Chapter 4 #2
I added it to my list, along with a few other details: favorite restaurants (we settled on a quiet Italian place near the arena and a sushi spot by the bay), weekend activities (beach walks, farmers markets), and how we communicate during away games when I'm not traveling with the team (nightly FaceTime calls, another detail Cam contributed with suspicious readiness).
"What about pet names?" I asked, working through my checklist.
Cam's eyes lit up with unholy glee. "Definitely."
"No." I held up a hand, fixing him with my best PR Director glare. "I mean, our position on them. Which is that we are absolutely not using pet names. If you call me 'babe' in public, I'm calling you 'Puck Daddy' for the rest of this arrangement."
Cam's grin widened. "I'm kinda into that, actually."
"You would be," I muttered, fighting a smile. "Let's move on. I've prepared a list of potential questions reporters might ask, so we should align our answers – "
"Lana," Cam interrupted gently. "I think we've got enough backstory for now. We're overthinking this."
"Overthinking is literally my job description," I reminded him, gesturing to my tablet full of notes.
"And you're excellent at it." His tone was teasing but kind. "But at some point, we need to stop planning and start selling this. People aren't going to believe spreadsheets and synchronized answers. They'll believe chemistry."
He was right, though I was reluctant to admit it. PR was about controlling the narrative, but romance – even a fake one – needed authenticity. Spontaneity. Which is a bit challenging to contain in neat bullet points
"Fine," I conceded. "What do you suggest?"
"Time for the world's most strategic selfie tour."
"Selfie tour?" I echoed. "Already? Don't we need time to rehearse or – Wait — is this why you asked me to bring three outfits for the beach?"
"Yes. Trust me," he interrupted, dropping a hundred dollar bill on the table for the check. Two drinks. Nice tip. "This is my area of expertise. Hockey players practically invented the strategic social media presence."
"That's not even close to…" I muttered, but I gathered my things and followed him anyway, wondering how I'd gone from meticulous planning to impromptu photo shoots in the span of a single margarita.
Outside Coconut Charlie's, the midday sun was warm but not yet oppressive, the breeze off the Gulf carrying that distinctive salt-and-sunscreen scent that defined St. Petersburg. Cam led the way along Beach Drive, his stride casual but purposeful.
"First stop, the murals at the Shore Club," he explained, navigating us toward the upscale hotel known for its vibrant wall art. "Casual, colorful backdrop. Public space but not screaming 'look at us.'"
We arrived at a wall covered in a funky beach scene – vibrant blues and greens depicting the Gulf's marine life. It was beautiful and distinctly local, the kind of spot that said "Florida" without resorting to plastic flamingoes and neon kitsch.
"Perfect," Cam murmured, positioning us in front of a section featuring rays and tropical fish. "Now, stand next to me, but not too posed. Like we just stopped to admire the art."
I adjusted my position, feeling strangely self-conscious.
In my professional life, I was constantly arranging players for photo ops, coaching them on posture and expression.
Being on the other side of the camera felt foreign, especially with Cam standing so close that I could feel the warmth radiating from his body.
"Relax," he said softly, picking up on my tension. "Just pretend this is real."
He slipped an arm around my shoulders – casual, easy, like he'd done it a hundred times before. The weight of it was warm, solid, and strangely comforting. The scent of his cologne – something woodsy and expensive – enveloped me.
"Look up at me," he directed, his voice low. "Like I just said something that caught you off guard."
I tilted my face toward his, all ready to manufacture a surprised expression, when he whispered, "Did you know otters hold hands while they sleep so they don't drift apart?"
The random fact was so unexpected, so charmingly odd, that I laughed – a genuine, unplanned burst of amusement that crinkled my eyes and softened my features. In that exact moment, Cam clicked the selfie.
When he showed me the result, I was startled by how.
.. natural we looked. His arm draped comfortably around me, his face turned down toward mine with a warm smile, me laughing up at him with unguarded delight.
We looked like a couple – not just any couple, but one comfortable in each other's space, happy in each other's company.
"That's..." I searched for a professional assessment and came up empty.
"Perfect," Cam finished for me, swiping through filter options. "Natural. Exactly what we need."
