17. Ariella
SEVENTEEN
ARIELLA
*FERALLY CHEWS ON BOOK*
He just had to pick me up bearing gifts in the form of iced coffee and gray sweatpants, making it nearly impossible for me to concentrate on what I needed to talk to him about.
Gracie and I had stayed up all night going over my…situation. True to her nature, she’d broken out one of her fifty thousand notebooks and a pile of colorful pens so we could make a pro-con list and a code of conduct. She’d only agreed to help with the second part after I gave another play-by-play of every interaction between Dalton and me—again.
“What does he smell like?” she asked excitedly. Her legs crossed, chin in her hands.
“Like…” I paused, trying to figure out how to put his scent into words. “Well, I don’t fucking know how to describe it. What do I look like, an aromachologist? He just doesn’t smell like sweat, and I kinda wanna rub my nose on his chest. ”
We’d reviewed the list this morning before Dalton picked me up.
Some of Gracie’s pros felt more like cons to me.
*Will pay for shit
*You can be his date to events
*He has a car, so you don’t have to RideOrder
Now that I was enveloped in soft leather and air conditioning instead of humidity, I had to admit that the last point was, in fact, a pro. Even if I felt the coupe didn’t fit Dalton at all—either physically or personality-wise.
Or maybe it does. We barely know each other.
“Earth to Ari, you still with me?” Dalton asked, breaking the spell I seemed to be under.
I blinked up at his handsome face. The dim lighting of the parking garage cast a glow that made his jawline appear even sharper. His hair was perfectly imperfect, and I had to fight against the urge to reach over and touch it to see if it was as soft as it looked.
“Yeah, sorry.” I pulled the colorful paper out from my bag, reading off the first bullet point. “First rule: when we break up, I’m breaking up with you,” I said. Somehow, I needed to keep my dignity in this situation. Fake or not, hearing Dalton say, “It’s not you, it’s me,” might kill me.
His eyes lit up, mossy green and intense in the dim light of the parking garage. He looked at me like I was his favorite snack, and warmth crept up my chest and neck.
“Of course. No one would believe I’d let you go,” he answered, tone teasing, but the something in his words felt more like a confession. My stomach flipped, and a shiver of heat rushed between my legs. Maybe I’d survive this whole fake-dating thing if he’d put a bag over his head so his face wasn’t so damned distracting.
“Okay, next rule,” I rushed out, using the flimsy paper as a barrier, but he beat me to it.
“You’re wearing my jersey when you come to the games.”
“Absolutely not,” I scoffed.
“Why not?” He sounded genuinely distraught.
I rolled my eyes, ignoring his pout. “Because, hot shot, I am on the coaching staff, not your personal cheerleader.”
Instead of looking put out, he smiled. “Fine, we’ll find another way.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I asked, suspicion growing. He took the shutdown way too easily.
“Don’t worry about it.” He winked, which did nothing to ease my concern. “Okay, my turn for a rule.”
“You just made a rule.”
“Yeah, and you shut it down. So I get a do-over.” He turned in his seat to face me. “You let me buy you things without complaining.”
I crossed my arms over my chest. “No way. That rule sucks more than your first rule.”
He sighed. “I don’t understand. Why not take my money? It’s not like you’ll owe me.” His words raked over my skin like hot coals, despite seeming to be asking in earnest.
“Because, Dalton, some women are indebted to a man.” I turned my head, the eye contact too much for this topic. “Some women give up everything in their lives because of a promise they’ll be taken care of, only to have that security held over their heads later.” My voice grew more clipped, each word tighter than the last. “I am not a charity case, Dalton. I can pay for my own things,” I bit out, thinking of some of the women I knew stuck in awful marriages. Even if they were willing to break through the cultural stigmas of leaving their husbands…financially, they couldn’t.
And I’d vowed a long time ago that would never be my reality.
I’d never be a part of a loveless marriage where I was just a commodity.
“Hey, hey. Look at me,” he said, guiding my face toward him with a finger under my chin. The touch was gentle and tender, and the look on his face matched.
I was suddenly hyper-aware of how close we were. How alone we were.
