Chapter 4
CHAPTER FOUR
Remington
The bell jingles above me as I open the door, and I’m instantly hit with the smell of food that causes my stomach to grumble.
Damn, I didn’t realize I was so hungry. I’ve come straight from the practice facility to the diner where I’m meeting Bailey, and I’m not going to deny there’s almost been a spring in my step all morning.
So springy, I ended up skipping my post-practice snack because I was so eager to get here.
I’m not one to kink shame, but for me, marshmallows and feet should never be in the same sentence except when saying what not to do.
But then, just as I was about to give up, Bailey’s name popped up on my phone screen with his funny question about fighting grandmas and trampled all those worries away.
He seems like fun. Maybe a little confused at times, but that’s okay because all he needs to be is a human deflector shield. I can handle the rest.
Bailey.
Such a nice name too.
My gaze bounces around the diner. It’s bustling with the lunchtime rush, and I have no idea what Bailey looks like as the app doesn’t have photos. All I know is he’s between twenty-two and thirty-two years old, because that’s the age range I put in. But other than that? I’m clueless.
I’m walking into the unknown with nothing but my fanny pack filled with marshmallows and a whole heap of hope that I might have found myself a plus-one.
As I step further into the diner, a knot of disappointment begins to form in my stomach at the sight of full tables.
Maybe he changed his mind and didn’t show up?
Or maybe I have the wrong diner. I mean, shit, it wouldn’t be the first time I’ve turned up to the wrong place.
Whenever there’s a team outing, I have Smitty to make sure I arrive at the right place at the right time.
But I waved his offer of accompanying me off, telling him I had it all handled.
At the thought I may have gotten it all wrong, I quickly pull out my phone and check the message thread. Nope. I definitely have the right place, date, and time.
So, where the hell is he…
Should I call out his name? Like a mating siren. Maybe flap my arms a little and hope he doesn’t decide to hide under the table at the sight of me? Aside from going around table to table asking if they are, or know, Bailey, I don’t know what else to do.
I’m about to open my mouth and call out “Bailey!” when my eyes land on a really cute guy sitting alone in a booth.
He’s dressed in all black, and his tattooed hands cradle a mug while he scowls at something out the window.
There’s a jolt of awareness that travels up my spine.
That must be him, right? He’s the only one sitting alone, and he looks around my age.
Here’s to hoping…
“Bailey?” I ask as I step up to the table.
He jumps slightly at the sound of my voice, like he was in a deep stare-off daze and I just interrupted it.
His forehead creases as he looks up at me. “Remington?”
“The one and only!” I grin, nodding eagerly. “Hi! Ohmigod, I was worried you might have stood me up. I walked in and was like, wowee, there’s a lot of people in here!”
Shifting my fanny pack around to my side so it doesn’t get caught on the table, I slide into the booth opposite him, and my breath catches when I get a better look at him.
Damn, he’s really pretty. His hazel eyes match his chestnut-brown hair that falls in soft waves to his chin.
He has a nose ring, and tattoos cover both his arms, disappearing under the sleeves of his black T-shirt, then reappearing at his collar, traveling up his neck and stopping just beneath his jawline.
But it’s his hands that steal my attention.
“Wow! Look at these!” I grab hold of both his hands, pulling them closer to me for a better look.
I’ve always loved tattoos, but I’m too scared to get one myself.
I brush my thumbs over the incredible, intricate artwork on the back of his hands, taking in the symbols and tiny designs over his fingers too. “Wowww! These are so nice!”
When I glance back up at him, he’s watching me with a wary expression. His mouth is tipped up in a lopsided smile, but there’s still a pinch in his brows.
He clears his throat. “Um, thanks?”
“You’re welcome.” I sit back upright, but I don’t let go of his hands. They’re so soft and warm. I wonder if he uses some kind of cream.
He looks from me to our joined hands in the middle of the table, then back to me again. “Is this how we’re going to do it?”
“Do what?”
“Have a conversation. Get to know each other, see if we’ll be able to pull off this fake boyfriend stunt.” He lifts one of our linked hands and gives it a slight shake. “While holding hands.”
“Oh!” I reluctantly let go of him, but before I pull my hands back, I give the back of his hands a gentle pat.
“They’re really nice, and your hands are so soft.
We talk about soft hands in hockey, but it’s not about having actual soft hands, rather than, like, texture.
It’s more about having good puck-handling skills and smooth passes. ”
“Uh… I…” His nose scrunches up in a cute way. “I have no idea what to say to that?”
I chuckle.
See? He’s easily confused. It’s adorable.
“Do you play hockey?” I ask.
“No. Do you?”
“Yeah, I’m a goalie.”
He’s silent for a few moments, and then his eyes widen, pretty pink lips forming an O. “You said your job is for a sports team. Are you telling me you’re a professional athlete?”
“Yeah, I am. Why? What did you think I did?”
The tops of his cheeks flush. He takes a quick gulp of his coffee before lowering his voice. “I thought you might be a full spicy worker.”
I stare at him for a beat, not really sure what he’s talking about. A full spicy worker? Like a chef? Or does he mean like a … oh, wait…
“What? Like sex work?”
