Page 20 of Cold Feet
"I should get home," I said, gathering my things. "I need to prepare for the inevitable barrage of questions."
Cam nodded, rising with me. "I'll walk you to your car."
We made our way back to Coconut Charlie's parking lot in companionable silence, the weight of what we'd just set in motion hanging between us. When we reached my car, I turned to face him.
"Well, there's no going back now," I said, attempting a light tone.
"Would you want to?" he asked, his expression suddenly serious, eyes searching mine.
The question caught me off guard. "It will look like a fling if we don’t see this through now." I unlocked my car, suddenly eager to escape the intensity of his gaze. "I'll see you Monday."
He nodded, stepping back to allow me to open my door. "Goodnight, Lana."
AsI drove away, I could see him in my rearview mirror, still standing in the parking lot, watching me leave. Just before I turned onto the main road, I thought I saw him shake his head and mutter something to himself.
Later, lying in bed with my phone still buzzing with notifications, I couldn't stop thinking about the look in his eyes when he'd asked if I'd want to go back – as if my answer really mattered to him. As if this wasn't just about a sneaker deal or an image rehab.
I closed my eyes, trying to ignore the memory of his arm around my shoulders, the way his laugh had vibrated through me when we stood close, the brief moment when my thumb had brushed the corner of his mouth.
This was a professional arrangement. A strategic partnership with clearly defined boundaries and an expiration date.
I wasn't makingthatmistake twice.
Chapter 5
The Las Vegas skyline glittered beyond my hotel window, a constellation of man-made stars stretching across the desert night. Twenty floors below, the famous Bellagio fountains performed their choreographed dance, but from this height, they looked like miniature splashes in a very expensive bathtub.
I pressed my forehead against the cool glass, trying to calm the nervous energy that had been building since our plane landed three hours ago. The team charter flight had been agonizingly awkward, with Cam sitting next to Logan and the rest of his teammates in the back of the plane, and me up front with our GM and Coach Sully's wife Trixie. There was no clear answer on where we should sit given our newfound status, so I decided we should keep it professional and Cam decided to "visit" me approximately six times during the flight. It felt a lot like performance art in a flying fishbowl. And every single eye was on us.
Two weeks. It had been exactly two weeks since our "selfie tour" had exploded across social media. Fourteen days of fielding calls from curious reporters, deflecting questions from well-meaning colleagues, and maintaining the carefully curated façade of new romance whenever Cam and I were in the same room.
And what a couple of weeks it had been.
The photo of us laughing by the mural had been picked up by three major sports blogs. The one of us sharing a cupcake had spawned a fan-made video compilation set to Taylor Swift's "Lover" that somehow got over two million views. Even ESPN had run a segment titled "Bad Boy Settling Down?" featuring a panel of experts seriously discussing whether Cam Murphy's apparent new relationship would affect his performance on the ice.
I unzipped my garment bag, removing the midnight blue gown I'd selected for tomorrow's NHL Awards ceremony. The silky fabric slipped through my fingers as I hung it in the closet, trying not to think about how its color reminded me of Cam's eyes in certain light,or how he'd texted "Blue is my favorite color on you" when I'd sent him a photo of options last week.
My phone buzzed with a text from my assistant:
KATIE: Are you EVER going to give me details about you and Cam? I'm dying here. Also, the Tampa Trib wants an exclusive.
I sighed, typing back:
ME: Nothing to tell that isn't already on Instagram. And no exclusives until after awards.
The lie came easier each time, which should have concerned me more than it did.
Another notification popped up – this one from Ryan Keller, Cam's agent:
RYAN: Redline executives confirmed attendance tomorrow. Looking good so far. Remember, happy couple vibes only.
I set my phone down, anxiety bubbling in my chest. Tomorrow night would be the real test – not just a casual selfie on the beach or a choreographed coffee run, but a formal, high-profile event with cameras tracking our every move, analyzing our body language, searching for the truth behind the carefully constructed fiction.
The past few weeks had been a masterclass in strategic public appearances. A team charity event where Cam kept a respectful but affectionate hand at my back. A practice session where I personally delivered notes to him on the ice, our conversation captured from a distance but just intimate enough to fuel speculation.
Cam had even shown up at a women's shelter fundraiser I'd organized, bringing a signed stick for the auction that fetched triple its expected auction price – and leaving with his arm casually draped around my shoulders, just in time for the local news cameras to catch us.
Each moment calculated. Each touch choreographed. Each smile measured to reveal just enough, but not too much. And yet, beneath the performance, something unexpected was happening. Something I wasn't prepared for.
