumor.

ENIGMA FESTIVAL – VINYL SAINTS?

Unconfirmed sources hint at surprise headline set.

My breath catches. Holy shit.

I’ve wanted to go to this insane gig in the wilderness for years—a full day of live music, festival vibes, and chaos tucked somewhere on the outskirts of Denver.

But the location isn’t public. You buy your ticket, then follow a scavenger hunt through the city, decoding clues to unlock where the event will be set.

It’s part mystery, part music pilgrimage, and a total logistical nightmare.

The reviews always sound magical, and it’s extremely my vibe.

And if the Vinyl Saints are going, I’m going. No question.

But I barely have time to think about my plan of attack, because two delivery guys appear at the door a few minutes later, all charming smiles and suspiciously good hair for dudes lifting heavy things in eighty-five-degree heat.

“You must be Zoe,” one of them says, glancing at the clipboard. “Big day. Queen-size memory foam with pressure relief support, coming right up.”

I laugh. “Wow, she’s beauty and brains.”

The taller guy grins. “So are you.”

Okay, smooth. I’ll give him that.

I hold the door open and let them in, giving them directions to the guest room as they wheel the mattress in. They make a few jokes. I might flirt a tiny bit. It’s harmless.

Until the front door opens again, and Chase walks in.

He’s in a Storm tee and joggers, a backwards cap still on his head, and a cardboard drink tray in one hand—two coffees from my favorite café, along with a paper bag of baked treats.

He stops mid-step, eyes locking onto the scene of two fit delivery guys in his hallway. Me smiling at something one of them just said. My arms crossed, hip cocked, hair up in a claw clip.

His jaw tightens.

“Hey,” I say, instantly playing it cool.

Chase doesn’t respond immediately. Just walks forward, drops the coffee tray on the counter, and nods at the guys as they come back down the hall.

“All set,” one of them says. “Enjoy the new mattress.”

Chase’s smile is tight. “We will.”

I almost choke on my tongue.

The guy gives a weird little laugh and walks out, his buddy following. Chase closes the door behind them and turns slowly to face me.

“You okay?” I ask, lifting a brow as he walks back to the counter.

“I brought you your usual,” he says, ignoring the question and sliding the coffee across to me.

“Thanks.”

He leans a hip on the island. “So… mattress guys, huh?”

“What about them?”

“Just wondering if I need to start vetting every man who walks through my front door.”

I sip my coffee. “Relax. They carried a mattress, didn’t propose marriage.”

“Still seemed eager to flirt.”

I shrug. “I’m charming to everyone.”

His grin kicks up slowly. “Yeah, but not everyone gets to christen the mattress.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

Chase just shrugs and takes a sip of his coffee. “You started it. Flirting with delivery guys under my roof.”

I narrow my eyes. “I wasn’t flirting.”

“They were undressing you with their eyes, Zo.”

“You’re actually insane.”

His eyes flash as he leans in just a fraction. “I’m just protective of my investments.”

“Your what ?”

He clinks his mug to mine. “My hot girlfriend.”

I roll my eyes so hard it’s a miracle I don’t sprain something. But I’m smiling as I take another sip, and for the first time, I don’t correct him.

Because somewhere along the way, fake has started feeling a bit more real.