Chapter 8
YOU SPREADSHEET NERD
LAKE
After I finish practice and Remy finishes her work in the office at the arena, we meet in the players’ lot.
Miller drove himself today, so I don’t need to worry about him.
But as I walk Remy to the passenger-side door, our D-man Ivan shoots me a curious look from a row away as he hops into his truck.
Tomorrow, he’ll be asking questions about why I’m holding open the door for the community relations manager as she slides into the car, no doubt.
But today I don’t care.
When I drove her home the other week, it felt like a goddamn gift to be the one to help her out. To see those long legs stretched out in my passenger seat, her hair touching the faux leather of my car, her flowery scent lingering when she was gone.
I walk around the car and turn on the engine.
It’s a little surreal she’s here again, just weeks later.
Didn’t see this fake dating twist coming.
But I don’t want to let on how stupidly excited I am simply to spend time with her one day after work.
“How are you going to surprise me with this date, Remy?” I ask, keeping my tone even as I tug on my seatbelt.
“Lake, don’t you know I can’t tell you till we get there,” she says, sounding pleased with herself as she meets my gaze with a smile.
Good. I want her to feel good.
I start to back out of the spot when she holds up a hand. “Wait.”
I stop. “Did you forget something?”
“No. What’s that?” She’s pointing to the back seat, where there’s a black mesh box strapped to the car.
“Oh, that’s just Thor’s car seat,” I say, offhand.
“Your cat?”
“I see his reputation precedes him.”
“I’ve seen the players and their posts with their pets. He’s the majestic Siamese?”
“Majestic and knows it. He travels a lot from my family’s place in Cozy Valley to my apartment in the city. Dude likes to look around. His harness clips into the car seat.”
“I need a photo of that,” she says, and I make a mental note of the request. “I want a cute little car seat for my future dog.”
“Let me guess—little purse dog for you?”
“I like little purse dogs,” she says, lifting her chin.
“And I bet they like you,” I say, then pull out and head to the gate. “Tell me where to go,” I say as I cruise past Carmine, giving him a nod.
“Toward the Bay Bridge,” she tells me. I tense briefly.
That’s farther away from my place and hers.
I don’t want to be away from my dad too long.
He’s fine alone, of course. But he asked me to pick up some books at the library, and they close at seven.
Gavin and Mira have a date night, so I can’t ask them. Besides, I want to do my share.
I scratch my jaw at the light then ask the uncomfortable question. “How far are we going? I should…” I pause, reluctant, for a second, to share any detail about my family. But I push past it. “Spend time with my dad tonight.”
She lifts a finger like she’s got this. “One second.” She whips out her phone from a purse, fingers flying across the screen. “Easy enough. There’s one on the way to Cozy Valley.”
“One what?”
She waggles her finger. “You want to be surprised, don’t you?”
“I do.”
“Then, go toward the Golden Gate Bridge and don’t ask questions.”
I seriously appreciate her quick thinking. “Thanks, Remy.”
“No, thank you for doing this with me,” she says, sounding grateful, almost too grateful.
I can’t stand the thought that she thinks I’m doing her a favor by pretending to be her guy.
That’s so not how this situation is. It’s an honor to show her how she should be treated by a man—and more than just not being friend-zoned on the Jumbotron.
But I don’t have a clue how to rappel into that conversation.
Admitting I need to see my dad is vulnerable enough, so I keep my mouth shut as I maneuver through afternoon traffic.
Fortunately, I don’t have to say anything since Remy moves full speed ahead. “I’ve been keeping track of how to make this pretend romance work. I created a spreadsheet,” she says.
My brain short-circuits. “You have a spreadsheet? For fake dating?”
“Usually I write lists and sub-lists in a notebook, but a spreadsheet’s a little better for tracking an event, as well as the timeline,” she says, and holy shit, she’s serious. “It’s what I use for event planning so I’m trying to treat this the same.”
I’m not even sure what to say, so I grunt something that vaguely sounds like okay as I turn onto Lombard Street.
“I wanted to list each task and account for any potential issues or hurdles we might encounter so we can address them before they become problems. First, we’re going to have to say something at work.
At least I am,” she says, apologetic. “About…” She clears her throat, then gestures from me to her. “Us.”
I tighten my hands on the wheel. “Why?”
“Considering the way Ivan was looking at us when I got into your car, I think people on the team and in management might start wondering.”
