10. Jessica
Chapter ten
Jessica
I ’m still reeling from the team’s Christmas party and the rooftop sex when the cold Colorado air hits my face as Eric and I exit the hotel. It’s hard to return to an event and act composed after my back was just pressed against the cold glass of the rooftop bar and Eric’s body was pressed against mine.
One look from him as we walked toward the ballroom told me we weren’t going to hang around much longer. I hold on to his arm as we wait for the valet to bring his car up. I’m surprised at how natural the touch feels to me. It feels anything but fake.
The holiday lights twinkle from every lamppost, casting a warm, festive glow, but my head is miles away. The sky threatens snow with the amount of gusty wind that blows my hair.
Fake relationships weren’t supposed to feel this complicated. Here I am, walking beside Eric, my fake boyfriend, who kissed me—and more!—like it was the most natural thing in the world just moments ago.
We hadn’t talked about the intimacy we shared. The boundaries between us were already blurred into oblivion, but that rooftop moment of bliss? It made everything more of a mess because it normalized turning to each other for emotional and sexual release.
I’d told myself I’d stick to the plan. Keep things professional, focus on the fake dating arrangement to help the team’s image, but now? Now I don’t know what to think. My emotions are a tangled knot.
As the car is brought up by the valet and we approach it, my pulse quickens at the sight of a group of reporters hovering just outside the hotel entrance. They spot us almost immediately, and one breaks away from the crowd, heading straight for us like a hawk on a mission. She’s holding a microphone, flanked by a camera crew, the bright light blinding in the evening twilight.
“Eric! Jessica!” Her voice cuts through the crisp night air, confident, enthusiastic. She’s smiling like she knows something we don’t, like she’s ready to pounce on the scoop of the century. “Are you two enjoying the Denver festivities this holiday season? Any romantic dates in the city yet that you’d like to tell the public about?”
Romantic dates? My breath catches. Panic claws its way into my chest. We haven’t gone on any dates. I mean, how could we? This entire thing is an act. Fake. We were supposed to keep it simple, but now it feels like our cover is about to be blown, the pressure of keeping up appearances suffocating.
I glance at Eric, silently pleading for him to take control; to somehow make this less of a disaster. I open my mouth to say something—anything—but nothing comes out.
The reporter takes a step closer, her grin widening. “You’re live on air!” she announces gleefully, clearly sensing my discomfort. “Our viewers are so curious! Eric, you’re known for big actions, right? That’s what brought you here on the trade. What do you have planned for your lovely lady?”
Big actions… that refers to his on-ice fight. I suddenly see this reporter as a vulture, waiting to feast on someone else’s failure or demise.
Eric doesn’t even flinch. He slips into his usual easy charm, his arm sliding around my waist as if this situation is just another routine interview for him. “Well, if you want grand gestures,” he says, a slow grin spreading across his face, “I’ll do you one better. Not just a date here in Denver” He pauses, letting the anticipation build. “I’m taking Jessica to Nashville to meet all my old friends there.”
My heart stops. What?
The reporter’s eyes widen with excitement, her mic now aimed directly at me. “Jessica, what a gesture! Eric must be crazy about you! How does it feel knowing he’s taking you back home with him?”
I can feel my cheeks burning. Nashville? Meet his friends? This was supposed to be fake! I can’t keep up with the whirlwind of emotions swirling inside me. It’s all too much. The reporter’s words hang in the air like a taunt, and suddenly, everything feels a little too real.
Before I can dig myself deeper into the awkwardness, Eric pulls me even closer, his warmth radiating through my jacket. The journalist doesn’t seem to notice my internal panic, though, because she’s beaming, clearly satisfied with her scoop. After a few more pleasantries, she wraps up her segment and turns back to her crew.
We walk to the car in silence, the cold Denver air biting at my skin despite Eric’s arm around me. My thoughts are racing, my heart pounding in my chest. Nashville? He couldn’t be serious.
As we slide into the car, I finally find my voice. “Nashville?” I ask, turning to him, my confusion more than a little obvious in my tone. “That was some quick thinking back there, but you know now we have to follow through on the trip, right?” I force out a laugh.
He laughs authentically, looking completely in control. It comes out as a deep, rich sound that fills the car with positivity. “What? You think I’d let you get away with not having any fun in this fake relationship? A little trip to Nashville will be good for us.” He grins.
I blink at him, still processing. Good for us ? This was supposed to be temporary. Professional. Jason’s already asked me how the spying mission is going, but it’s not going, and I don’t know how to manage everyone’s expectations of me.
***
We land in Nashville two days later, the cool air greeting us as we step off the plane. It’s warmer here than in Denver, but there’s still a chill in the air. The kind that reminds you winter is just around the corner. The airport is decked out in holiday decorations—twinkling lights, festive wreaths, and Christmas trees standing proudly at every corner. I feel a sense of nostalgia as the holiday music plays softly overhead.