“Not that that’s a bad thing!” he quickly adds. “Just the way you were saying about your work auctioning you off, and I hadn’t heard of it being a certain… age-related demographic being the main audience, I thought it might be a niche thing.”
I snort out a laugh. Okay, so maybe I should have provided some context, but I was cautious about giving away my identity in case there were some rabid hockey fans on there who would have leaked information.
If I had mentioned the gala and my job, it could have been easy to figure out who I am and what team I play for.
But before I can respond and explain a bit more about the foundation and the bachelor auction, the waitress comes over with a pot of coffee. She refills Bailey’s mug, then turns to me. “What can I get you?”
“Do you have hot chocolate?”
“Sure do.”
“I’ll have a hot chocolate, please,” I say, and then my stomach grumbles again. I forgot I was hungry. “Oh, and a veggie omelet, with a side salad. Oh! And some fries. Maybe a grilled cheese too?”
Her eyes twinkle. “Anything else?”
“No, I think that’s all, thanks!” I grin, then turn to Bailey as she walks away. He’s watching me, amusement dancing in his pretty eyes.
“Hungry by any chance?”
“Starving. I didn’t eat before I left practice, and usually, I’m on my second lunch by now.”
“I’m lucky if I have one lunch some days.”
I lean across the table and grab his hand again, giving it a squeeze. “Bailey, you gotta have lunch! Lunch is one of the most important meals of the day, along with breakfast, brunch, twosies, and dinner.”
His smile lights up his entire face. “Twosies?”
“Yeah, you know that post-lunch hunger where you need a little snacky to keep you going until dinner.”
He laughs softly.
Damn, did I mention how pretty he was?
“You’re a lot of fun.”
I beam at the compliment. “Thanks! You’re fun too!”
The waitress returns with my hot chocolate, and I thank her before unzipping my fanny pack and retrieving the Ziploc bag of mini marshmallows. I pick out two, then hold the bag open to Bailey.
“Pick a marshmallow.”
He looks at me with a blank expression, and I give the bag a shake, urging him to pick one.
“Come on! I need a third one.”
Brows furrowing in confusion again, he leans forward slightly and picks out a marshmallow and hands it over, but I don’t accept it right away.
“You’ve gotta name it,” I tell him.
“Name it?”
“Yeah. I like to name my marshmallows. Give them little personalities, you know? Like this one.” I pick one up. “This is Tony. He owns a construction company.”
“And that one?” He points to the other one.
“Ariel. She’s a watercolor artist.”
He tugs his bottom lip between his teeth. The corner of his mouth twitches, and then he looks at the marshmallow in his hand.
“Roxy, and she’s a tattoo artist,” he says after a beat.
I grin and push my mug across the table. “Plonk ’er in!”
He drops it into my mug, and his shoulders shake with laughter. I throw Tony and Ariel in the mug, too, and give it a little stir.
I love that he indulged in my fun hobby without calling me weird.
Five stars to Bailey.
“So, what made you download the app?” I ask before taking a sip of my drink.
“My best friend made me download it.” He lets out a sigh. “He’s gone on a cruise today for fourteen days, and he’s worried that I won’t leave the house except for work.”
“Why won’t you leave the house?”
“Because I don’t like the outside.”
“Are you agoraphobic?” Panic rises up inside me. I hope he’s not because I will feel like such a dickbag for asking him to meet me here, in such a busy place too.
“No, not at all. I just… How do I say this without sounding weird… I prefer being at home. It’s my safe space. I like gaming and drawing and just being at home.”
I let out a relieved breath. “I can understand that. I’m on the road so much that it can be difficult sometimes because my environment is always changing.”
“I couldn’t think of anything worse than having to travel constantly.”
“It’s not too bad. I’m so used to it now.” I shrug. “What do you do for work?”
“I’m a tattoo artist.”
“Wow! That explains all the cool ink.”
“Yeah.” He laughs, but it trails off. His adorable frown is back, and I want to reach over the table and smooth out the crease between his brows with my thumb. “Are you sure you want me to come with you? I’m not exactly…” He waves his hand. “You know.”
I frown. “What do you mean?”
“Is it black tie?”
“Yeah.”
He grimaces. “I can’t hide my tattoos.”
“Why would I want you to hide your tattoos?”
“Sometimes people make snap judgments based on my appearance.”
Anger bubbles inside of me at the thought of anyone being negative toward Bailey. I might have only known him for less than an hour, but I can tell he’s a good guy. “I’ll fight them with my hockey stick if they do.”
His soft smile hits me right in the gut.
“But I don’t want you to come if you’ll be uncomfortable. I wouldn’t ask that of you,” I say reassuringly.
“You’ve got a good soul, Remington.”
“You can call me Remi. Remington makes me feel like I’ve been a bad boy.”
He snorts, then nods his head a few times. His tongue darts out to lick over his lips, and then he says my name in a whisper, like he’s testing it out. “Remi.”
“Remi and Bailey!” I smack my hand on the table. “So stinkin’ cute!”
He laughs again. That sweet-as-fuck sound that I want to bottle up and put in my fanny pack so I can listen to it all the time.
“So, how did we meet?” he asks.
“In this diner. It was love at first sight over a grilled cheese.”
“And sharing marshmallows.”
I grin.
Yeah, I think we’re gonna crush this fake boyfriend thing.