Okay, so she saw that.
“And that means we need to, what—make a statement?” I ask. It comes out irritated, maybe because the idea is fuck-all irritating.
“No, but I kind of need to tell my boss about it, at least, since there are going to be videos on my sister’s show,” she explains. Out of the corner of my eye, I catch her scraping her teeth across her bottom lip like she’s worried.
Shit. I’m worrying her. Because I’m being a dick. “Sorry, I’m just kind of private about that stuff.” But what even is stuff? “Dating, life, and all,” I say, trying to explain, even though it doesn’t really make things better.
“Oh. Right. Okay,” she says, then goes quiet and thoughtful again.
A question hangs thickly between us, unasked. Why did I agree to fake date if I’m going to be a grumpy ass about screaming it from the rafters?
Because you don’t fake date in private. You fake date in public. That’s the fucking point.
My chest tightens as I remember the way the media wrote about me after Heather died, the stories they told about us as a couple, the assumptions they made about how I felt.
But Remy’s not asking me to talk to the press, or the fans, or anyone, really. Fact is, Remy only asked me to escort her to a few wedding events. I’m the one who wanted to stick it to her ex by making a whole deal of this. Calling her my date. Saying I’m her guy.
I really didn’t think this through, I realize, as I approach the Golden Gate Bridge.
“Are you sure you’re okay with this whole thing?” she asks, breaking the silence. “It’s not like we’ve announced we’re dating or anything. We can just…go back to being co-workers again. I can go to all the wedding events by myself. I’m a big girl.”
Or she could find some random dude to be her arm candy.
The thought grinds my gears. I yank the car over into the visitor center and park at a scenic overlook by the water, the majestic orange arches rising in front of us.
I can’t believe it’s our first non-date, and I’m already fucking up. Then again, maybe I can.
I blow out a breath, look her in the eyes, and speak from the heart. “Look, I’m pretty private, so all the planning and stuff threw me. But of course you can tell your boss.”
“And what if Ivan asks you something? Or another guy on the team?”
“I’ll say it’s none of their fucking business who I date,” I say.
She hitches in a breath like that answer worked for her. “Good.”
She was probably worried her fake boyfriend was backing out before this even started.
No fucking way am I going to be that guy.
“I’m in, Remy,” I tell her, making sure she knows I mean it from the bottom of my scarred heart.
I meet her eyes, lingering for a few seconds, wishing I could touch her shoulder, her arm, her wrist to reassure her. But I resist. “That’s a promise.”
Her shoulders relax. Her gaze softens. “And don’t worry about Daniel. He’s pretty cool about all things, and he kind of likes me a lot,” she says with a go figure shrug.
“What a shock,” I deadpan.
“Hey, what does that mean?” she asks, teasingly.
“Remy, everyone on the Foxes likes you. You’re just…
likeable. And I’ll go along with whatever you need to say.
I don’t want it to be weird for you at work.
Or when it ends.” Not that I want to think about that right now.
“I’ll make sure everything is accounted for in your spreadsheet,” I tease, pulling back on the road. “You spreadsheet nerd.”
“There’s a lot more to cover from that spreadsheet.”
“Can’t wait to find out.”
“In due time, Lake,” she says, smiling, and everything is right in the world again.
I head onto the bridge, across the gleaming water, then through the rolling green hills of Sausalito. “Thanks,” I say.
She gives me a curious look. “For what?”
“Just for this,” I say.
This being putting up with me.
I focus on driving to the surprise date this woman planned for a broody, closed-off grump.
And I know why I insisted we fake date. I just want to spend time with her, and this feels like the only way I can. I’ll take what I can get, and I better not mess it up.
A few minutes later, she points to an exit, and I follow her lead. At the end of the off-ramp, she directs me until she has me pulling into the parking lot of a…Costco.
Weird. “Do you need to run some errands?”
She shakes her head. “Nope.”
“Do you need a jumbo size of something?”
She turns to me, a devilish grin on her gorgeous face. “I heard you like free food, so I thought what better place than the home of all the samples you could possibly want?”
I’m speechless for a minute. Speechless because that’s kind of an amazing thing to do—to figure me out.
* * *
I’m carrying a reusable grocery bag that I keep in the car and staring at something irresistible up ahead. “You’re telling me I can get a sample of cereal, the world’s greatest food, here?”