Jake and Allie, Eric’s closest friends, are waiting for us at the baggage claim. Jake is every bit the classic hockey player—tall, broad, with the kind of laid-back confidence that makes him instantly likable. Allie is equally charming, her smile warm and inviting as she pulls me into a hug.
“It’s so great to finally meet you!” Allie exclaims, her eyes sparkling with excitement. “Eric’s told us so much about you.”
I glance at Eric, raising an eyebrow. He grins sheepishly, but doesn’t offer any explanation. I wonder how much of what he’s told them is part of our fake story, and how much is… well, real. It’s getting harder to tell the difference.
As we drive through Nashville, the city’s holiday spirit is on full display. Holiday signs and banners line the streets, and shop windows are filled with festive displays. It’s beautiful, almost magical, and for a moment, I forget about the tangled mess of my “relationship” with Eric.
We arrive at the Nashville Christmas Market, an outdoor fair filled with vendors selling holiday treats, handmade gifts, and festive decorations. The air smells like cinnamon and pine, and the sounds of holiday music fill the atmosphere.
As we walk through the market, Jake and Eric fall into an easy conversation about hockey. I listen quietly, my curiosity piqued when Jake brings up Eric’s time in Nashville.
“Man, you didn’t deserve that trade,” Jake says, shaking his head. “The way it went down was messed up.”
I glance at Eric, who shrugs, trying to play it off. “It wasn’t that bad,” he says, though the tension in his voice tells me otherwise. “I’m settling in to my new team okay. I mean, without you around, ragging on me all the time to get my puck in the net every shot.”
The two laugh.
Jake doesn’t let it go. “It’s tough luck, Gator. Everyone on the team knows you didn’t start that fight. The media spun it out of control. You were just defending yourself.”
My heart skips a beat. I think of the reporter pushing her agenda on us just a couple of nights ago. I know how manipulative they can be. I’ve heard bits and pieces about the fight that led to the trade, but I never knew the full story beyond what my law firm cared about—the legalities of the contract that was ended in Nashville and the one started in Denver. Now, hearing Jake talk about that fight, I feel a pang of sympathy for Eric.
I sneak a glance at him, but he’s keeping his expression carefully neutral. I can tell this is something he doesn’t like talking about, but I’m starting to see just how much it bothers him.
“Yeah, well, it’s in the past now,” Eric says, clearly trying to change the subject. “I can’t turn back the clock and do things differently.” He shrugs.
But I can’t stop thinking about it. The more I learn about Eric, the more I realize how little I truly know about him. He’s been through a lot, and it’s clear that his time in Nashville left some scars—both on and off the ice.
I find myself growing more curious. What really happened on that ice, beyond what his friends say?
That night, after a long day of exploring Nashville with Jake and Allie, I am alone in the guest room of their sprawling house. The home smells like cinnamon and sage and every common area is beautifully decorated for the holidays, with mini Santa figurines and nutcrackers in all the nooks and crannies, and green garlands adorning the walls. But despite the festive atmosphere, I turned in early because my mind is elsewhere.
I sit on the edge of the bed, my laptop open in front of me. I shouldn’t be doing this, I know that. I should just let it go. But the more I think about what Jake said earlier, the more I feel like I need to know the truth. My firm cares about a fair trade and a redeemed image for Eric, but I care about him as a man… just as my roommate, of course.
I type “Eric Warren trade fight” into the search bar and hit enter. Before taking the job in Denver, I knew about this fight, of course. It was part of my research on Eric, but I never studied it. Now, I need to know.
Instantly, a flood of articles, videos, and news clips of “Gator” and some other player fill the screen. I scroll through them until I find what I’m looking for—the footage of the game.
My heart races as I click on the video, watching as the fight unfolds. The opposing player charges at Eric, shoving him against the boards. A few seconds later, the guy backs off and then uses his glove to cover his mouth as he taunts Eric, but no one knows what he said.
Then, I see the guy’s stick shoot out and whack Eric just above his skate. That’s when Eric shoves the guy and the fight breaks out. It was a nasty fight, though. I can see why Eric’s image was tarnished.
It’s clear to me that Eric was just defending himself, but the media had spun the story into something much darker. They painted Eric as the aggressor, as the problem, and now I’m starting to understand just how unfairly he was treated.
I sit back, staring at the screen, my mind racing. Eric didn’t deserve this. He didn’t deserve to have his career tainted by a single moment; by a fight that wasn’t even his fault. It’s no wonder he’s been so guarded behind that easy smile of his.
My chest tightens with emotion—sympathy and caring. Eric’s been carrying this weight for months, and now, more than ever, I feel conflicted. I’m supposed to be keeping tabs on him for Jason, spying on him for the team. But how can I do that when I’m starting to see who he really is?