Page 101 of The Fake Out Flex

Fraser doesn't flinch as he takes me in, and a big smile spreads across his face, even though I must look like a mess. Hardly sipping on a cocktail while picking out a new dress, that's for sure.

My hair is slick due to a deep-conditioning treatment, I'm wearing an old hockey jersey and sweats, and I've got a spoon dangling out of my mouth. At least I've washed off the bright-blue face mask I had on earlier and applied some moisturizer.

"This takes me back," he says, still grinning.

Maybe his brain is having a delayed shock response to the hot mess he's stumbled upon?

I extract the spoon from my mouth and spear it into the ice cream. "Takes you back to what?"

"That time I came over for a late-night chat and you had one of those sheet facemasks on that made you look like a ghost. Apart from making me listen to punk music, that's the only other time you've actually scared the life out of me. Remember that?"

"No. I'd successfully blocked that from my memory from my subconscious, but thank you for bringing it back."

"Are you…okay?"

Is he being serious?

"Are you being serious? Look at me."

He has the gall to actually look at me, running his piercing blue eyes up and down the length of me.

"You look great."

"Did you bump your head? Is that why you're here? To tell me you've sustained a serious head injury and won't be able to play for the rest of the seaso—? Wait. Why are you here? You're meant to be in Raleigh. You have a game tomorrow. What's going on?"

"All great questions. Mind if I come in?"

I wince. "Of course. Sorry. The leave-in conditioner has seeped into my brain and erased my manners. Come in, come in."

Fraser steps inside, sporting a huge smile, waving a bright yellow bouquet of roses in front of me.

He bought me flowers.

Again.

I've lost count how many times it's been. Maybe I should ask Hannah if she's keeping track. She probably is.

"Since your hands are full, I might just leave these here," Fraser says, placing the bouquet on the kitchen counter.

"Thank you." I drop the hot glue gun and ice cream tub there, too. "I love them."

"Mission accomplished, then."

"I still have so many questions, but I need five minutes. Give me five minutes, okay?"

"Sure. Take your time."

I race into the bathroom to wash out the hair treatment. Then I throw on some jeans, a tank top, and the cashmere sweater Levi bought me for Christmas last year. Slightly more company-appropriate than the jersey and sweats I was wearing when I opened the door.

I don't have time for makeup, but my face has a fresh glow after the mask, so I should be okay on that front.

"All right, I'm back, and this time I look human," I say, announcing my arrival in the living room.

Fraser spins around from the bracelets he'd been studying, laid out all over my desk in my work nook.

And boy, he cuts a fine figure.

When I board a plane, I go through an invisible force field that instantly wrinkles my clothes, frizzes my hair, and makes me put on five pounds in water weight.

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