Page 41

THIRTY-FIVE

lauren

Smooth, Lauren. Real smooth. But what else was I supposed to do?

The way he was looking at me in the candlelight, the way my heart was bouncing in my chest when he said he had “ideas”—I could feel myself stepping over the cliff of no return.

So I did what I always do when things get too real—I found a distraction.

And for the next half hour, it worked. Listening to Tate read let me focus on a fictional world, instead of the very real tension that’s simmering between us.

As much as I’d like to find Bart and force a confession out of him, I love hearing Tate read his own words with only the glow of candlelight and the rain pattering against the roof.

But when he got to the scene where Thorne finally kisses Kyara, I suddenly couldn’t ignore what was missing anymore. “Okay, stop right there,” I say, hopping off the sofa bed.

Tate looks up from his book, the candle flames reflecting off his glasses. “Do you need a minute?”

“No, I stopped because you just glossed over a key scene.”

He looks perplexed. “Really? What did I miss?”

I play with the ring on my finger, twirling it slowly. “Thorne’s feelings, especially when he kisses her,” I say, heat rising in my chest .

When I didn’t know Tate was the author, I felt totally comfortable discussing Thorne and Kyara’s attraction. But talking about romantic scenes with Tate when all I can think about is kissing him? Pure torture.

He sets the iPad in his lap. “That’s the type of guy Thorne is. Too logical to think about his feelings.”

“I get that,” I say, “but you glossed over their kiss. Like it didn’t even happen.”

“That’s what Thorne wants to believe. He’s denying his emotions for Kyara because she’s supposed to be his enemy, not the woman he falls for.”

“But that’s what we want to see! We’re watching him fall for her despite his promise not to. And we want to see everything he is thinking as it happens.”

Tate frowns, then shakes his head. “I’m not sure I understand.”

“You wrote it like you were explaining a hockey play, Tate. Instead, you need to write it like you’re in the scene.

Thorne finds her in the hollow, they argue, then they kiss.

The end. But what is happening in his head?

” I turn to Tate and notice how he’s working his jaw, thinking it over.

“Every woman wants to peek inside a guy’s brain and know what they’re thinking. ”

Tate shakes his head firmly. “No, you really don’t.”

“We don’t want to live there—that would be terrifying,” I say. “We just want to know why men do what they do. If we had that answer, imagine how much less therapy we would need?”

“So, are you saying the scene lacks emotion?”

I hesitate. “Well…” The last thing I want to do is hurt Tate’s feelings.

“Say no more,” he says. “I need to rewrite it. I didn’t even realize that scene needed work.”

“And to a logical man who just wants the facts, it probably is good enough. But to your female audience who needs to feel something, it’s not going to be enough.”

“Okay,” he sighs. “Tell me how to fix it.”

“I think you need to show what he’s thinking as he’s doing it. How it makes him feel.”

Tate shakes his head. “That’s the problem. When I wrote this scene, I felt like I couldn’t get into his head. I was blocked.”

“Just write what you know. How you feel when you kiss a girl.”

He pauses. “What if I don’t know?”

“I got the impression you’ve kissed many girls in your lifetime.”

He rubs the back of his neck uncomfortably. “Honestly? It’s been less than a handful, because I never kiss a girl unless she’s special.”

The tension mounts between us. He’s nearly kissed me twice. So what does that mean? Was he just playing a part or am I special to him?

“I have an idea,” I say, grabbing his iPad and scrolling back a scene. “But I need your help.”

I know this is reckless. I know I’m playing with fire.

But watching him struggle to write what he’s never felt—I need to make him feel it too.

Maybe if I act it out, if I pretend to be Kyara, I can give him what he needs for his book without crossing the line between us.

It’s just acting, right? Just helping him with his craft.

Lies.

“What are you making me do, Sunny?” he says, climbing off the sofa bed.

“I’m putting you in Thorne’s shoes.”

He stiffens. “What?”

“You said Thorne is trying to keep his distance because he knows if he doesn’t, he’ll do something rash. So…” I step in front of the fireplace, like it’s our makeshift stage. “Welcome to your scene, Thorne. I’m Kyara.”

Tate blinks behind his glasses. “You want me to act it out?”

“Yes. Don’t think—just do . It’s a basic acting method. When you put yourself in a scene, your emotions will follow…and th at’s how you get in Thorne’s head and over your writer’s block.”

It’s a risky proposition, acting this scene out. But I know it’s the only way to help him make the connection on the page.

He studies me for a second, before he steps toward me. “Okay. Thorne enters the cave. He sees Kyara pacing in the shadows. She’s angry at him for leaving her in the middle of the forest after he held her all night.”

“She’s conflicted,” I correct. “Thorne was so tender with her in the last scene. Then when she wakes up, he’s gone, which provokes her to track him down so she can confront him. She wants an answer.”

“Which he can’t give her. He can’t fall for her when she’s supposed to be his enemy,” Tate says.

“Exactly,” I say. “Which leads to this growing conflict. What’s his line?”

He steps toward me and recites the line. “‘You shouldn’t have followed me here. You have no idea what I’ll do if you stay.’”

My mouth falls open slightly. I wasn’t prepared for the way he delivered it—like a warning and a promise.

I clear my throat. “And then Kyara says, ‘Maybe I want to see what happens, Thorne.’”

Tate’s eyes flash, and he steps closer, lifting a hand but hesitating before touching me. “He threads his fingers through her hair, gently, like he’s testing if she’s real.”

