Page 30 of Cold Feet
His step faltered – barely noticeable, but there. I'd surprised him. Good. Let him be the off-balance one for once.
"Still think we're faking this?" he asked, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through me like a bass line.
I swallowed hard, fighting the urge to look away from the intensity in his gaze. "Convincing doesn't mean real," I whispered, but even to my own ears, my voice wavered with uncertainty.
"Keep telling yourself that," he said softly. His thumb brushed across my knuckles, sending another jolt through me. "But that dress has been saying something else all night."
The dance ended, and he stepped back, breaking the spell that had momentarily surrounded us. I felt oddly bereft without his arms around me, like I'd lost something essential that I hadn't known I needed.
"I need a drink," I muttered.
"That makes two of us," Cam agreed, his eyes never leaving mine. "Do you need something cold?" he winked.
The rest of the evening passed in a blur of congratulations, small talk, and carefully maintained appearances. Cam played his role perfectly – attentive but not overbearing, affectionate but appropriately restrained, charming everyone from veteran coaches to rookie players' nervous dates.
By the time we finally made our excuses and headed toward the exit, my feet ached from hours in heels and my cheeks hurt from smiling. The weight of the ring on my finger felt both foreign and strangely right, a paradox I didn't have the energy to examine too closely.
In the relative privacy of the hotel car, I finally turned to Cam, unable to contain myself any longer.
"We'd love to come to the beach?" I hissed, mindful of the driver just feet away on the other side of the privacy shield. "Really, Cam?"
He had the grace to look slightly abashed, but there was a stubbornness in his jaw that told me he didn't regret his decision. At all.
"What was I supposed to say? 'No thanks, Mrs. Decker, we're only pretending to be engaged for a sneaker deal'?"
"You could have let me handle it," I countered. "Instead, you've committed us to an entire weekend of... this." I gestured between us. "With my family. Who know me better than anyone."
Cam's expression softened, his hand finding mine in the darkness of the car. "Lana, it's going to be fine. We've got this. And honestly? It's better this way. The more people who believe we're actually together, the more convincing it is for everyone else – including Redline."
I knew he was right, logically speaking. The weekend at Siesta Key would solidify our cover story, provide more social media opportunities, and further the narrative we were trying to create. But the thought of maintaining this charade with my family – of basically lying to the people I loved most – felt like a step too far.
"Hey," Cam said softly, noticing my distress. "If you really don't want to go, I'll call your mom tomorrow. I'll make up an excuse. We can find another way."
His willingness to back down should have made me feel better. Instead, it made the knot in my stomach twist tighter. Because the truth was, despite all my reservations, despite all the reasons it was a terrible idea...
Part of me wanted to go.
Wanted to pretend, just for a weekend, that this was real. That Cam and I were actually engaged, actually planning a future together, actually in love in the way he'd described so convincingly to my parents.
"No," I said finally. "You're right. It makes sense… strategically. We'll go."
Cam studied me for a moment, as if trying to determine whether I meant it. Finally, he nodded, a slow smile spreading across his face.
"Too late now anyway," he said, leaning back against the leather seat. "Better pack that bikini, CupcakeQueen."
I rolled my eyes at him dramatically, "Whatever you say, Puck Daddy."
He roared with laughter, his features lighting up like he was up on the big screen, "That's my girl."
Anddespite everything – the stress, the confusion, the growing fear that I was in way over my head – I couldn't quite suppress the smile that tugged at my lips.
Because as much as I wanted to deny it, there was something terrifyingly real hiding beneath the surface of our carefully crafted lie. And the longer we played this game, the harder it became to remember where the act ended and the truth began.
Chapter 7
The night air felt electric as we arrived at the team's hotel. Exhaustion hit me like a Mack truck, but somehow, with Cam's hand resting lightly against the small of my back – each brush of his fingers sending shockwaves through my spine – I wasn't quite ready for the night to end.
"I really can't believe we pulled that off," I murmured as we stepped into the hotel elevator, acutely aware of how close we were standing in the confined space. “I mean, I can, but I can’t.”
