Chapter Seven
MASON
She’s nervous.
I knew she would be, but I didn’t think I’d be able to feel her nerves before she even knocked on my door. Her energy is like static—tense and crackling from the hallway.
I open the door before she can raise her hand to knock.
“Victoria,” I say gently, stepping aside. “You look…”
“Like I’m about to go on my first fake date with my fake hockey player boyfriend in front of half the city?
” she offers, eyes wide and a little crazed.
She tugs at her T-shirt, oversized and slouchy over black leggings.
Her hair is pulled into a loose ponytail, a few pieces falling out, giving her a very sultry “just woke up” look.
I grin. “Maybe cool it on broadcasting the fake part until you’re actually in the apartment, dork,” I tell her, reaching out and grabbing her arm. “And I was gonna say you look great.”
She lifts a skeptical brow. “You’re not allowed to flirt without an audience. It’s in the rules.”
“Not flirting,” I say as I close the door behind her. “Just stating a fact.”
“Right.” She rolls her eyes at the compliment, but the rose hue of her cheeks gives her away. “So where are we going, anyway? Am I dressed okay?”
“There’s a cute coffeeshop by the Lakeshore that I love. Thought we would head there, grab drinks, and then walk along the water. Simple and low-key. Just enough to be seen and pictured to get the ball rolling.”
“Easy and simple,” she repeats under her breath, like she’s trying to hype herself up.
I motion for her to give me one second as I dash back into the kitchen to grab my charging phone. Then, with sunglasses in hand, I open the door. When we’re in the elevator heading down, I hold out my hand, palm up toward Victoria.
Her gaze drops to it. “What are you doing?”
“Getting into character.”
She hesitates but then slips her hand into mine. I give it three quick squeezes.
She glances up at me, surprised.
“What was that?”
“Three squeezes,” I say as we walk to the elevator. “Means I’ve got you. Just in case you feel yourself slipping.”
Her lips press together, but she doesn’t pull away. Not even in the lobby when we get a few curious looks.
We keep it light on the walk to the coffee shop. I tease her about the boots she’s wearing—not remotely weather appropriate—and she tells me to shut up unless I want to go swimming in the lake. She’s a feisty little thing. I love seeing this side of her.
The whole way to the coffee shop, she’s smiling—I don’t think she’s clued in to that. For the first time, I’m seeing her with her guard down, getting the entire Victoria Westwyld picture.
I did some research on her last night. That sounds creepy, but I wanted to know more about this fascinating woman. I’m sure if I asked her, Victoria would tell me whatever I wanted to know…but I have a feeling it would be the condensed version.
She’s accomplished so much in a short span of time, yet you would never know that about her. For crying out loud, I called her a superstar last night, and she blushed. Blushed!
“Prepare yourself because I am going to get the largest size they have and then ride that caffeine high all morning. It will hopefully give me the push I need to start unpacking.”
“How long have you been in that apartment?” She doesn’t answer, only avoids my gaze. Which tells me everything. “Oh my God, Victoria,” I laugh, holding the door open for her. “That’s unacceptable. You know you can pay people to help you.”
“Eww. I don’t want strangers touching my things. And what if they steal something? No, I’d rather take my time and get to it when I get to it.”
“You’re going to be living in a cardboard box castle soon, aren’t you.”
She laughs with me as we step up to the counter to order our drinks. As we’re waiting, my phone vibrates in my pocket. Grabbing it and giving it a quick glance, I see a text from a number I’ve blocked.
Paying it no mind, I tap the message and delete it without looking. Then, the whole thing is out of sight, out of mind, as I pay for our treats.
Minutes later, we step back outside with our large coffees and cookies. They’re oatmeal, Victoria stated, so they’re practically breakfast food. I couldn’t disagree.
She’s mid-bite into her cookie when her smile falls. There’s no time for me to ask her what’s wrong before I see it. The camera lens flickering in the sunlight.
My eyes scan our surroundings. The dude is subtle, I’ll give him that. It’s just one photographer across the street, pretending to check his phone as another big-ass camera is around his neck. Son of a bitch.
I reach for Victoria’s hand. This is what we wanted, but it’s always unsettling to be followed and photographed.
I don’t say anything. Instead, I pull Victoria tighter into my side, and we start walking in the opposite direction of the paparazzi.
She gives me three squeezes.
Her eyes flick to mine, and I watch her body relax by degrees. “Sorry, I don’t know why, but that took me by surprise.”
“No need to apologize. I get it. I know this is the whole point we left the condo, but I still hate it. Honestly, it’s one part of playing hockey professionally that I hate. Everyone thinks they’re entitled to a piece of your private life.”
She’s wired like someone always waiting for the next hit, the next headline.
No one taught her what it feels like to be protected without conditions.
I’m going to break that cycle. I’m going to show her what it feels like to have someone show up when she needs them or to just be a body in the room, supporting her.
Our walk along the water is peaceful. There are a couple of fans who recognize either her or me, but no one bothers us. The sun is hot against my skin, and I tilt my head up to soak in all the sunshine I can. Canadian summers are short. I need to bask in these moments every opportunity I have.
The time before training camp starts is drawing closer. Then I’ll be stuck inside on the cold rink. Which I love, but I’m never going to say no to a little warmth and a spectacular tan.
Victoria takes a deep breath beside me, drawing my attention. Her hair is dancing all around her in the wind, but she doesn’t try to stop it.
“This was a good idea,” she says finally, taking a long sip of her drink. “Sorry I was weird earlier.”
“You weren’t weird.”
“You thought I was going to bolt.” She huffs a laugh.
“I knew you were going to bolt,” I say with a grin. “I just wasn’t going to let you.”
She nudges me with her elbow. “Persistent, huh?”
I shrug, leaning in to whisper in her ear. “You’re the first woman I’ve fake dated. Gotta get it right.”
She laughs at that, and we fall into easy conversation—talking about music, childhood antics, what the off-season is like for me, and how she’s adjusting to Toronto.
By the time we turn back, her fingers are laced with mine like we’ve done this a thousand times.
I don’t tell her that I’ve been faking this part too—pretending I’m not already invested. Because I am.
She’s different. She’s smart, and scrappy, and funnier than she lets people see. And yeah, maybe she’s a little guarded. But there’s something about her that makes me want to be the person who shows up, especially when she expects no one will.
When we reach the condo entrance, she stops at the doors. Her head tilts to look up at me.
“I didn’t hate that,” she says.
“High praise.”
“You joined me in having a cookie for breakfast. That helps.”
I grin, shaking my head at her weirdness. The cool AC hits us as we step through the entrance, making us both sigh in relief at the same time.
That makes us burst out laughing. Her shoulder nudges into mine as we walk the final steps to the elevator.
When we reach her floor and the doors open, I catch her hand one more time. Three quick squeezes.
“I’ve got you,” I say.
Her eyes lock on mine. There’s something behind them I can’t quite read.
She doesn’t pull away.
Instead, she squeezes my hand back and nods once. “I’ve got you too. Good night, Mason,” she whispers, the door sliding closed.
“Good night, Victoria,” I say back to my mirrored image. I hope she heard me.
Letting myself into my condo, two things occur to me at once:
This plan is going to work.
And I’m in way deeper than I planned.