22. Lottie
twenty-two
Lottie
I tell my mom exactly what she wants to hear. I’m going to the workshop Bodan is teaching at the museum.
It’s technically not a lie.
I’m going.
I’m just going with Ty—one of the people my mom despises.
On top of that, he accidentally confessed his feelings to me, thinking he was only talking to my brother, and now he acts like it never happened.
The tension is so thick, I know that as soon as we get the right moment to talk, it will all be ripped wide open.
When I arrive, I find him standing near the stone steps, hands in his pockets.
He’s got that lazy, one-sided grin that unravels any defense I may have had, and my heart lurches.
I didn’t know I had a rebellious streak in me, but the fact my mom has forbidden this makes this excursion all the more exciting.
My entire life has always been neatly balanced on the edge of perfect public perception.
Frankly, I’m sick of the pressure.
His lazy smirk grows when he sees me. Rebellion seems to be calling my name, and I plow forward. “Hey, you.”
He’s wearing a dark button-down with the sleeves rolled up to his forearms. When he waves, the fabric pulls just enough across his chest to steal my breath. I wonder if he planned to look this good? The moment our eyes meet, something ignites.
“You came,” I say, which is stupid because obviously he did.
He wouldn’t be standing here otherwise. My gut is doing gymnastics, sinking low with nerves, soaring high with anticipation, pulling taut with hope.
I don’t doubt if this continues, at some point I will just stand and grunt as I clench my stomach, praying to steady it.
Ever since I found out his true feelings for me, my bodily functions haven’t been cooperating.
“I said I would.” His eyes sweep over my face, and his lips part as if he wants to add something, but then he dramatically looks behind me and declares, “I was half-expecting you to show up with Toast or Crunch.”
“Don’t worry. I left them all at the farm,” I say solemnly. “I still feel terrible about your jersey. I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t apologize. It’s not your fault.” He chuckles quietly, like it’s just for me, causing something to loosen in my chest. Without another word, he opens the door, and we head inside, falling into step with each other.
I stop when I spot a low-hanging banner with Bodan’s face.
The title of the presentation reads: 250 Years of the American Story, as presented by Bodan Bowey.
There’s nothing wrong with the photo, but it hauntingly reminds me of the banners my mom makes for herself.
I stare at the sign, and a shiver—definitely not the good kind—spirals up my arm.
“That sign is uneven,” Tyson whispers.
I squint and follow the horizontal line it makes, and he’s right. It is noticeably higher on one side. “Great,” I mumble, with an air of teasing in my voice. “Now I can’t unsee it, and it’s all I can focus on.”
“Welcome to my world.” He chuckles. “I always notice things like that.”
“Sounds rough.”
“It can be.” He grins at me, and we slow near a display case. Wanting to talk about something other than the sign, I lower my voice to change the subject, “So, how was practice?”
“Good.” His smile twists wryly. “We’ve got a practical joker in the locker room.
At first, I thought it was Taz. My jersey was sewn shut the first day, and then at the parade he was hanging out with someone who had a professional sewing kit.
It was just too perfect—I still think he pulled some pranks—but now some things are happening that I don’t think he could manage.
It’s been… interesting. And since the first couple of days, when the jokes were aimed at me, I ended up completely frazzled.
Honestly, I probably didn’t make the best impression on the coach. ”
“That’s not good.”
“Yeah, you know how first impressions linger, but I’m determined to win him over, and the team too.
Scoring in the game helped.” His shoulders lift in a stiff shrug, though it’s not convincing.
“It’s a tough situation since we only play together for a few weeks, and everyone is pushing to do their best. I really want to earn their respect. ”
“From what I saw on my phone under the table, it didn’t look like you were struggling at all. You were amazing.”
“Oh, yeah?” His gaze holds mine, his teeth pressing into his bottom lip, that telltale pause when he’s figuring out what to say. “That’s your professional analysis?”
“It is.” I tilt my head. “Well, at least the free one. If you need a comprehensive one, I charge extra.”
He chuckles, crinkles forming by his eyes, then sobers quickly. “It’s just frustrating. I have never had tension with a boss before.”
The words hit closer to home than he knows. “Trust me,” I say quietly. “I know exactly what it feels like to not get along with your boss.”
