Chapter Four #2
“How are you getting home?” I ask, knowing the second the question is out of my mouth that it was a little too bold to ask.
She yawns again, covering her mouth. “Why? Are you my newest stalker?”
“I’m your newest friend, Victoria. I want to make sure you get home okay.”
“I don’t know if you should want to be my friend,” she replies, the sincerity in her voice making an ache form in my chest.
“I know I do. We may have only just met, but I have a good feeling about you.”
Her eyes dart back and forth over my face, trying to detect if I’m lying. After what feels like a full minute, her head dips slightly. “I’m probably going to grab an Uber. I moved to Toronto a week ago, and I’m still getting used to where everything is. I don’t trust myself to take the subway yet.”
“Good call. I’ve lived in Toronto for most of my life, and I still get turned around. What area of the city are you in?”
She names a part of the city that is very familiar to me. “My record label got the place for me so that I could begin working on my next album.”
“Where you’re staying doesn’t happen to be River Point Residences, is it?” I ask in a hushed voice, not wanting anyone to overhear us.
Her head whips toward me. “How do you—”
“Because I live there too.”
She blinks. “You’re kidding.”
I shake my head. “Penthouse.”
“Of course you live in the penthouse,” she jokes, her eyes rolling playfully. “I’m on thirty-six.”
“Small world.”
Her eyes narrow. “Weird world.”
Our conversation is cut off after that as the plane comes to a stop and passengers begin to move around the cabin.
We wait our turn to exit, then start making our way through the airport together.
The moment we step past security, it happens again—phones lifted, flashes flickering, whispers spreading.
I feel her tense beside me. Her body goes rigid, and she instinctively shrinks inward.
“Sorry,” she mumbles, ducking her head. “I’m like bad luck with a pulse. Maybe we should say our goodbyes now. It was—”
I stop walking. “Victoria,” I say, gently but firmly. “This attention? It’s not your fault.”
She lifts her eyes to meet mine, skeptical.
“You didn’t take the photo,” I add. “You didn’t sell it. You didn’t make people care more about gossip than facts. That’s on them.”
Something softens in her, just for a second.
It’s the kind of softness that comes from surprise. Like she’s not used to people saying that sort of thing and meaning it.
I reach for her hand, intertwining our fingers, and give it a squeeze. “Now, ignore those bastards and come with me. I have a ride service picking me up, and we’re going to the same place.”
She nods and follows without another word.
We head toward the pickup area, and I text my driver that we’re here. He’s been circling the airport, waiting for my flight to arrive. A minute later, I wave a hand at the black SUV as it comes around the corner.
I can still hear the snapping of pictures and the distant shouts of the photographers, but I don’t turn around. Instead, I pull Victoria closer to my body so that she’s protected from all elements.
“Good afternoon, sir. I’ll get your bags if you want to make yourself comfortable.”
“Thanks.” Opening the back door, I gesture for Victoria to get in first. She doesn’t hesitate, practically throwing herself across the leather seats.
The ride home goes by too quickly. Victoria is glued to the window, seeing Toronto from a new vantage point and asking questions. I’m happy to answer her questions, but I also have one of my own.
I know what I’m about to pitch to her is mind-boggling, but I truly believe it will help both of us.
By the time we reach our building, she’s almost relaxed again. We pull into the underground garage, grab our bags with a thank you to the driver, and then we ride the elevator in silence.
It’s only when we hit her floor that I speak again.
“Victoria,” I say, turning toward her as the doors ding open. “There’s something I want to run by you.”
“No, you can’t borrow any sugar. Mostly because I don’t have any sugar. I don’t have any food in my apartment right now other than chips.”
I smile at her joke. “No, I wanted to ask… How do you feel about fake dating?”
“Like in books?”
“No, like you and me. As a couple.”
She stares. Dead silent.
“I—” She blinks, then laughs once, disbelieving. “Are you serious?”
“Completely.”
“You want to date me?”
“Fake date you.”
“Right. That makes way more sense.” She drops her bag on the floor. “What the hell are you talking about? Is this because of the photo?”
“Yes and no. You and I both have a PR problem. The tabloids are making you out to be a villain right now. If you’re dating the ‘Golden Boy’”—I make air quotes, hating myself for even uttering that nickname—“a little bit of my good press may carry over to you. It may change perceptions and minds.”
“And why would the ‘Golden Boy,’” she mocks me by mimicking my air quotes, “want to be seen dating me? What’s in it for you?”
“My image will get a reset too. I want to be seen as human, not as some glorified hockey player. You’re real, Victoria. You feel big emotions and grab at every experience life throws at you. You’re spontaneous and strong and have so much courage. I want some of that to rub off on me.”
“You barely know me,” she says in a hushed tone. “How can you be sure I’m really all those things?”
“You’re not a damsel in distress. You just need someone playing a little defense for you. I know I can be that person.”
She crosses her arms, thinking about my words. “This is insane.”
“Maybe. But it could work.”
She frowns, studying me. “What would all this entail?”
“That’s a longer conversation. One I don’t think either of us is rested enough to have right now.” I reach for my phone. “You up for exchanging numbers?”
She takes it, hesitating before inputting her number.
I shoot her a quick text so she has mine too. “I’ll message you tomorrow so we can plan a time to talk. Sleep on it. Really give this a good think.”
She gives me a look that says she’s already wrapped her head around it—and thinks it’s ridiculous.
But then she surprises me by saying, “Fine. Maybe this will also make sense when coffee is in my system.”
“That’s all I’ll need.”
I turn and press the elevator button. The doors ding open instantly, and I step in.
She sticks her arm out to stop them from closing. The bold move makes me grin. “For the record? You’re nuts.”
I grin. “But you like that about me.”
She doesn’t answer, just lets the doors slide shut with the ghost of a smirk on her lips.
And for the first time in my life, I feel like I’m playing offense instead of defense.