Page 68 of Skating and Fake Dating
She fidgets with the clasp of her purse. “About tonight ... what if I say something stupid about maple syrup? Or spill my drink on the team owner’s wife? Or call your coach by the wrong name?” She lowers her voice, “Or expose us?”
Meeting her soft gaze, illuminated by the place where I spend most of my time, certainty replaces the momentary worry that threatened to shoot me down. “If that happens, we’ll laugh about it later.”
Her face scrunches up.
I take her hand. “Just be yourself.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of.”
“Blondie, there’s no one I’d rather be here with.”
Clément calls from across the parking lot and waves. I wink at Bailey, wanting her to know that we’ll survive this together, too.
“Hey, buddy!” I call, surprised to see he’s here solo—kind ofwild because the guy is the definition of French romance. Women regularly swoon over his accent.
The ballroom of the sports facility is transformed for the evening with ice sculptures and team colors everywhere. As we enter, heads turn. Bailey tenses beside me.
“Carson!” Lucian bounds over with a plate of hors d’oeuvres and an assortment of confections in hand, like he can’t decide whether he’s in the mood for sweet or savory. “About time you showed up. This must be the famous Bailey!”
“Famous?” she squeaks.
Lips curved into a sly grin, he says, “Carson hasn’t shut up about you. Bailey this, Bailey that. Bailey is trying to save the town. Bailey and her amazing maple syrup. I was beginning to think he’d invented you.”
She giggles and my skin turns as pink as the frosting on Lucian’s cupcake.
Cade pops in and says, “We thought he had an imaginary friend and called you Bogus Bailey.”
Her expression wavers. “Mmm. Cupcakes. Yum. I think my friend Neesha made them for the occasion. Maybe I’ll go find one … or her, if she’s here.” She looks around as if eager for a friendly face or an exit rather than dessert. Wherever Bailey goes in town, she seems to know everyone and if not, she makes instant friends.
My voice softer than I expect, I say, “No, she’s very, very real.”
And so is the intense desire to protect her from any form of conversation that would make her doubt that.
She looks up at me as a smile blooms on her face as if those were the magic words. Swallowing, she says, “Nope. This isn’t a dream. Pinch me now.”
More teammates and their partners gather around, curious about the woman who’s apparently captured my heart. Despite her initial reluctance, Bailey, to my surprise and admiration, risesto the occasion. She laughs at their jokes, asks thoughtful questions, and even teases me about my pre-game superstitions.
Wearing an affectionate smile, she says, “On game days, from the moment Carson wakes up until he gets to the locker room, he wears the baseball hat for his high school team. Then he doesn’t let his hockey stick touch the ground until he’s on the ice. It’s adorable.”
“Nothing I do is adorable.” But how did she notice those details about me? The fact that she did touches something hidden inside and locked away.
She lifts onto her toes and whispers in my ear, setting my entire body ablaze. “I also noticed your special pre-game pillowcase.”
Covering up that I’m suddenly overcome with surprise and want, I cough lightly and then protest, “It’s strategic.”
The guys are smiling, Bailey is smiling, and fine, so am I.
Gabe is here, grinning too, but it’s a sly one like we’re in cahoots. Catching my eye, he leans in so only I can hear and says, “Looks like everyone took the fake girlfriend bait.”
Her maple-blonde hair shines and her laugh at something someone says reaches my ears a few paces away as she gathers with some of the women who’re here with my teammates—they must be local because she seems to already know them. Or they have a secret club. Bailey did mention that Mary-Ellen McCluskey has a special hockey game watch party for the Ice Breakers.
To Gabe, myself, or whoever is listening, I say, “She’s amazing. Everyone loves her.”
Maybe I do too. I’m not sure whether I’ve said that out loud. But I did admit as much to her father. I try to read Gabe’s expression, but he’s glancing at his phone.
I’m not sure I’m acting anymore … or if I ever was.
Gabe elbows me. “Hey, make sure you don’t confuse make-believe with reality. We have a big season ahead. Need you focused and at the top of your game.”
