Page 20 of The Fake Out Flex

"Of course I like him. I've known him for years. He and my brother are basically like brothers, even if they are nothing alike. It's odd. But I find most male friendships slightly weird, don't you?"

Margo smiles at my rambling. "No. I mean you like him like him."

I roll my eyes. "Fact check says not true."

"Uh-huh." She tucks her phone away. Her smile stays, though. "This could be huge, hon. And if he's as media-shy as you say he is, that's even better. You'll have an exclusive."

"I won't have an exclusive because I'm not doing the story. I can't. Fraser would never agree to it."

I don't even have to ask him to know this is a non-starter. Plus, I already feel like it's a huge imposition having him come to the wedding with me.

Asking him this would be too much.

He's just being a decent guy doing a nice thing by stepping up and helping his best friend's sister out of a jam.

But then…why can't I get what he said at dinner out of my head?

I will do everything I can to be the best date you've ever had.

There was a sincerity in his voice, a determined glint in his intense eyes, and a protectiveness in the way he held my hand that felt nice and confusing at the same time.

Nice because I can't remember the last time a guy has ever vowed to be my best date—probably because it's never happened. I don't seem to attract best date vowing guys, I'm more of a magnet for let's dump Evie one year in guys.

And it's confusing because, well, it's Fraser. He's a terrific guy, but let's be real here: He's doing Levi a solid.

Nothing else. Nothing more.

Although…if he is simply doing this as a favor to Levi, why didn't he say something practical like, When is the wedding? or Would you like me to punch Bryce in the face before or after the ceremony?

I may not read hockey romances, but even I know that what he said was a totally swoony, romance-novel-worthy thing.

Or am I reading too much into it?

Margo's phone buzzes. "I have to take this. But listen, hon. I want you to succeed. I believe in the stories you're telling. But this is no joke. If your numbers don't improve significantly, your head will be one of the first on the chopping block."

"Thanks for the gross visual."

"I don't want it to come to that. Believe me. But you're about to take a smoking-hot hockey player, who I'm guessing hordes of women are dying to know more about, to your ex's wedding, the same ex who dumped you in a now-infamous viral video. That's a story right there. A big one. Just think about it, okay?"

"Leave it with me."

Margo takes the call, and I head back to my desk.

Via the snack station.

Where I swipe a pack of walnuts.

And by pack of walnuts I mean a chocolate bar because I have feelings that need to be eaten.

Five minutes later, I'm sitting in a toilet stall with my laptop open, munching on a Hershey's Cookies and Creme Bar, re-watching the single most humiliating moment of my life, which happened two hundred and fifty-three days ago. Not that I'm counting or anything.

The video starts with Mark Merril, the anchor of the show, throwing to me. "So, Evie, we hear it's your birthday today."

We were doing a live in-studio segment. I knew the birthday bit was coming. It had been discussed in the pre-show meeting. I thought they'd maybe wheel out a cake or sing a horribly off-key rendition of "Happy Birthday."

I had no idea they'd invited Bryce to the studio.

The second I saw him, I knew what was about to happen.

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