Page 48 of Pucking Fake

"Yeah, for like five minutes." She pouts, releasing me. "And you were packing the whole time."

"Blame Logan."

We slide into the booth at the back of our favorite Thai restaurant, a tiny place wedged between a nail salon and an upscale boutique in a strip mall ten minutes from our apartment.

"You meanyour boyfriend?"

"Crap." I squeeze my eyes closed, guilt pricking me. "I forgot to tell you."

"Uh, yeah!" She scrunches her face up at me. "It's fine, though. I already decided you were paying for dinner to make it up to me."

"Fair."

"I thought so. I even ordered for us." She grins, her eyes running over me in a sharp assessment. "You look good. Happy. Are you happy?"

"Yeah," I whisper, surprised just how much I mean it. I feel like I'm floating on cloud nine. "It's so weird."

"Being happy isn't weird. It's normal." She smiles sadly. "You just haven't had enough of it to know that, Peyton."

"That's not what I meant." I tuck hair behind my ears. "I mean, everything is so crazy. I can't remember a single other time I was all over the news and wasn't stressing out about it. I haven't even looked this time."

"That's probably a good thing." She grimaces, her brows furrowed. "They were all over your life story before the game yesterday."

"They aren't now?" I ask, surprised.

"Not really." She shrugs. "Someone got a picture of the two of you kissing after the game. Now, they're all over that. The whole world is giddy because Logan Moreno is in love." She meets my gaze. "You should see the pictures of him watching you in the stands."

"He wasn't watching me in the stands. He isn't in love."

"Right. He just stands on the ice during every game, staring into the crowd, looking like he wants to storm through the boards and fu…" She breaks off with a little cough when our waitress appears, arms laden with bowls.

I shoot her a death glare, which she blatantly ignores. Naturally. Serena sees what she wants to see.

Was Logan really staring at me after the game? Hell. Probably. The man is always staring at me. And he's always wearing that look, that infuriatingly sexy I-want-to-pin-you-to-the-wall-and-fuck-you-dirty-before-I-snuggle-you look. That look is the reason I left the bar with him the night we met.

Is he in love with me?

You know he is, that demonic angel whispers.You're just too chicken to admit it.

I really hate when she's right. Logan is in love with me. I am afraid to admit it. He's… God, he's everything. And I've never had anything to lose before now. I'm so afraid I'm going to screw it up.

"Thank you," I murmur to our waitress when the petite woman places my bowl in front of me.

She shoots me a furtive glance and then scurries away.

"We should probably eat fast," I sigh when she whispers something to a coworker, who turns to look at me too. "I have a feeling I'm going to be a public spectacle soon."

"Shit," Serena mutters, her expression darkening. "Should we leave?"

"Absolutely not. I'm not going to hide just because I'm fake-dating the world's most infuriating goalie."

Serena chokes on a rice noodle. "Uh, fake dating? What?"

"Crap. I forgot to tell you that part too, huh?"

She glowers at me.

"He promised his sister to keep her out of the press, but a reporter is snooping around, asking questions about things that aren't really anyone's business. He told him that we were dating to throw him off," I explain quickly.

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