Page 37 of Fake As Puck
I slump at the thought of that. Is she right?
“Tell me about the dress. Did you find something good?”
“Yeah, actually. It’s perfect. Green, flattering, appropriate but not boring.”
“Send me a picture.”
“I will when I’m dressed.”
I move on to my hair, plugging in the straightener I packed and working through my hair in sections.
“Are you nervous about meeting the team?” Tessa asks.
“A little. I want them to like me. Or at least believe that he’d date me.”
“Of course he would date you, Liv. You’re funny and smart and pretty.”
“Hopefully this doesn’t blow up,” I mutter.
I finish my hair and move on to the dress, slipping it on and checking myself in the mirror. I look... good. Really good. Like someone who belongs at a wedding with a professional athlete.
“I have to go,” I tell Tessa. “Time to transform into the perfect fake girlfriend.”
“You’re going to be great. Just be yourself.”
“Myself doesn’t date pro hockey players.”
“Today she does.”
I hang up and take one last look in the mirror. The dress fits perfectly, my hair is smooth and shiny, and my makeup looks natural but polished.
I look like West Carmack’s girlfriend.
Now I just have to act like it.
I head to the living room, expecting to find West in the kitchen, but he’s not there. The house is quiet except for the sound of movement from his bedroom.
I make myself a small plate of the leftover breakfast and eat standing at the counter, checking my phone and trying to calm my nerves.
I’m mid-bite when I hear footsteps behind me.
“Wow.”
I turn around with a forkful of eggs halfway to my mouth and nearly drop the plate.
West is standing in the doorway wearing a navy button-down that fits him perfectly, dark jeans, and dress shoes. His hair is styled in that effortlessly messy way that takes actual effort to achieve, and he looks...
He looks like every fantasy I’ve ever had about what it would be like to date someone completely out of my league.
“You clean up nice,” I manage, setting down my fork.
“So do you,” he says, and there’s something in his voice that makes my stomach flip. “Really nice.”
“Thanks. You, too.”
We stand there for a moment, just looking at each other, and I realize we’re both probably thinking the same thing: this is going to be a long night ahead. And we look good together.
“Ready to go?” he asks.
