Chapter 19
Chapter Nineteen
Alycia
My apartment smells like lemon cleaner and nerves.
I scrubbed the baseboards even though no one but me ever notices them.
There’s a rag drying over the sink and three candles lined up, like maybe if I light them in the right order, I’ll turn into someone who isn’t currently spiraling.
Lavender first. Then citrus. Then the one called linen and rain, which smells like luxury detergent and delusion.
None of it covers the memory of how close he stood to me on the ice today.
I’m not someone who loses control. I plan, execute, and contain.
That’s what I did the second Cooper signed off on the fake dating plan: I built an airtight strategy to withstand fire, and then I came home and cleaned like the plan might work better on a spotless counter.
But I can’t scrub out the way he said my name.
The look that slipped out of him before he swallowed it down.
The apology that lodged beneath my ribs because it meant he knew exactly what we’re pretending not to feel.
Every swipe of the rag felt like I was trying to erase the part of me that almost believed him when he said he wouldn’t let me get hurt.
I tell myself I’m fine. This is just a strategy to keep the team out of the spotlight. I’m good at pretending, but the quiet he left me with earlier today followed me home and settled in the corners like a fog that won’t lift.
My phone buzzes across the counter again.
The group chat banner flashes: The Chaos Coven.
If I ignore them any longer, they’ll call the police for a wellness check—or worse, call my mother.
I stare at the rounded corners of the screen and try to decide whether I have the strength to lie to my best friends tonight.
The minute it buzzes again, I cave and grab it off the counter.
Maria
Answer your damn phone before I tell Tiff to call your mother.
Tiff
I will absolutely call your mother.
Maria
Don’t test us, Torres. You know how much we love dramatic interventions.
I swipe open the thread before they do something neither of us can recover from.
I’m alive. Calm down.
Tiff
Okay, alive is good. Now explain why my timeline told me you were in a relationship today.
Maria
With a Hendrix. A HENDRIX, Alycia. I choked on a damn grape.
Me
Oh, you’re just seeing it today? I guess the news wasn’t everywhere like we thought.
Tiff
Wait what? It’s been longer?
It’s been a couple of months, at least.
Marie
WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK! Why are we just hearing about this now?
I figured you knew, hence the reason I’ve been dodging you’re calls for weeks.
Marie
Bitch, what?
Tiff
We were told the dinner situation was FAKE.
Maria
We were told there was a safe fake boyfriend and a real problem child at work. Then we see a clip of you with the human embodiment of poor decisions and enough chemistry to power the entire city for years, and the following article made is sound pretty fucking real to me.
I hold the phone a little tighter. The lemon candle flickers like it’s judging me.
Remember the fake boyfriend?
Tiff
Yes, the one you paid to have dinner with your mom so she’d stop setting you up with dentists named Brad.
Maria
The one who probably wore a sweater vest and asked you to give him gas money.
He did none of those things. But… he turned out to be Kyle Hendrix.
The typing bubbles appear. Disappear. Then come back fast.
Maria
NO, HE IS NOT!
Tiff
Like THE Kyle Hendrix you’ve been dating for months and didn’t tell your best friends about? Sorry, I’m bitter.
Maria
Oh, me too. But we can talk about that later. I just want to clarify that you’re talking about the coach’s baby brother. The youngest in probably one of the most well-known hockey dynasties in the universe and looks like nothing but trouble in a helmet. THAT Kyle Hendrix?
Yup.
The phone rings before I can decide if I want to hear their voices.
“Explain,” Maria says without saying hello. She sounds gleeful and furious at the same time.
“It wasn’t supposed to be him,” I say, pacing my kitchen like cardio helps the panic.
“What wasn’t supposed to be who?”
“My fake date for dinner. It was just supposed to be dinner. A story my mother would accept.”
“And?” Tiff asks, dragging out the phrase like she is trying to drag the whole story out of me.
“And then he kissed me.”
Maria makes a choked, delighted noise. “Right. The unhinged goodnight kiss.”
“It wasn’t planned,” I say quickly, words tripping over each other. “We were outside my apartment, saying goodnight, and it was supposed to end there. Just a polite, fake-date goodbye. But then he looked at me, and he leaned in and smelled so good… and we kissed.”
Maria sounds half scandalized, half delighted. “I forgot how unhinged that was. And you kissed him back.”
“I know. I know. I shouldn’t have. It was supposed to be pretend, but I wanted to kiss him.
And I never do anything just because I want to do it.
