Page 5 of Skating and Fake Dating (Love in Maple Falls #4)
CARSON
I finish tossing my belongings in my gear bag as Gabe outlines examples of fake dating and what it would take. In a haze, I walk out to the parking lot.
The sun is a flaxen color, transitioning from summer to fall and disproportionately bright to the sullen mood I’m trying to fight.
While Gabe continues to upsell me on his brilliant fake dating plan that will include a non-disclosure agreement between both parties, my thoughts drift to the elevator encounter with Blondie and the awkward exchange.
What kind of idiot points out that a woman’s clothing doesn’t match?
Oh, I know. This loser, that’s who. Also, the guy who laughs at her when she gets a talking-to from the team nutritionist and then stumbles and ends up wearing her baked goods all over her white blouse with the little lace eyelets.
Yeah, I noticed that tiny detail. From the second she walked into the room, I was like dew on Dixie.
That was one of my grandfather’s sayings to mean my gaze was glued to her.
Grandaddy always told my grandmother that as long as he had a biscuit, she got half.
That was love—the kind I thought I had. The kind that’s as likely for me as falling up a tree. I’d be better off hugging a rose bush.
Like a thirteen-year-old with my first crush, I had to tease Blondie instead of telling her the baked goods smelled delicious and that she looked pretty.
I was still in the Charlene breakup haze, but couldn’t help notice her maple-blonde hair, the scattering of freckles across her cute nose, and those plush pink lips.
Then I caught her writing Wash Me on the back of my truck in a hasty and small scrawl. To be sure, my vehicle needed a bath. After I was rejected by Charlene, I’d find myself driving around well past the corn fields, practically halfway home, just lost. So lost.
I think Blondie writing Wash Me on my truck was a little act of revenge after the baked goods incident because I’m guessing she didn’t get out the frosting stains.
It was also a wake-up for me. Some guys buy sports cars when they get their first check from the NHL and then build a collection.
I bought my dream truck and have been modifying it for off-roading for the last six years.
Same rig. Solid upgrades. To think that I hadn’t so much as given it a bath in months told me that I’d really let things slip. Now it gleams.
But a figure stands by the driver’s side door and I end the call with Gabe. It’s her.
She waves. “Hi. I tried calling earlier. Sorry. Not being a stalker or anything?—”
“Does that mean you’re a fan?” I ask.
She waves a stack of papers and a planner in her hand. “No, I just mean that I got your number from the file with your information and records.”
“So you’re not a fan?”
Opening and closing her mouth, she says. “Yes. No. It’s—that’s not?—”
I’ll admit that she’s adorably flustered, and the little scrunch of her nose reveals the freckles hidden under her makeup .
“Long day?” I ask.
“Yes. Listen, this is a really quick turnaround, which isn’t unusual in these circumstances, but I spent the afternoon arranging for your truck to be shipped to Washington and for movers to bring your things north. You’ll primarily need your hockey gear and any personal belongings for the flight.”
“You did all that already?” I hadn’t even given thought to moving my stuff.
“I know this is a lot to process, given how sudden it is. But that’s why you have me.”
“My Personal Assistant L?—”
She corrects, “Player Assimilation Liaison.”
“PAL.”
“I’m here to help you make the transition from the Knights to the Ice Breakers. I imagine you already have a team?—”
Yeah, the Knights.
She lets out a slow breath. “I mean, a group of people like an agent, manager, maybe even a personal assistant, but as they’re already helping you with day-to-day things and because this change is so abrupt, they can’t be expected to rearrange your entire life on short notice.
So the league has me help. I’m just here to help,” she repeats the last part cautiously, like she knows I’m not thrilled by the news and wants to be clear that she is just doing her job.
I hold my hands up, innocent. “Don’t worry. I won’t shoot the messenger.”
Just then, a male voice calls, “Hey, Bailey. I heard you’re leaving.” A guy in a suit trots over, flagging her down.
While I tried to keep myself stitched together after Badaszek gave me the big news, I didn’t catch her name.
I’ve been thinking of her as Blondie. Bailey is a strong name for a small-town girl.
I can picture her in a cute pair of overalls, the sun on her face, and wearing a smile that’s as sweet as pumpkin pie.
Then again, for all I know, she may have been raised on concrete in the city like me—save lots of time spent on my grandparents’ farm.
She gives an awkward little salute, as if not sure how to greet him. “Oh, hi, Jayden. Yep. I’m getting shipped out.”
He steps closer to her, gaze dropping to her lips. “But Bailey, babe, we haven’t gone out for that drink you promised.”
She slides back and points at herself. “I didn’t promise. I don’t dri?—”
“Come on. Just one. For old times’ sake. We should go over those reports, if you know what I mean.” He winks.
A furrow ripples across her forehead and she shakes her head slowly. “Reports?”
The corner of my lip twitches at how sweetly oblivious she is to his overture.
Meanwhile, Jayden, who must work in the admin wing, seems purposefully oblivious to my presence. He steps fully into her space and she backs up slightly, clearly not interested. If the dude gets any closer, I’ll be shooting someone after all—with those verbal darts Gabe mentioned.
Interrupting, I firmly say, “Bailey, you were just telling me about our travel plans.”
Side-stepping Jayden, she spins and turns to me. “That’s right. We’re leaving tonight. Sorry, Jayden. I guess I’ll have to take a rain check.”
A grumble escapes because I don’t want her offering a smarmy guy like him anything.
He waggles his eyebrows and saunters off, then, over his shoulder, adds, “Look me up next time you’re in town, Bailey babe.”
“Or not,” I mutter, siphoning off my irritation.
Giving her head a little shake, she opens a spiral-bound planner with the year printed on the front, along with the words Purpose + Perfection = Success in a fanciful script. “Sorry about that.”
“Don’t be,” I say sharply .
Her eyes slide from side to side. “Well, he interrupted us.”
“Not your fault. Not your problem. If he becomes a problem, let me know.” Inexplicably, my jaw tenses.
Gaze far away, she tucks her hair behind her ear.
Referring to her planner, she says, “I have us leaving Eppley on the seven fifteen flight. That means you have three hours before meeting me at the airport. I mean, technically, you don’t have to meet me .
Just your flight. We have a tight turnaround because the Ice Breakers want you there as soon as possible, so you have time to settle in with the new team. ”
“Right. Yeah. Okay.” My voice becomes clipped as this becomes increasingly real.
“I’ll email your travel information and you also have my contact information now, strictly for work purposes, of course.
” Even though she’s slightly flustered, she has a kind of natural beauty and innocence that makes me want to flirt, to see her blush.
But that would make me no better than Jayden and I’m no longer what Mama calls a natural-born Southern charmer—at least, I try not to be.
No sense in misleading women into thinking they have a shot at love. There’s no such thing.
“So I can’t call you to go out for drinks, Bailey Babe?” The question slips out and while I mean for it to be a dig at Jayden, I’m afraid I’ve insulted her.
Her cheeks pop with a delicate shade of pink that they didn’t when he spoke almost those exact words.
“Really? What? I mean no. Just—” She’s adorably nervous.
I pump my hands. “It’s okay. I was joking. I’ll only use your number for emergencies.”
“That’s what 911 is for.”
I smirk. “Work-related interactions.”
“Of course. Right. Silly me. I’m still hammering out all your arrangements in Washington, but I assure you, I’ll have everything planned by the time we land.”
She swipes through the pages of her planner, and I glimpse hasty scrawls and crossed-out lists. She closes it and tucks it under her arm, opening her phone and looking for something while muttering, “I’m a fixer. A problem solver.”
If only that included careers … and hearts, because I’m officially and fully saying goodbye to the future I thought I had.