Page 59 of Faking it with the Billionaire
It was what happened after the proposal that has me dumbfounded.
She stayed for the rest of the game, insisted on returning to her seat, and then Emerson high-tailed it out of the arena the minute the game ended.
Not so much as a goodbye. I headed off the ice to the bench, and she was gone. In the locker room, I texted Mitchell, and he assured me that he was taking her home.
I didn’t want to read into anything. Traffic is always awful after a game. Maybe she wanted to get out before reporters tried to hound her with questions.
But when I stepped in through the front door, she was nowhere in sight. She’s not answering her texts, and now she’s locked herself in her bedroom, refusing to speak with me.
“You can’t ignore me forever. I’m your boss.” I knock once again on her bedroom door.
The girl is practically steaming when she finally throws open the door. Em folds her arms across her chest. “That was a dick move, even for you, Greyson.”
So, we’re back to a last-name basis. That isn’t exactly good, but the guys on the team refer to me as Greyson, so maybe it isn’t all bad. I’m trying to see the silver lining.
“Asking you to marry me?” I know it’s fake, and while my feelings for her are slowly becoming real, I pushed things too far.
“We should have discussed it first!”
“I like you—”
“You like your career,” she spits back. “I’m just trailing in third.” She slams the door in my face.
I’ll let her sleep it off. Maybe tomorrow, we can have a genuine conversation, and I can apologize for throwing her off and making her uncomfortable with the arrangements. But she agreed to be my fake girlfriend. It’s just one more step to proving we’re an item.
And after seeing her today at the game, I want her there beside me all the time. I have no qualms about her bringing Bristol into the locker room today, but she wouldn’t have had to do that if the guys knew I was serious about Em.
She hasn’t been invited to the wives’ room yet. It’s reserved for the wives and serious girlfriends of the team to hang out. There’s even a place for the kids to play, which would be great for Bristol.
But I can’t just give her an invitation.
It’s a sacred place among hockey wives, even though I’m the captain of the team.
Hopefully, by proposing, the ladies will see how serious I am about Emerson and invite her into their inner circle. I don’t believe any of them would be behind the threats to Bristol’s safety, but maybe they’ve seen or heard things.
The group, I’ve been told, is gossipy but also incredibly close and protective of their inner circle. And getting Emerson an invitation isn’t an easy feat. I can’t just ask them to invite her. It doesn’t work like that.
I head off to bed, deciding that riling up Em any further isn’t going to help. She’s tired. I’m beat. A good night’s sleep may fix things.
Could I be that lucky?
I strip down to my boxers and climb under the warm blankets. I try not to envision her curled up in my arms, but it’s impossible. I still smell her on me, even after the game and the shower in the locker room.
Her scent is intoxicating, and it’s invaded my senses from the inside out.
The kiss on the ice, the fans cheering, and her arms wrapped around my neck are imprinted on me forever. I could die a happy man.
If only it had been real.
If only the kiss had meant for her what it means to me. The proposal may be fake, but the feelings behind the attraction are one hundred percent real.
I’m not ready for marriage with Em or anyone else yet. But I want her solely in my life. No strings and no other attachments. The thought of her so much as looking at another man fills me with an intense rage of jealousy.
I toss and turn, unable to sleep.
And talking to Em isn’t going to help put me out for the night.
She’s mad, or at the very least, disappointed in me, which makes me feel a thousand times worse, because I do like her.