That’s the problem, isn’t it? I’ve spent my whole life being careful—thinking before I speak, planning before I move—and then one look at him and suddenly I’m a woman who makes reckless decisions on her doorstep like I’m in a movie with bad lighting and worse judgment.
It wasn’t strategic or professional or smart, but it was just real. For a second, it was real.”
“You done spiraling, or should we grab snacks?” Tiff hums teasingly.
“I panicked.”
“And then?” Maria presses, her tone dangerously giddy now that the memory has fully reignited for her.
“And then I went to work the next day, and he was there. In my office, like the universe personally hates me.”
“No.” Tiff makes a soft, disbelieving noise.
“Oh, yes. My impulsive doorstep kiss was with the coach’s baby brother… and the newest PR disaster I’m assigned to.”
Maria squeals. “I can’t believe you kissed a Hendrix!”
“I didn’t know he was a Hendrix at the time! Or a hockey player! Or my future problem!” My voice jumps an octave. “He was just this charming, infuriating guy who smiled like he knew I’d say yes to dessert. And then suddenly, he’s on the team’s payroll and in every headline I’m supposed to manage.”
Tiff groans softly. “That’s... impressively unfortunate.”
“I told him it could never happen again. I made it clear. I was professional and firm, but then…” I trail off, stomach twisting. “Then the press conference happened.”
“What about the press conference?” Tiff is surprisingly calm for the bomb I just dropped on them like a controlled blast.
“He defended me. A reporter said something inappropriate, and he shut it down. On camera.”
They both inhale like I set off fireworks.
“Look, it doesn’t matter. PR moved fast. Cooper said fake dating is the plan, and I agreed. It was that or… it was that.”
“You didn’t just say ‘PR moved fast’ like you weren’t the one who wrote the plan,” Maria says. “It wasn’t just a plan. You wrote your own emotional funeral.”
“It’s containment. A controlled story beats a runaway one.”
“You don’t sound contained,” Tiff snaps.
“Don’t make this a heart conversation,” I say too quickly. “Please.”
Maria exhales sharply. “Too late. You’re talking about him like you’re reading a press release, not like you kissed him.”
“I am keeping this professional.”
“Professional?” Tiff questions. “You sound like you’re trying to talk yourself out of wanting him.”
“There are no feelings. There’s a story that needs controlling and a team that needs protecting. That’s it.”
“You don’t have to sell us on the press release, babe. We already believe the spin.” Maria’s voice softens a notch.
“It’s just—sometimes you sound like you’re trying to convince yourself, not us,” Tiff says quietly.
I press my thumb against the corner of the counter, staring at the lines on it until they stop wavering.
“Saturday is the first date. We are meeting at a coffee shop near the arena. We roll out the soft part of the story there. I have a schedule and approved photo moments and a line about ‘shared values’ that tested well in other markets. It will be fine.”
“Tested well where? Narnia?”
“You wrote a line about shared values,” Tiff repeats, like she isn’t sure whether to laugh or cry. “Do you hear yourself?”
“I hear myself perfectly. It is a campaign. I know how to run a campaign.”
The silence that follows is heavy enough to make me babble.
“It’s just PR. It’s not like—” I stop, words tangling, then tumbling out anyway. “It’s not like he gives me clitterflies or anything.”
“I’m sorry, did you just say clitterflies?” Maria chokes.
Tiff’s delighted laughter breaks through first. “Oh, she did. I heard it. Clear as day.”
“I did not,” I protest, heat crawling up my neck. “That’s not—I didn’t mean to say that out loud.”
“Oh, you meant it,” Maria says with vicious delight. “You meant it with your whole chest.”
“Never say that word again,” I mutter, pressing my palms to my face.
“Say it again,” Tiff says, practically wheezing.
“Clitterflies!” Maria crows. “God, I love when your repression breaks.”
I groan into my hands, my laugh strangled somewhere between mortification and surrender. “I hate both of you.”
“You love us,” Maria says, still giggling. “And we love you, which is why we’re going to stop joking for a second and ask if you are okay.”
A pause opens like a trapdoor. The truth stands just under it, ready to grab my ankle if I step wrong. I force a laugh that sounds too bright, too thin.
“Of course, I’m okay. I’m fine. Everything’s fine.”
“Liar,” Tiff says softly. “You only use your PR voice when you’re lying to yourself.”
“I’m not lying. I’m… managing.”
“You don’t have to manage with us, babe,” Maria whispers.
I drag a hand through my hair as the candlelight flickers against the wall like it’s mocking me. “If I let go of managing, everything falls apart. You don’t understand. This isn’t just some workplace crush; it’s my job. My name. My credibility. I can’t afford to slip, not even once.”