Page 39 of Skating and Fake Dating
Tagg rolls his eyes. “Good luck with her. Bailey has high romantic expectations. She wants to settle down, have kids, and make maple syrup. That all sounds a bit sticky if you ask me.”
For some reason, Carson lets him continue, scattering aroundmy marriage hobby goals like autumn leaves, only to soon crunch them underfoot. However, he listens intently, making me flustered and confused as his grip around me tightens.
He snorts at Tagg and then looks down at me, gaze searching mine. “Sounds like a plan.”
I want to believe him. Want to indulge the fantasy. I can practically see him tipping his cap now as the sun sets on that dusty dream road.
However, I can’t fool myself into thinking about a real relationship because Carson doesn’t believe in true love.
CHAPTER 17
CARSON
I’ve faced my share of intimidating situations—NHL playoffs, career-threatening injuries, and even Gabe, my agent, when I once missed a media appearance. But nothing prepared me for the hostage situation that is the Porter-Haines wedding.
Since arriving at Bailey’s childhood home, I’ve slowly started to understand why she needed backup. I didn’t officially agree to be her date until we took the detour to the overlook. She looked so beautiful against the backlit setting sun. I didn’t want anyone else to dim her light. If I could do anything to help, I promised myself right then and there that I would.
Conveniently, being her plus one isn’t hard.
The woman is easy to appreciate, to admire, to adore. If you ask me, Taggert got the bum deal.
I’ve found myself naturally sliding into the role after having fielded questions flying from all directions. We still have to get our entire story straight, but the disbelief from the women about her dating someone … someone like me … has been unmistakable and unacceptable.
I couldn’t very well let her drown in the sea of skepticism.
For the last few hours, I’ve shaken hands, tried to memorize names, and deflected personal questions—that I do withpracticed ease. Through it all, I keep Bailey close, noticing how she grows more withdrawn with each interaction and shrinks with every veiled judgment spoken.
When we met the bride and groom and I played along, the grateful look she flashed me made my ribs rattle.
I can’t help but think that it’s tied to what happened at the lookout point. The kiss … the briefest of kisses. Offering ourselves. Claiming each other. But was that just bottled up from traveling together? Exhaustion? Or something else?
However, the conviction in Bailey’s voice when she said,I’m yours, Carsonhit me like a body check on the ice—unexpected and breathtaking.
The way she looks at me, slightly bashful like she’s having thoughts she shouldn’t—small confined-spaces thoughts and mountaintop vista thoughts—sends a flare through me. When her soft skin touches mine, crackling races across every cubic inch of my body.
But my mind knows better and I remember this is all for our cover story. This is just for the weekend.
The ceremony was short, though I spent most of it watching Bailey rather than the bride and groom. She maintained a perfect smile, but I noticed how she tensed whenever the officiant mentioned love or commitment. When the groom recited his vows, staring as if in a trance at his bride, Bailey’s fingers dug into my arm.
As the newlyweds conclude their first dance, tugging at the collar of my button-down for some ventilation, I whisper to Bailey, “I seem to recall you mentioning that this was just going to be a little family gathering.”
“It’s college football season—and five of my cousins play—so yes, only about half of my family are in attendance because the others had to show support.”
I’m from the South and am used to relatively large families, but I’ve done a rough headcount of at least two hundred people who claim to be related and can no longer tell the differencebetween aunts, uncles, great aunts and uncles, ones related by marriage, cousins, and the number of times removed.
Fiddling with the hem of her dress, Bailey says, “I’m well aware that it’s a lot.”
“There are fewer people at some of my games.”
The corner of her mouth crests with a smile. “We both know that’s not true.”
“Might be with this new team,” I mumble.
“You clean up nice.” Bailey straightens my tie as if responsible for it since she’s the one who originally did it after my quick shower at her parents’ house … and our little role-play at the vista point.
My gaze travels from her hands along the delicate curve of her neck. Her maple-blonde hair is swept up and I force myself to look away before our gazes lock.
“You sound surprised,” I reply, trying to ignore how my pulse quickens when her fingers brush against my skin. “Did you expect me to wear hockey gear?”
