8
“Movie?” West asks as we head upstairs.
“Yeah.”
His living room is one of those spaces that’s clearly designed for watching things with the huge sectional couch, massive TV, the kind of setup that screams, I have money .
I settle onto one end of the couch, leaving a respectable amount of space between us. He grabs the remote and sits down, close enough that I can smell his cologne again.
“What do you want to watch?” he asks, scrolling through Netflix.
“I don’t care. Whatever you want.”
He picks some action movie I’ve never heard of, and I try to focus on the screen instead of how warm he is next to me or how his arm is stretched along the back of the couch behind my head.
“Oh, before I forget,” he says, pulling out his phone. His fingers move across the screen, and I can see him booking my ticket back to LA for Monday. “I’m going to make your flight back. That okay?”
I nod. “Yeah.”
“Done,” he says, setting his phone on the coffee table.
“Thanks.”
“No problem.”
He settles back into the couch, and I end up leaning into him. Not intentionally, it just happens. Like gravity.
His arm comes down from the back of the couch to rest around my shoulders, and I should probably move. Should probably maintain some kind of professional distance.
Instead, I let myself sink into his warmth and pretend to watch the movie while I’m hyperaware of every point where we’re touching. His thigh against mine. His hand resting on my shoulder. The way his chest rises and falls with each breath.
This is dangerous. This is exactly the kind of thing that leads to complications and hurt feelings and me forgetting that this is all pretend.
But he’s warm and solid and he smells good, and I can’t bring myself to move away.
“Hungry?” he asks during what must be the third explosion scene.
“Yeah, actually.”
“Pizza?”
“Obviously.” I smile.
He heats up the leftover pizza and brings it over on plates, along with the honey mustard that he remembered I like.
“You don’t have to keep doing this,” I say, taking the plate.
“Doing what?”
“Taking care of me. Remembering what I like. Acting like...”
“Like what?”
“Like this is real.”
He’s quiet for a moment, and I can feel him looking at me.
“Maybe that’s what makes it convincing,” he says finally.
We eat in comfortable silence, and I realize this is the first time all day that I haven’t felt like we’re performing for each other. We’re just two people eating pizza and watching a bad movie, and it feels normal.
Easy.
Like we could do this every night if we wanted to.
Which is exactly the problem.
“I should probably get some sleep,” I say when the movie ends.
“Yeah. Good idea.”
“Thanks for today. The shopping, the practice, booking the flight.”
“Thanks for being a good sport about it.”
“I’m being paid to be a good sport.”
“Right,” he says, and something flickers across his face.
I head to my room and take a long shower, trying to wash away the feeling of his arm around me and the way he looked at me when he thought I wasn’t paying attention.
This is just a job. For money. He’s paying me. I need to remember that.
I wake up to the sound of sizzling bacon and the smell of coffee, and for a moment I forget where I am again.
Today is the wedding.
I walk out in my pajamas, my cotton shorts and an oversized t-shirt that definitely isn’t meant for public consumption. I find West at the stove, fully dressed and looking like he’s been awake for hours.
“Morning,” I say, heading for the coffee pot.
“Morning,” he says without turning around, but I can see his shoulders tense.
I pour myself coffee and lean against the counter, watching him flip bacon.
“You okay?” I ask.
“Yeah. Fine. Just... focused on today.”
“The wedding.”
“Yeah.”
He plates the bacon and eggs, and we eat in silence. Not the comfortable silence from last night, but the kind of silence that’s full of things neither of us wants to say.
“I should get ready,” I say finally.
“Yeah. Me too.”
I retreat to my room and immediately call Tessa while I dig through my makeup bag.
“How are you feeling?” she asks by way of greeting.
“Nervous. Terrified. The usual.”
“You’ll be fine. Just remember to laugh at his jokes and look at him like you think he’s cute.”
“That’s not going to be hard.”
“What?”
“Nothing. Tell me about the kids. Are they being monsters?”
“Charlie tried to eat a crayon for breakfast, and Emma discovered she can throw food from her highchair. So, you know, normal Saturday morning chaos.”
“Sounds delightful.”
“It is, actually. It’s hard, but I love it. I love them.”
I start applying foundation, trying to create a face that looks like someone West Carmack would actually date.
“I’m proud of you, you know,” Tessa says.
“For what?”
“For doing this. For helping him out. I know it’s weird.”
“It’s not that weird.”
“It’s a little weird. But it’s also kind of sweet. Like, you’re doing this nice thing for him.”
“I’m doing this nice thing for money.”
“Yeah, I forgot about that part.”
I switch to mascara, trying to make my eyes look bigger and more girlfriend-like.
“Remember when we were teenagers and you used to get so upset if you thought West and I were flirting?” I ask.
“Oh my god, yes. I was so territorial about you two. I was worried he was going to steal you away from me or that one of you would hurt the other one and I’d be caught in the middle. But we’re all adults now. Water under the bridge.”
“Right. Water under the bridge.”
“Plus, you’re both emotionally unavailable disasters, so even if something did happen, it would probably just burn out naturally.”
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.
“As ready as I’ll ever be.”
“The guys are meeting at Reed’s place before the wedding. Nothing fancy, just hanging out, having a few beers.”
“Sounds fun.”
“They’re going to love you.”
“I hope so.”
“They will. Trust me.”
We drive to Reed’s house in comfortable silence, and I try to prepare myself for what’s about to happen. In about five minutes, I’m going to walk into a room full of professional hockey players and pretend to be West’s girlfriend.
No pressure.
Reed’s house is in one of those neighborhoods where every lawn is perfect, and every house looks like it belongs in a magazine. West parks in the driveway behind several other expensive cars, and I take a deep breath.
“You okay?” he asks.
“Yeah. Just... nervous.”
“Don’t be. They’re good guys. A little loud, but good guys.”
“What if they don’t believe we’re dating?”
“They’ll believe it.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I can barely believe we’re not dating.”
He says it so quietly I almost don’t hear it, and before I can respond, he’s getting out of the car.
We walk up to the front door together, and he takes my hand without thinking about it. His palm is slightly sweaty, which is comforting my nerves.
“Here we go,” he says, and knocks on the door.
The door swings open to reveal a tall guy with dark hair and a huge grin.
“There they are!” he says, pulling West into a hug. “And this must be the girlfriend.”
“Reed, this is Liv. Liv, Reed.”
“Nice to meet you,” I say, extending my hand.
“Fuck that,” Reed says, pulling me into a hug. “We’re huggers here. Come on in, you two. Everyone’s in the living room.”
We walk into a house that’s clearly been decorated by someone with strong opinions about color coordination and throw pillows. The living room is full of large men holding beer bottles and talking loudly about something that’s probably sports-related.
“Guys!” Reed announces. “West’s here, and he brought the mysterious girlfriend.”
The room goes quiet, and suddenly I’m the center of attention for six of the largest humans I’ve ever seen in person.