Page 67 of Skating and Fake Dating
I’m fully settled in the SkyBnB rental, have my truck back, my belongings, and am getting in the groove with the new team. Asher and I are housemates—Bailey has been helping him as he adjusts due to his last-minute trade to the Ice Breakers, so I’ve been having some solid bro bonding time with the defenseman, too.
So why am I jittery?
Is it because I don’t want to get things wrong with Bailey, or because I’d rather not be exposed as a fraud—a guy no one truly loves, so I have to fake a relationship?
For years, I was on top of the world, knowing my future was with Charlene. When she dumped me, I descended into the depths of despair. Now, I’ve dug my way out of a month ofagony, and am afraid of anyone finding out how much I’ve struggled—that my carefully stitched-together appearance hides stained sweatpants and a guy in need of a shave. But I’m not him anymore. I can’t be. Someone as smart and observant as Bailey would see through it, so where does that leave me? Leave us?
Late. If I don’t get in the truck now, I’ll be late to pick her up. The drive to her house is short, but I feel like I’ve been chewing on a lamp plug while it’s still in the socket.
I haven’t rolled up to a woman’s house dressed in a tux since prom night. Charlene insisted our colors coordinated, made me wait over an hour in her parents’ living room, causing us to miss the dinner reservation I had to pay extra to hold, and was generally bossy, never quite satisfied with my efforts. I convinced myself she was the one, but having gotten to know Bailey and seeing the contrast, I was dead wrong.
Bailey is different in the best of ways. I had no idea what I was missing. It’s time for me to forget about my ex, but since Bailey and I are only pretending until after the holidays, I can’t let myself think she’s the one.
When I arrive at the colonial, the instant the door opens, all the air leaves my lungs along with my thoughts.
It was one thing to see her dressed up for her cousin’s wedding, but this is for me. For us. Bailey stands there in a midnight blue gown that makes her eyes look like golden, glittering stars. Her hair is swept up, revealing the elegant curve of her neck. A delicate gold necklace sits between her collarbones. She’s holding a sparkly clutch—though I have no doubt she’d find a way to smuggle in maple syrup if necessary—and her small smile makes me wonder if she’s been as nervous as me.
“Too much?” she asks, misinterpreting my silence.
“Words,” I blurt, reminding myself to use them.
Her expression shifts from confusion and concern to amusement.
“You’re beautiful, Blondie.”
A blush colors her cheeks. “And you are rather handsome yourself, Bama.”
I catch her hand and say, “Thank you for, uh—” But I can’t finish the sentence.
She blinks a few times as if waiting for me to continue or urging me not to blow our cover, I can’t be sure. I want to thank her for helping me forget the past and my broken heart and for showing me that muscles can heal, even the tricky ones in the chest, but before I can do that, her mother appears, cell phone camera aloft.
“Photos. I need a picture of you two. Bailey didn’t have a date to prom, so this is the next best thing,” Taffy says in her obnoxiously obtuse way, not realizing her comment is hurtful. I’m a dude and even I’m aware of that.
Bailey winces. “Do we really need the reminder?”
“Sure we do. If you’d gone to your senior prom, this wouldn’t be so special.” Taffy fiddles with the shoulder strap of her daughter’s dress.
But what I’m wondering is why would Bailey ask that question if this were actually fake. Why would I be nervous? She was right. The lines have blurred. And I’m not sure what that means.
While Taffy fusses with Bailey’s hair, Mr. Porter takes me aside, giving me a flash of déjà vu from when Nanna had a private word with me. However, this time, I brace myself for a stiff conversation about respecting Bailey tonight.
Phil asks, “What are your intentions?”
I don’t think before I reply—this time the words come easily. “I care a lot about your daughter. She’s a special woman. I want to offer her the stability she deserves.”
“But your life is in constant motion. I have a hunch that after her little ‘experiment’ in the city, she’ll be back here. She’s a small-town girl. You’re often on the road. You can’t ask her to change who she is.”
“I’d never do that because I love who she is.” I only hear what I’m saying when these words present themselves fromsomewhere deep inside and I can’t tell whether I’m falling or flying.
I try to give Mr. Porter an assuring smile, but I’m a bit gobsmacked myself. Do I want a real future with Bailey? Yeah. I think I do.
After more fussing and a long goodbye, once we are in the car, she lets out a long breath. “We survived.”
I squeeze the top of her hand. “And now the fun can begin!” Who invited old Carson—the version of me that was always up for a good time? In any case, he’s welcome.
Bailey goes on to tell me about preparations for the Maple Fest as we drive over to the arena, which has been transformed into an event space and ballroom for tonight—I’d tried to get some extra ice time, but they booted me.
The moment we get out of my truck, Bailey stops short as if a bull charges in our direction—or it could be the reality of the affair as blue and white spotlights sweep the glowing facility. Or maybe that’s just me.
