Page 55 of Hate to Love You

On her way out of the kitchen, Karen calls out, “If you get hungry later on, there’s more stroganoff in the fridge. I’m sure Natalie would be happy to fix you another plate.”

If her glare is any indication, Natalie isn’t pleased by the proposal. The comment muttered under her breath only confirms my suspicions.

“FYI— if you want more, you can fix your own damn plate. Contrary to the crap you just fed my mother, I’m not your little wifey.”

“Get my own plate?” I pretend to be affronted and grumble, “Some fake girlfriend you are.”

“Emphasis on the fake part. Which, again, begs the question of why you’re here.” She raises a brow. “At my house.” Another pause occurs. “Bothering me.” When I don’t respond, her voice becomes even more irritated. “So, why are you here, Brody?”

I shrug.

Honestly, when she ditched me, I realized that I didn’t want to be at the party without her. Weird, huh? So here I am. At her house. That being said, there’s no way I’m going to tell her that. I know exactly how she’ll react. And that would be to laugh her ass off before tossing me out on mine.

“We were supposed to make an appearance, remember? And then you went all MIA and wouldn’t respond to my texts.” That’s about as close to the truth as I’m going to get.

She sighs. “I needed a break from all the Brody McKinnon craziness of this week. And I wasn’t up for a party tonight. Nowhere in the contract was it stipulated that I was to be at your beck and call twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week.”

“Really? ’Cause I thought it was pretty much implied,” I quip easily.

“I’m sure you wouldn’t understand because you’re used to it, but it’s been a weird week for me. It feels like I’ve been living in a fishbowl.” She shoots me a look and admits, “I don’t know how you do it.”

I shrug. “After a while, you get used to it.” I’ve lived in the spotlight for so long that I don’t even think about it. Other people staring and pointing doesn’t faze me. I don’t miss a beat when complete strangers come up and tell me about how much they enjoy watching me or when they regale me with tales of their own hockey-playing days. I barely blink anymore when someone asks me to autograph something. Although I draw the line at body parts. That never leads anywhere good.

Okay, that’s not necessarily true. I seem to vaguely recall a threesome that was pretty damn fun that started out with just such a request.

“Maybe I don’t want to get used to it,” she mutters. “Maybe I like being low-profile.”

Most girls enjoy the celebrity status that comes along with dating an athlete. It shouldn’t surprise me that Natalie is of a different mindset. She’s not like anyone else I’ve ever met. And the more I discover about her, the more there is to like. “Well, you’re no longer low-profile, baby. So, get used to it. Your days of anonymity are long gone.”

“Yeah,” she sighs, “I’ve already come to that conclusion.” Looking resigned to the situation, she straightens her shoulders and waves her hand. “As you can see, my plan is to kick back for the weekend. I’ll be back on campus Sunday night, where I’ll resume all fake girlfriend duties. But until then…” her words trail off as she stares expectantly.

I raise my brows. If she wants to get rid of me, she’s going to have to do a lot better than that. “No problem. I’m up for chilling out and watching Netflix or something.”

She looks less than thrilled with the prospect of having me all to herself. “I thought you were just saying that for my mom’s benefit. At least that was the hope I was clinging to.”

“Nope, I’m all yours. You, me, and a movie. Maybe some popcorn. We can hang together. Just like an honest-to-goodness couple.”

“Wow…that sounds like so much fun,” she states flatly.

“See? Now that’s the spirit.” I have to rein in my smile before adding, “You know what I like about you? How special you make me feel.”

Natalie opens her mouth to make some sort of smartass retort when Karen strolls into the kitchen looking all gussied up. She’s traded her yoga pants and sweatshirt for a sexy dress and knee-high black boots. She also added a little curl to her hair and applied a bit of makeup.

The woman is a knockout.

Natalie does a double take and frowns. “You look nice.” She says this as if she doesn’t quite like it and after everything that happened with her father this week, I understand the reservations she has about her parents’ social lives.

They’re moving on, and she’s not ready for it.

Karen smooths the dress with a nervous hand. “You think so?” She does a little turn. “It’s not too much, is it?”

Natalie sighs. “No, it’s perfect.” She smiles as her voice softens. “You look really nice, Mom.”

Out of view of her mother, I reach across her lap and squeeze her hand. She glances at me, and I wonder if she’ll tug it free. She doesn’t. Her fingers stay curled inside of mine.

“So, where’s this guy taking you?” Natalie asks, sounding very much like a concerned parent. I don’t point this out because it’s doubtful my observation would be appreciated. And I’m not ready for her to yank her hand from mine just yet.

“We’re driving separately and meeting at a bar downtown. There’s a band playing.”

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