Page 40 of Skating and Fake Dating
She smiles, and the slight stain of her lipstick makes her mouth look soft and inviting, a thought I immediately try to dismiss. The notion of kissing Bailey crossed my mind when we were alone on the hilltop with nothing but nature surrounding us and the town a miniature village in the distance. Then it just sort of happened like it was inevitable.
I spot the groom. “So what was the deal with you and Tagg?”
“I wasn’t part of his five-year plan,” Bailey says with a forced casualness.
I place my hand on the small of her back. “His loss is my gain.”
She shoots me a questioning look. “Carson, when we’re alone, you don’t have to—” but before she can finish her sentence, Odette and her fiancé approach all hoity-toity, as my granddaddy would say about snobby people who keep their noses in the air. The sisters look alike, but whereas Odette is all sharp edges and angles, Bailey is soft and gentle.
“So, Carson,” Odette begins, her smile not quite reaching her eyes. “You’re part of the new hockey team in town. It must be difficult to start over.”
“It’s an opportunity,” I reply, finding Bailey’s hand. “And I have an excellent tour guide.”
Bailey sputters, “We just drove through town. Nothing special.”
“Exactly. Nothing special.” Odette wags her finger between us and narrows her eyes. “Should we be concerned that this is a conflict of interest? An NHL employee and a player? I’m an attorney in Chicago and I suggest you two be careful. Maybe consult HR because this haslawsuitwritten all over it.”
I feel Bailey tense beside me. “It’s not like that.”
Odette wears a prim smile and looks me up and down before her gaze lands accusingly on her sister. “I didn’t think so.”
I’m about to defend our fake relationship when the DJ announces the dance floor is open. The bride and groom gesture that everyone join them.
Bailey looks at Tori and Tagg, not with regret, but like she wants her hobby to become more of a lifestyle so she doesn’t have to deal with her naysaying family alone. Thankfully, Odette and what’s-his-face fiancé stalk off.
I offer my hand. “Dance with me.”
“You dance?” Bailey’s eyebrows bounce as if she’s genuinely surprised.
“I have hidden talents beyond checking opponents into the boards and sinking shots.”
She hesitates, then places her hand in mine. “All right, hockey star. Show me what you’ve got.”
I lead her to the dance floor just as the music shifts to something slow. Without missing a beat, I pull her close, one hand at her waist, the other holding hers. Her surprise is evident in the little yelp that escapes her pink lips.
Her eyes lift to mine and hover for a long moment, making me swallow hard. Clearing my throat, I say, “My mom insistedon lessons before my first high school team formal. She said no son of hers was going to look like a ‘hulking goon’ with two left feet. Plus, square dancing and line dancing were kind of a big deal where I come from.”
Bailey laughs, relaxing slightly in my arms. “Your mom sounds like a force of nature … like the women in my family.”
“She worked three jobs to keep me in hockey. She’d like you. Being far away, we’re not as close as we used to be.”
With my grandparents gone, my family is minuscule compared to the Porters and although I imagined building my own with Charlene, she wasn’t overly interested in having kids. I reckoned we’d figure it out, but oddly, I wonder what’s in Bailey’s marriage scrapbook.
She and I sway in comfortable silence for a moment. Bailey is warm against me, her head barely reaching my shoulder. She smells like vanilla and maple, a scent I’ve come to crave.
“Everyone is watching us,” she murmurs.
“Let them watch.”
“My mother probably thinks we’re announcing our engagement next,” she says with a nervous laugh.
“Maybe we should put on a show.”
“Be careful what you say and don’t give her any ideas.”
“Would that be so terrible?” The words slip out before I can stop them.
She pulls back slightly to look at me, confusion in her eyes. “Carson, we’re pret—” She stops herself in case anyone is listening, never mind watching. But then tries again. “This is?—”
