Page 2 of Skating and Fake Dating
I do not secretly have a stubborn and irrational crush on him with his smirky smile, charm, impressive build, and put-together appearance.
No, I dislike him after the aforementioned baked goods incident.
The elevator shudders like it’s having second thoughts about remaining suspended in the cement shaft of the building.
“I sure hope this thing isn’t broken,” I say, my voice shaky.
He grips the back of his neck. “That would really put a punctuation mark on this morning.”
“Like a period, question mark, exclamation point, or an ellipsis?” When I talk to him, it’s like my mouth is numb from chewing on ice.
What am I saying? Bailey, you really had to get particular about the punctuation?
To be clear, Carson Crane and I had only exchanged nine words in real life before today. However, when he and I met in my dream on that dusty road and he said,Mighty fine to see you this evenin,’ miss. How do you do?I didn’t respond right away. Combing me up and down with a lazy gaze, he said,Well, darlin’, don’t leave me in suspense.
Like a scene missing in an old movie, my answer was lost and this being me we’re talking about, instead of words coming out of my mouth, a pair of false, wooden teeth tumbled onto the road.
Dreams, I tell ya.
One day, I’d like an explanation of what in the world my brain thinks it’s doing while I’m asleep.
Anyway, I wanted to go wherever he was going. Where that was, I’ll never know. Go figure. As I said, it was a dream. But it’s also taken up residence in my head.
Suffice it to say, Carson Crane is an athlete with polish and poise. Meanwhile, I’m bumbling, awkward, and failing at pulling off professional and put-together. Trust me, I’m not being self-deprecating. My family unanimously agrees. When I sent a selfie to our group chat on the first day of my new job, my sister commented on how my shirt was wrinkled. My brother changed my contact name toWrinkle in Time—a dig at my perpetual tardinessand everyone sent variations of the laughing face emoji.
I don’t mean to be late; I sometimes just get distracted. There are things to do, people!
As if the elevator wants to make sure we’re awake, it shakes again.
In response to my question about punctuation, Carson replies with a contemplative, “Comma. The day has just begun. But I do see that you got dressed in the dark this morning.” He chuckles.
I gasp like a Southern belle and all but throw my arm across my forehead dramatically at his insult.
He says, “Either that or your favorite color is blue.”
“It is, but that’s beside the point. I didn’t get—” Glancing down at my attempt at an office-appropriate outfit, I’m wearing a navy blue blazer and royal blue pants along with what I refer to as my pineapple garden blouse. It features happy yellow pineapples with cobalt blue flowers. My defense dies on my tongue as the elevator dings and the doors whoosh open. “It’s chromatic.”
“You might want to keep a poncho and rubber gloves handy so you don’t have another accident. Maybe safety goggles too,” he says, referring to our first and only other actual encounter.
“I have tactical baked goods camouflage at the ready.” My smile tightens, but it is there nonetheless because it’s a rebel and because Carson Crane has that effect on me. Trust me, I hate it.
“I hope you’re not late, Blondie,” he says, as if insistent on having the last word.
And yet the flutters rushing through me as my silly Southern fantasy plays in the background of my mind turn into frustration. My cheeks turn a different primary color than my favorite one at the embarrassing nickname. I march off as he chuckles briefly at my back.
Is he purposely trying to fluster me?
I can’t fathom why. It could be that he’s a jerk who dresses well, but that defies his reputation as being a gentleman, aka the gentleman wingman. At least he was until last spring.
Turns out he’s a real smug bug. Since he’s a hockey star, hedoesn’t have to worry about things like punctuality because he’s oh-so-important. Meanwhile, I missed the late bell.
I realize I’m walking toward the C-suites, which are in the opposite direction from my temporary cubicle space. I turn on my heel, bumping into a broad chest in a slate blue button-down.
CHAPTER 2
BAILEY
The corner of Carson’s lips hitch with amusement. “Miss me already?”