He was right. It was the kind of photo that didn't need a caption, that told its own story. I watched as he made minimal adjustments and saved it, not posting yet.
"One down," he said, leading me away from the mural. "Next stop: Sweet Caroline's."
I raised an eyebrow. "My cupcake place?"
"Isn’t it our cupcake place? We established it's part of our couple lore," he reminded me. "Plus, I'm actually hungry."
The walk to the bakery took us past outdoor cafés and boutiques filled with beachy merchandise.
Occasionally someone would do a double-take at Cam – a hint of recognition that he acknowledged with a friendly nod but no stopping.
Just a local athlete out with his...girlfriend.
The thought sent a strange flutter through my stomach.
It was a weird situation. Of course I was feeling weird. I mean, it would be weird not to, right?
Sweet Caroline's was tucked into a converted bungalow, with mismatched vintage furniture and the heavenly scent of butter and vanilla permeating the air. Bree was behind the counter, and her face brightened when she recognized me.
"Lana! Your usual?"
"Please," I confirmed, then hesitated. "Actually, make it one to share. And an iced coffee."
Cam's eyebrows rose slightly in surprise, but he didn't comment. Bree nodded, already reaching for the lavender vanilla cupcake with its signature mountain of pale purple frosting.
"And a coffee for me too, please," Cam added. "Black."
We settled at a small table by the window, the cupcake between us. Cam studied it with exaggerated suspicion.
He smelled it first and eyed the lavender frosting."Does it taste like soap?"
"It tastes like heaven," I corrected, breaking off a piece. "Try it before you judge."
He accepted the bite, his expression skeptical until the flavor registered. His eyes widened slightly.
"Okay, that's actually amazing," he admitted.
"Told you." I took my own bite, savoring the delicate floral notes against the buttery cake.
Cam pulled out his phone again. "Another photo op. But this one needs to look more... intimate."
Before I could question what he meant, he leaned across the small table, closing the distance between us until our faces were just inches apart.
Close enough that I could see all the different shades of blue in his eyes, the creases in his full lips.
He held the phone at an angle that would capture us both with the cupcake in the foreground.
"Smile," he instructed softly. "Like I just said something sweet."
My heart thumped unevenly as I managed a smile, trying to ignore how his breath brushed my cheek. The camera clicked.
When he showed me this photo, I almost didn't recognize myself. There was a softness to my expression, a vulnerability I rarely allowed in public. Cam looked at ease, happy, his blue eyes bright with something that looked remarkably like affection.
"These are good," I admitted, suddenly needing air. "Very convincing."
He ate another bite of cupcake, and I noticed a tiny dot of purple frosting at the corner of his mouth. Without thinking, I reached across and brushed it away with my thumb.
The gesture was instinctive, intimate – the kind of thoughtless touch that happens between people who are comfortable with each other. Cam went still, his eyes finding mine. For a moment, neither of us moved.
"Sorry," I murmured, withdrawing my hand quickly. "I don't know why I..."
"Don't be sorry," he said, his voice slightly rougher than before. "That's exactly the kind of thing real couples do."
The moment hung between us, charged with something I wasn't ready to name. I cleared my throat.
"Where to next? Also, it's probably time for a wardrobe change so it doesn't look like we took all these photos in one day."
I reached into my oversized tote and pulled out a blush pink sundress – pushing down the three alternate outfits stuffed in there for today's adventure. With a nod toward the restroom, I left to change, grateful for a moment to collect myself.
I wore a simple white bikini underneath my clothes, a strategic decision in case I needed to do a wardrobe change in public. Swimsuits at the beach were hardly a traffic stopper.
When I returned, Cam had transformed as well.
The baseball cap was gone, his golden hair tousled and sexy.
He was now wearing shorts, and he'd removed his button down, leaving only a fitted dark gray Letters to Cleo t-shirt that clung to his broad shoulders and chest in such a way that was probably illegal in public spaces.
For once, I let my eyes roam leisurely over him – his high cheekbones, the curve of his biceps, the easy confidence in his posture. When my gaze finally returned to his face, I found him watching me with a knowing smile.
"See something you like?" he teased quietly.
Heat crept up my neck. "Just making sure you look presentable. Uh. For the photos."
"Of course." His smile widened. "Just the photos."