Chapter 23 Jordan
jordan
“The car service will be outside the hotel at seven, and I won’t tip off the press until you’re already at the restaurant, so you can hopefully at least enjoy dinner without being harassed. Oh! And the reservation is under your name, not one of your aliases,” Hannah says over the phone.
“Dammit, Hannah. I was really hoping to show up as Glen Coco tonight.”
She chuckles. “I’ll keep that in mind for the next date.”
I catch myself in the mirror grinning like a fucking idiot at the thought of another date. But it fades as quickly as it came, my stomach clenching at the thought of me royally screwing this up. “Hannah Banana…do you think she’ll even go on another date with me?”
“I think she will,” she answers, her voice warm and confident.
Something loosens in my chest at the way Hannah and all my family believe in me.
It makes me think maybe…Maybe I can actually do this.
“When I flew to meet her in Columbus, she wasn’t nearly as overwhelmed as you thought.
She just needs to see the other side of you. The real you. Show her that.”
“The real me is so amazing, right?” I joke, trying to calm myself down.
“I wouldn’t go that far,” she quips. “But in all seriousness, just be yourself. You’re amazing, JJ. Let her see that. Just don’t let my compliment go to your head.”
“Too late,” I tease, the fluttering feeling in my gut overwhelming. “Thanks for setting all this up and for flying to see her the other day. Let’s just hope this works. For the media.”
“Right. Just for the media. Nothing else other than a date,” she snarks with a wink.
“Fake date.”
“It’s not fake to you.” Well, if that isn’t the fucking truth. “Hang in there, JJ. You’ll do great. Text if you need me.”
I set my phone down and pick up the tiny note I’ve held onto all night long.
J –
Thanks for the gin. The fresh limes were a nice touch.
– K
I’ve read the note a thousand times. Memorized it.
Eleven words, two letters, and two dashes—the dashes seem important for some reason.
She could have used a comma, but I feel like this was an intentional choice.
Seems more…personal. I’ve traced every inch, feeling the ridges where the pen indented the paper and marveling at the way she wrote a cursive letter ‘J’ like my grandma used to in all my birthday cards.
I set it down, afraid it will disintegrate if I touch it anymore.
But as simple as it is—just like her—I want to hold onto it forever.
I sit on the edge of my bed, my hands shaking and sweating like I just finished a game that went into double OT. Get it together, Jordan. It’s just a date. A fake one.
I take a deep breath in through my nose, then slowly exhale out my mouth, just like they taught in the yoga class I take to improve my flexibility. It also helps keep me calm off the ice, especially in situations like tonight. Plus, I’m a sucker for anything that includes built-in nap time.
I wipe my palms on my pants one last time before putting on a spray of my cologne.
One spray. Some of my teammates, specifically EJ, drench themselves in this shit, and we all have to suffer when we get on the bus.
You can fucking taste it. My mouth, on the other hand, is so fucking dry I can barely swallow.
Goddammit, Jordan, calm down! You are one of the most popular players in the NHL. You can do this.
If only I had a pre-game routine for a date.
Should I do my pre-game routine? Dammit, I don’t have time.
If only I’d been on a date with anyone outside of the one person who ruined my life.
The one selfish motherfucker who got me into this life of secrets.
The one person I would pay to poke skewers through her eyes.
I ball one hand into a fist, pounding it into the other at the slightest thought of that time in my life.
Fuck. I take another deep breath, slowly letting the air back out to calm my heart rate.
Don’t go there tonight, Jordan.
I can only look ahead and focus on the task at hand.
The simple task I’m scared to death of. It’s just a door in front of you, one you’ve literally knocked on before.
This time is no different. Except for the fact that the woman you’ve been pining over for months is on the other side.
The piece of wood seems so thin, but it represents the giant roadblock between us.
But the door she once slammed shut in my face has cracked open the tiniest bit.
She talks to me now. And every tap of my knuckles carries the weight of what I stand to lose.
Last time, we weren’t officially fake dating.
Last time, she wasn’t obligated to hold my hand.
Last time, I wasn’t about to take her on a date.
I open my side of the adjoining doors and knock. Oh shit. Should I have walked out into the hallway to knock on the real door? Do I leave and go there? What if I do, and then she opens this door? Oh, God. I’m spiraling already. Deep breaths, Jordan.
The door opens, and I feel like a gust of wind blows through, nearly knocking me off my feet. My lungs gasp for air. I thought nothing could eclipse how stunning Kennedy looked the first time I saw her on the plane.
I. Was. Mistaken.
Tonight, she’s flawless—and she’s dressed like this to be with me.
Her long blonde hair cascades in soft waves past her shoulders, and her green dress hugs the curves of her hips so fucking perfectly my knees feel weak.
And if that wasn’t hot enough, she’s wearing a leather bomber jacket over her dress in a perfect mix of femininity and badassery, and I want to obey her every command.
I swallow down the lump in my throat, my body instinctively swaying toward hers.
She gazes at me, the flecks in her emerald green eyes mimicking the color of her dress. Her lips are pursed together as her brows slightly raise. Oh shit. I’m staring. I haven’t even said a word to her yet. Geezus, Boucher, pull it together!
“Hi.”
“Hi.”
I run my fingers through my hair. “Are you ready to go? I have a car waiting for us downstairs.”
Her nose scrunches. “It’s not some fancy car or a limo, is it? I don’t need to be treated like some celebrity. I don’t need to be wined and dined.”
Shit. Hannah didn’t get into specifics about this.
“It’s a car service.” I rub the back of my neck.
“I’m not sure the specific make and model, but it’s not a limo.
At least…I don’t think it is. But it would really throw off the image we’re trying to portray if we show up in a beat-up Toyota Camry.
” She huffs out a laugh, the grip on her purse strap loosening.
“You really don’t like all the fancy stuff, huh? ”
“Not really. I fly so many rich assholes, they’ve turned me off the high life, no offense.”
I smile as I shrug. “None taken.”
“They show up to the airport in ridiculous sports cars with their designer luggage, and they treat my crew and me like we are the lowest of humanity despite literally being in charge of their lives.”
My teeth clench at the thought of anyone treating my girlfriend, fake or not, that way. “That would irritate the shit out of me, too. You know, maybe you’ve just been around the wrong rich assholes. We’re not all bad.”
She scoffs, “Yeah, right. And black licorice is delicious.”
I laugh at the thought of how gross that stuff is. “While I do feel the hit from that dig, I do agree that anyone who likes black licorice is a psychopath.”
“Right? That stuff is nasty!” We both let out quiet laughs, sparking something deeper inside me.
She’s never talked to me like this before—like we’re not just pretending.
Like I actually belong in her world. And in this moment, I can’t stop wondering if the road we’re on could stretch to something more.
Like we could actually go from fake dating, to friends, to forever.