I hold completely still as his fingers brush my hair with a tenderness I worry will unhinge me. A rush of pleasure pulses through my body. How could a man this powerful on the ice be this careful, this gentle?

“He’s not sure if he’s going to kiss her or destroy everything between them,” Tate says, not reciting the words as much as becoming them, which is exactly what I told him to do.

If he’s going to get in Thorne’s head, he needs to experience it.

“He wants her more than anything he’s ever wanted before.

And Kyara doesn’t step away from his touch.

She just looks at him like he’s already wrecked her.

” His fingers trail down my neck, causing my breath to hitch.

He’s still acting… I think. “Then what?” I ask, my voice a raw scrape.

“Then Thorne leans in, but he takes his time, because he’s scared to want something this much.”

His other hand moves at my waist now, like he’s waiting for permission to finish the scene.

“He’s afraid that if he kisses her, everything changes,” he says in a low voice. “That he’ll lose her. It’s his worst fear. Because he’s already lost all the people he’s loved, and if he falls for her, then he can’t go back.”

I stare fixedly at Tate’s mouth. “But he kisses her anyway,” I whisper, lost in the moment.

Tate leans in, stopping just before he reaches my lips. “Because he knows how much he’s willing to sacrifice to be with her.” His words are barely a whisper, his breath like a promise on my lips.

This isn’t acting anymore. The realization hits me, but I don’t even care. All those walls I built after Bart—they’re crumbling with every touch.

“He’d do anything for her,” he whispers, “and what she doesn’t know is that she holds his heart in her hands.”

Just like you hold mine.

The truth of that terrifies me. I’ve spent this entire reunion pretending to be his girlfriend, and now, when I’m supposed to be acting as someone else, it finally feels real.

He closes the gap between us as his lips brush mine, slow at first, almost tentative.

This isn’t Kyara kissing Thorne. This is me, Lauren, kissing the man I’ve been falling for ever since we got stuck in the elevator.

I reach for him, not because I’m acting, but because I want this, even if it changes everything.

Suddenly his mouth angles toward mine as his hand tightens around my waist, pulling me toward him and becoming something neither of us planned, something far more real.

My hand slips up to his bare chest where I can feel the ridges of muscle, as his lips move over mine, teasingly—like he’s not in a rush, but savoring every second.

Just like the pages of a good book. Or falling into a story I want to be my story.

And okay, I’ll admit it, Tate Foster has skills I never could’ve imagined. He’s so cerebral, so composed. But behind closed doors? He’s nothing like the logical defenseman everyone sees.

As one of his hands cradles my back, the other threads through my hair before his mouth lightly traces a line down the curve of my neck.

My hand drifts to his jaw, and at some point, I bump his glasses.

“One of the downfalls of having glasses,” he murmurs.

“May I?” I ask.

He nods, and I gently slide them off, setting them aside.

“I love it when you wear glasses. But when you take those off,” I say, “I feel like I can see your eyes more clearly.”

“That’s because the glasses get in the way.”

“No,” I whisper. “I mean…I see you more clearly. The real you.”

His gaze holds mine as he strokes maddening circles on my lower back.

“And what’s the real me thinking right now?” he asks, his meaning deeper than I want to acknowledge.

I can barely get the words out, I’m so scared. “That you want more. And I’m trying not to want the same.”

“I do,” he says. “But Thorne doesn’t kiss her again for another five chapters.”

“Which is far too long, in my opinion,” I say.

Tate smirks, his dimples setting fire through my veins.

And just when I think he’s going to lean in again, when my heart tips forward to meet him, his phone buzzes and he reluctantly steps back.

“That’s…the end of the scene,” he says, looking like he doesn’t want this moment to end any more than I do.

His phone buzzes again, and he turns to check it, while I try to hide my disappointment over the cruel sense of timing—or Thorne’s timing—whomever he’s playing right now.

“You were right,” he says, sitting on the edge of the bed, tucking his phone in his bag. “That scene definitely needed… more .”

“Yeah,” I manage. “You really brought it to life.”

Tate chuckles. “Too bad Thorne and Kyara have nothing on us.”

If only that were true. Because Thorne gets his happy ending in a few chapters. But what do I get? I’m not even sure. I’m applying for jobs in other cities. His ex is texting him. And come Monday, I go back to being the woman who manages his PR while trying to pretend this never happened.

For a moment, I let myself imagine what it would be like if this were real. If there were no professional boundaries, no ex in the picture, no NHL promotions to consider. Just Tate and me and the possibility of something beautiful.

And that’s when reality comes crashing down. Because I’m the one writing my own fantasy now.

I hand him his glasses, trying to act like my whole world wasn’t shaken up by that kiss. “Is that scene going to make it into the final draft?”

“Oh, it’s in ,” he says with a wicked smirk. “With a note in the margin that says: ‘Scene personally coached by Lauren Williamson.’”

I toss a pillow at him.

He catches it, grinning. Then he pulls me against him on the sofa bed, so that we both face the candlelight. He tucks his face into the curve of my neck, resting his cheek against my hair as the warmth of his embrace makes me feel sleepy.

“Would you mind if I took a nap?” I ask. It’s still raining, and with Tate’s arms around me, there’s no place I’d rather be. Even if it’s just for now. Just for pretend.

“Not at all,” he says. “We’ll call it bonus scene work. Because this must be exactly how Thorne felt when he held her.”

A sleepy smile curves my lips. “In that case, it’s perfect.”

As I close my eyes, I don’t dream of fictional heroes or made-up stories. I dream of Tate.

And it doesn’t feel like pretend at all.