“I never once thought you were a charity case, and I’d never hold money over your head. If you want to pay, pay. Hell, you can buy me dinner,” he joked, pulling a laugh from me that loosened the knot in my chest. “But until the thing ends, you’re mine, Ariella, and I’m going to make sure you’re treated like a princess.”
Something thumped low in my stomach at the territorial growl he let loose with that one terrifying word— mine. My brain screamed a warning to guard myself, to keep my walls up, but all I could feel was the pull between us.
How the hell was I supposed to respond to that?
My libido was like a devil on my shoulder, suggesting I climb over the center console and show him how badly I wanted to be his. But that felt like a really bad idea, so I went with something safe. Something that was supposed to throw up another layer of self-preservation. Because at this rate, he’d have me stripped bare before the week was over.
Both emotionally and physically.
“I’m not a princess.” The argument was pathetic even to my ears, but he didn’t bother pointing out my deflection.
He smirked. “Muscle mommy, then.”
I burst out laughing, the final ties of the knot loosening. “Fine, I’ll let you buy me shit if you promise never to call me either of those again.”
“Deal.” His hand slipped away from my face, leaving a trace of warmth I was already missing. As he shifted back, I caught him muttering under his breath, “I have a different nickname for you anyway.”
But he kept talking before I got a chance to question him on it.
Dalton’s voice turned serious. “Okay, now the most important rule. I need permission to touch you in public the way I would if you were really my girlfriend.”
His intense gaze burned into me, making me want to look away. It was the same look of determination I’d seen on him in the gym—this was important to him. All the moisture in my mouth dried up and went south.
Great. Now, I was turned on and nervous.
“What do you mean?” I asked, my voice sounding breathier than intended.
The car seemed to shrink as he leaned in, resting his elbow on the center console. Our faces were only inches apart, and the heady scent of his cologne messed with my ability to think clearly. I wanted to shove him back in this seat because there was no way I could make good decisions with him so close.
“Ari, I was with Emma for years.”
The mention of his ex left a sour taste on my tongue, which made no sense. Of course a star hockey player had a past with someone who wasn’t me. And, realistically, this was just an arrangement. I didn’t have any real claim to him.
But my head—or maybe my sex drive—didn’t get the memo.
He continued, oblivious to my internal turmoil. “And I’m the captain of my team. I told you, pretty much all those guys were around when we were dating.”
“And we’re bringing that up because…” I asked, my voice sharper than intended.
The distance between us shrank even more. “Because,” his eyes dipped to my mouth, “they are going to know this is fake right away if I don’t have permission to touch you in public.”
?Híjole!
I cleared my throat, attempting to clear the lusty fog. “Okay, I’ll agree to light PDA in public, but not during training. I don’t want it looking like I got this job because we’re together.”
He nodded his head so hard I thought he’d give himself a concussion. “Light touching when we’re not working, got it. What else?”
This giant of a man was adorably sweet, looking at me with eager eyes. I was so over my head with this one. An unexpected insecurity reared its ugly head. I pulled my bottom lip between my teeth, readying myself to rip off the Band-Aid.
“No seeing anyone else while we’re together.”
I might’ve overstepped with that request, but just hearing about his ex made the little green monster come alive. There was no way I could handle him being with someone else in private while we were pretending to be together in public. It didn’t even make sense why this was important to me…but every time I pictured him with someone else, I wanted to hit his car door with a hockey stick.
His hand slipped down to my thigh, and I swallowed hard as he squeezed it gently. “I would never. I told you, you’re mine until the season is over.”
“Even if we aren’t having sex?” I blurted out, horrified that I’d voiced that insecurity too.
His dimples made an appearance, voice thick with amusement. “I’ve got a hand, Ari.”
My body forgot how to function. Thankfully, Dalton saved me the trouble of remembering how to speak and continued, oblivious that he’d broken my brain.
Or maybe he did it because he knew he’d broken it.
“So light touching, monogamy, anything else you wanna add?”
I cleared my throat, still trying to recover from his earlier comment. “When we are in the gym, I’m in charge,” I said, holding out my hand.
He slipped his much larger hand around mine, swallowing it.
“Yes, Coach.”