Page 6

6

Fiona

I can’t stop thinking about the kiss.

It’s been days since the game, since Stellan grabbed me right outside the locker room and kissed me in front of a thousand cameras. At the time, I was so shocked that I barely registered it, but now, every time I close my eyes, all I can see is the way his lips felt against mine—hot, intense, and… a little too real.

I should be mad at him, right? It’s fake. I’m supposed to be pretending. But then why does it feel like something more? Why does it feel like he wanted it?

I shake my head as I step out of my brownstone, trying to focus on something else—like, I don’t know, grocery shopping. It’s a Monday afternoon, the city’s bustling as usual, and I could really use a quiet, mundane task to distract me from the storm of thoughts swirling in my head.

As I walk down the front steps, I rummage through my handbag for my phone, and I almost bump into someone.

I look up, startled, and nearly drop my purse.

“Whoa, easy there,” Stellan says, a mischievous grin on his face. He’s standing right there, blocking my way, looking far too pleased with himself. His hands are shoved in the pockets of his hoodie, and his hair’s a little messy, like he’s just rolled out of bed—perfectly messy, of course.

“What are you doing here?” I ask, my voice flat, though there’s a tiny part of me that can’t help but feel a flutter when I see him. It’s completely ridiculous. We’re not dating . We’re just pretending. I remind myself of that every time I think of him.

“I’m here to steal you away,” he says, his smile turning into a grin. “Where’re you headed?”

“None of your business,” I say while brushing past him, but he only follows me.

“Well, I’m done with practice and figured we’d hang out together. So, where are we going?”

I spin around to face him. “Fine, if you really want to hang out. I’m going grocery shopping.”

“I know a thing or two about picking out the best avocados.”

I raise an eyebrow, trying to hold back my laugh. “I don’t need help picking out avocados.”

“Sure you do,” he says, stepping closer and giving me a wink. “You’re missing out. The perfect avocado is an art form, Fiona. Let me show you.”

I take a step back, holding up my hand. “I’m going to the store alone. I need to focus.”

But he just shrugs, clearly not taking “no” for an answer. “You’ve got to eat, right? Why not spend the day with me? It’ll be fun.”

I can feel my resolve weakening, but I cross my arms anyway. “You’re a professional athlete. Don’t you have, like, a thousand interviews or something?”

“Not today,” he says with a casual shrug. “And anyway, you and I both know you need someone to help you haul the heavy stuff. I’m here for the hard labor.”

I snort. “You are not helping me with the heavy stuff. I’m getting some flour and canned beans, not a new couch.”

Stellan looks at me like he’s just found the perfect challenge. “Alright, you keep your flour and canned beans. But if you’re going to be around me, you’re going to learn how to pick the best avocado. I’ll be your grocery mentor.”

I stare at him, wondering why I’m even entertaining the idea of spending the day with him. But before I can argue, he’s already walking beside me, practically leading the way. And I—against all better judgment—follow.

The grocery store isn’t far, and Stellan’s in full-on “charming” mode, which I honestly didn’t know he had in him. We stroll down the aisles together, and I can’t help but laugh as he picks up random items and acts like he’s an expert.

“Fiona, look at this— this is the best kind of peanut butter,” he says, holding up a jar with complete sincerity. “No sugar added. Real, authentic peanut butter. None of that fake stuff.”

I glance at him, eyebrow raised. “You really care that much about peanut butter?”

“You bet I do.” He smiles, putting it in our cart. “It’s the little things in life. Peanut butter, perfect avocados, and, of course, my unparalleled backhand. Those are the important things.”

I roll my eyes but can’t help the small smile tugging at the corners of my lips. “I didn’t realize I was shopping with an avocado and peanut butter expert.”

He shrugs nonchalantly. “What can I say? I’m multi-talented.”

We wander through the produce section, and I try to pretend I’m unaffected by how effortlessly he moves through the store. It’s almost ridiculous how good he is at this—like he belongs in the grocery aisle as much as he does on the ice. He picks out the avocados like he’s training for some grocery shopping competition, tossing them into the cart like it’s a game.

“Alright,” he says, turning to me with a grin. “Your turn. Pick out the best avocados.”

I laugh despite myself. “You’re insane.”

“Nope,” he says with a grin. “I’m an avocado aficionado.”

He watches me closely as I grab a couple of avocados, examining them carefully. “Not bad. I approve. But you missed a key point—you have to give it a little squeeze , not just a gentle tap. You’ve got to feel the magic.”

I try to stifle a laugh, but it escapes anyway. “Seriously? You’re making me feel up avocados?”

Stellan’s face is dead serious as his eyes flick to my lips and slowly returns to my gaze. “Exactly. The key to success is all in the touch, Fiona.” He wraps his hand around my hand holding the avocado. “You have to be gentle.” He gives my hand a soft squeeze.

He’s close. Too close, and the scent of him makes me dizzy. All power and ice, mingled together. He’s so good-looking it should be a sin.

“I see,” I whisper, staring at how his thumb is lazily drawing circles against my skin.

“Yeah, it’s all in the touch.”

Is it hot in here?

A child screams somewhere in the store, breaking our spell and I step back from him, dropping the avocado. “You’re completely ridiculous.”

“Thank you,” he says with a mock bow. “I do my best.”

We keep moving down the aisles, and as we pass the cereal section, a few people approach us, clearly recognizing Stellan. They ask for autographs, pictures, and I’m amazed at how smoothly he handles it. He’s polite, gracious, and doesn’t even seem annoyed. I watch him interact with the fans, smiling for pictures, signing boxes of cereal like it’s second nature.

“Got a lot of fans, huh?” I ask, genuinely curious.

He shrugs, a cocky smile playing on his lips. “What can I say? I’m a big deal.”

“Yeah, yeah,” I say, rolling my eyes. “You’ve got tons of fans.”

He glances at me, and his smile softens a little. “Yeah, but you’re the only one I’m shopping with today.”

I can feel my heart do that annoying little flip it does whenever he says something like that. Why do I feel like this is more than just a day out at the store? Like maybe Stellan’s starting to blur the line between pretending and real life.

The rest of the shopping trip is filled with random, silly moments. Stellan picks up a ridiculous amount of junk food, all the while pretending to be this laid-back guy who’s only interested in the most important things in life—like the perfect pizza toppings, the best snacks for a game night, and which brand of milk goes best with cookies.

I find myself laughing at everything he says, even when it’s clearly nonsense. For the first time in days, I feel like I’m not pretending. It’s just me, him, and some random strangers snapping pictures of us as if we’re a real couple.

When we finally check out, Stellan insists on paying, even though I try to protest. “It’s the gentlemanly thing to do,” he says, holding up his credit card like he’s making some grand gesture. “Besides, I owe you for letting me school you in the art of avocado selection.”

“Fine,” I say, rolling my eyes. “But next time, I’m picking the avocados. And the tomatoes. And the peanut butter.”

“Deal,” he says, handing the cashier his card with a grin. “You pick the avocados, and I’ll buy the junk food.”

As we leave the store, the air between us feels lighter. The cameras are still snapping, but this time, I don’t mind. I laugh at the absurdity of it all—how the whole world is watching us pretend to be something we’re not, but in this moment, I feel like we’re just two people, sharing a silly afternoon.

Maybe it’s the fact that he kissed me in front of a hundred reporters, or maybe it’s the way he makes me laugh when I really shouldn’t be having fun, but I can’t deny that I’m starting to wonder what this whole thing could be.

And that thought scares me more than I care to admit.