Page 99 of The Fake Husband Play
Maybe I shouldn’t have told Nix to hit play.
But hell, most of them already seem to know all about the podcast. They’ve probably already listened, laughed, and formed their opinions about what kind of person Elly is.
But they don’t know her. Not like I do.
Like IthoughtI knew her anyway…
“You know who I’m talking about, loves,” she continues. “My boy, my MVP, the rookie sensation I can’t stop gushing about every ten minutes. But seriously, his forearms are poetry, ladies. If you don’t believe me, check out episode thirty-six. I do a deep dive on those arms, supporting their place in the forearm hall of fame with charts and science.”
She exhales a husky laugh that has me shooting a quick glare around the room to make sure no one else is thinking about how hot it sounds.
But most of the team still looks embarrassed for me, concerned, or like they’re wishing they had a box of popcorn to accompany the show.
“But here’s the thing,” Elly adds, her voice going soft. “Grammercy Graves is so much more than a sexy pair of forearms.” I flinch a little at my name on her lips, but do my best to hide it as she continues, “Guys, he spent the entire weekend visiting sick kids in the hospital. But he refused to let the cameras film him because hedidn’t want the kids to feel like it was some kind of publicity stunt. He wanted them to feel special and important and to protect their privacy. Howbeautifulis that?”
“Itispretty beautiful,” Torrance whispers, only to slide back into his hidey hole as I jerk my glare his way.
“Beautiful and kind and thoughtful,” Elly continues wistfully. “I mean, if he weren’t already my number one hockey crush of all time, this story would have done it. Now, well…” She sighs again. “I might as well have Property of G. Graves tattooed on my inner thigh.”
“Jesus,” someone mutters as my teeth grind together.
“Shut up,” Nix hisses. “Just listen, it’s not bad.”
“I’m sure there are other men like him out there in the world,” Elly says. “Other men who are great at their jobs, devoted to their families, and funny and charming and classy and sweet to sick kids, all while looking sexy as hell with sweaty hair, but…where do we meet them? Because so far, I haven’t found a guy who even comes close. So, I guess I’ll just keep crushing on a man who has no idea I’m alive and talking about him in my bathtub. Unless I find a better place to record. What do you think, loves? I’m feeling the bathtub acoustics right now, but the closet wasn’t bad, either. Anyway, now that I’ve spent the mandatory eight to ten minutes bragging on our favorite hockey boy, let’s move on to some other big news that dropped yesterday. Over in the Western Conference, they’re?—”
Nix cuts the feed. The sudden absence of Elly’s voice accentuates the buzzing silence in the room, the tension, the feeling like everyone is waiting for me to throw something or storm out of the room, but…
“She wasn’t talking about some anonymous celebrity,”Blue pipes up, nailing exactly what my spinning head hasn’t fully gotten around to processing. “She was talking about you. Therealyou.”
“He’s right,” Nix agrees. “I mean, I wouldn’t be sad to find out my girl was saying those kinds of things about me before we met. It’s actually kind of nice.”
“Me, either,” Torrance says, lifting his hands in surrender as I shoot another glare his way. “What? Why does Nix get to talk, and I don’t?”
“You’re a fetus,” Jean-Louis says with a sniff. “You know nothing about love.” He nods Nix’s way. “But he does.” He shifts his attention to my corner of the room. “And so does Grammercy.”
Before I can respond, Merwood is in the doorway, “Five minutes until third period! Have you hydrated? Why are half of you in wet gloves?”
We all launch into motion, hurrying to get ready for the final period, but even after we’re back on the ice, a part of me is still in the locker room, wondering if Jean-Louis is right.
Do I know about love?
When Elly and I haven’t even been brave enough to say the words yet?
When she’s been keeping secrets from me?
WhenI’vebeen keeping secrets fromher?
If anyone’s the stalker, it’s me. I’m the one who saw a pretty stranger on the street and decided I had to meet her. At least Elly knew something about me aside from the fact that she liked the way I looked. I was just horny for a gorgeous face and a stunning pair of legs.
I feel like shit, and I play like it, too.
With ten minutes left, the puck bounces right to me in the slot. Their goalie’s down and sliding the wrongway. The net’s wide open, practically begging for me to score. All I have to do is lift it six inches.
Instead, I hit the post.
The Voodoo fans who traveled to North Carolina to watch the game groan in the stands, hardening the knot of shame forming in my gut. I’m letting them down. I’m letting everyone down, including myself.
What the fuck have I been thinking? That it was fine to keep playing house with Elly, without actually being honest with her? Completely honest?
