Page 18 of The Fake Out Flex

"You don't know him."

"Try me. What's his name?"

"He's a friend. Well, he's my brother's friend, actually. We were neighbors growing up. It's a bit…complicated."

"His name, Evelyn." She persists in a tone that tells me she's not going to let this go anytime soon.

I cough into my hand. "Fraserrademacher,"

"Sorry. I didn't catch that."

Sighing, I repeat, "Fraser Rademacher."

"Why does that name ring a bell? Is he a singer?"

We resume walking.

"No."

"Is he the actor in that series, the one who won an Emmy? He had a fling with his co-star. That actress I can't stand. You know, the one with the bony Ozempic shoulders."

"He's not an actor. Nor does he date bony-shouldered actresses."

Ballerinas, gymnasts, and yoga-instructors-turned-influencers are more Fraser's style, if his dating history is anything to go by.

"Is he?—"

"He's a pro hockey player," I cut in, putting an end to what could easily be another five minutes of relentless questioning.

Margo jumps out in front of me and grabs me by the shoulders, her eyes dancing with excitement. "Are you joking? Is this a joke? I need to know right this very second if this is a joke, because if you're just toying with me, I will be seriously mad about this. I may even fire you on the spot."

"It's not a joke."

Keeping one hand firmly braced on my shoulder, her other hand slides into her back pocket. She produces her phone and furiously taps away, running a Google search on Fraser, I assume.

"It's Fraser with an s," I supply.

Her mouth falls open, and she brings the screen to within an inch of her face.

"This him?"

She spins the phone around.

There's a full-screen image of a shirtless Fraser and his former girlfriend—Tori, the infamous yoga-instructor-turned-fitness-influencer—taken on a yacht during their sailing trip in the Mediterranean last summer.

In the photos, Fraser's dark hair is wet, his skin is golden and glistening, and his impressive physique of sculpted muscles and chiseled contours is on fine display.

Full display, I mean.

And before anyone accuses me of stalking, I only knew his whereabouts because I follow all of my favorite hockey players on social media.

Except…this wasn't posted on Fraser's Instagram. Because Fraser doesn't have an Instagram account.

But Tori, his now-ex, does.

And yeah, okay, it may have been sliiightly stalkerish of me since I don't usually follow players' girlfriends on social media.

I peel my eyes off the screen. "That's him."

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