The lobby fades into the background as his eyes soften. “You handle your mom so much better than I would,” he says at last. “If I didn’t know your family personally, I’d never guess there’s any conflict, especially with the press. You are truly brilliant at what you do.”
Caught off guard, I blink. It’s far from the first time he’s said something nice to me, but knowing what I know about his feelings, everything feels different now.
“Brilliant is a bit generous,” I say. “Most days I just bite my tongue and I perfectly time my eyeroll for the exact moment she looks away.”
He laughs like that’s the funniest thing he’s heard all month, and he flashes his perfect lazy smile at me. “If there were medals for handling the worst boss, you’d podium.”
It’s my turn to laugh, heat rising up my cheeks. Again, he’s always been sweet to me, but it feels like he’s layering his compliments thicker and flirtier . “Wow. That’s a nice thing to say.”
“I’m serious.” His voice softens again. “You’re so good to her, even when it costs you something, like having to go along with this whole Bodan thing. You didn’t want that, but it helped her. You also didn’t ask for anything in return. That’s pretty selfless.”
My throat clenches. I open my mouth to deflect, but he beats me to it.
“Also,” he says, eyes glinting, “I respect your ability to still hang out with me, even when your mom has expressed her disapproval. It’s a risk, but don’t think it’s lost on me.
I appreciate it.” He fixes me with a look that says just how much he appreciates me.
For a second, I forget where we are.
I forget who I’m supposed to be dating.
I forget the lie waiting beyond the auditorium doors.
Heat rises up my neck, and I feel like I might melt to the floor.
I swallow and lift my eyes to the auditorium looming ahead like an eerily haunted house. I don’t want to go in—it’ll only deepen the lies. What I want is right here, yet I feel completely stuck. He notices me staring at the doors, and his smile fades. “We can go in when you’re ready.”
“Never,” I whisper, savoring having Ty all to myself.
Then I remember something Bodan said the first day I met him and giggle.
I whisper, “So I forgot to tell you, but Bodan has these crazy conspiracy theories about hockey. He fits right in with my mom, but if you get any weird vibes from him, that’s probably why. ”
He’s laughing when he says, “Now you tell me.”
I’m not laughing. Everything instantly feels heavy as I spot Bodan.
He’s wearing a full tailored jacket, and he is surrounded by coworkers who, if I had to guess, have definitely read the headlines about him dating me.
As soon as he spots me, he declares very loudly, “There you are. I’m so glad you made it, honey . ”
The random nickname burns in my gut, which makes me wonder if I ever had so many stomach problems before this week. I don’t recall. It’s like my digestive system is trying to slowly kill me. I flatten my palm on my stomach, hoping to calm it.
Before I can respond, Bodan’s coworkers bumble forward.
With huge, eager smiles, they shove their handshake greetings at me.
Their gazes flick between Bodan and me, and my stomach drops again, making my brows draw together in worry.
At what point does my stomach just land on the floor?
It can’t go any lower. The thing about having a fake public boyfriend is that it’s actually public .
I shouldn’t be surprised, but I never expected his coworkers to react like this.
Tyson goes still beside me, and it brings me back to the present.
“This is—” I start, then pause to carefully choose my word, “—this is my friend, Tyson. He’s in town for the week and wanted to check out the museum.
” Every word tastes like chalk. It’s completely true—even if I’ve left out a lot about how he loves me and I love him too, but neither of us has the courage to say it aloud.
Tyson offers a polite smile and shakes hands with a couple of people who step forward to welcome him.
His jaw tightens enough that I notice. Then we’re ushered to the front row, where Tyson and I sit next to each other.
It’s another moment before Bodan takes the stage and launches into his lecture.
He really is confident and engaging. Looking around the room, I notice it’s almost full, and everyone is hanging on his every word.
Turning my focus back to Bodan, I last about three minutes before a yawn bubbles out of nowhere.
My eyes drift sideways, where I see Ty’s elbow propped on the armrest with his chin resting in his palm.
More alarming—his gaze is pinned on me. When he catches me looking, his eyebrows hike, and he makes an exaggerated face like he’s fighting sleep. I bite my lip to keep from laughing.