Chapter 2
Chapter Two
Kat
As I close the distance between us, more striking details come into sharp focus.
There’s a thin scar cutting through his left eyebrow that somehow makes his ridiculous good looks even more compelling, giving him a slightly rugged, dangerous air.
His hands disappear into the pockets of what’s obviously an expensive winter coat, and I catch a glimpse of long fingers and broad, callused palms.
His scent hits my nostrils when I’m still three feet away, something smoky, woodsy, and warm. I don’t know if it’s cologne or aftershave, but it smells expensive and amazing, just one more reminder that this man is a sports celebrity.
This is certifiably insane.
I should pivot, flee, fake a medical emergency, anything but continue this collision course with disaster.
“Asher!” My voice emerges steadier than I would’ve guessed, considering my internal organs are currently rearranging themselves. “Babe! You made it after all.”
He turns at the sound of his name, and sweet mother of god, his eyes up close are absolutely lethal.
Blue-gray like storm clouds over the ocean, framed by dark, thick lashes.
Confusion passes across his angular features as he takes in this random woman who just called him babe in the middle of Maplewood Regional Airport’s baggage claim.
But I’m already committed to this spectacular train wreck, moving into his personal space like I belong there. My arms circle his waist in what I pray looks like a girlfriend’s enthusiastic welcome rather than a textbook kidnapping attempt.
He’s solidly built beneath my hands, all hard muscle and broad-shouldered strength. For one heart-stopping moment, he goes rigid, and I can feel the coiled tension in his frame as if he’s debating whether to jerk away from me or call for help.
I press my face against his chest, breathing in that addictive masculine scent, and mentally broadcast every prayer I know. Please understand. Please just go with this. Please save me from dying of mortification in front of my smug ex-boyfriend.
My arms tighten around him, my mind already bracing for the moment when he shoves me away—but then his arms come up too, encircling me with measured precision as if he’s handling some unpredictable feral animal. Which, to be fair, isn’t far from the truth in this moment.
“I thought you couldn’t make it,” I say, projecting my voice just loud enough to carry back to Daniel’s eagle-eyed surveillance. “I was literally just saying that you wouldn’t be here.” Drawing back, I smile brightly even as I flash him a pleading look. “I’m so glad you came!”
Please play along. Please, please, please.
“Surprise.”
His voice is a low rumble that vibrates through his chest where I’m plastered against him.
There’s a question buried in that single word, but at least he’s playing along—for now.
Maybe he meets so many fans that he honestly can’t keep track of whether we’ve been introduced before, although that doesn’t explain why he’s letting me cling to him like some insane koala.
I tilt my head up to meet his gaze, and this close, I can see flecks of silver swimming in all that blue-gray. His eyes narrow just slightly, and he glances between me and where Daniel and Maya are standing nearby watching us as if he’s trying to piece together a puzzle.
“The best surprise,” I manage, then tack on a probably unnecessary, “babe.”
Somehow, for some reason, he’s still holding me.
This gorgeous stranger I’ve basically assaulted in public has his large hands resting at my waist as if we’ve done this a thousand times before.
As if it’s normal for him to find himself in small-town Virginia being accosted by a woman he’s never laid eyes on.
I draw another shaky breath, accidentally inhaling another deep lungful of his intoxicating scent as the full magnitude of my situation starts crystallizing around the edges of my panic.
I’ve just thrown myself at a stranger. A famous stranger. In an airport. While lying to my engaged ex-boyfriend about our fictional relationship.
My mother would have a full-scale coronary.
Well, first she’d probably throw a parade about the boyfriend part, then die of shame over the public spectacle, then resurrect herself to gloat because he’s gorgeous and successful.
Being Linda Sanders’ daughter is basically emotional whiplash as a lifestyle.
“I’m so glad you could rearrange your schedule,” I babble, stepping back but keeping one hand on his forearm. His very solid, very muscled forearm. “You’re amazing for making this work.”
His storm-colored eyes search my face as if he’s subtly trying to decide whether I’m crazy or not.
Honestly, the jury is still out on that one.
“Yeah,” he says slowly, running a hand over his dark hair. It’s cut fairly short, but the strands are just long enough to be a little unruly. “Wouldn’t miss it.”
“Kat?” Daniel’s voice rises up from behind me, coming closer as he speaks. “Aren’t you going to properly introduce us?”
Right. This little performance has an audience. And a purpose. I can’t just stand here clutching a professional athlete like he’s the world’s most attractive emotional support animal.
Although if it wouldn’t cement my reputation as a lunatic, I’d consider requesting him as my personal anxiety management system. He radiates the kind of calm competence that could probably talk someone through turbulence without breaking a sweat.
As the footsteps behind me grow closer, I take Asher’s hand, which is so big that it engulfs mine, and turn to face my ex with what I hope passes for casual confidence.
“Daniel, Maya, meet Asher.” I’m shocked by how normal I sound, as if I introduce my hockey star ‘boyfriend’ to people regularly instead of having just learned his name from ESPN thirty minutes ago. “Asher, this is Daniel and his fiancée Maya.”
“I’m Kat’s ex,” Daniel adds unnecessarily, because apparently that clarification is crucial. He extends his hand to shake Asher’s free one. “Big fan, man—not that the Strikers are my team, but you brought some solid plays to the ice last season.”
“Thanks.” Asher accepts the handshake, and I don’t miss the way Daniel’s confident smile falters slightly as he feels the strength of Asher’s grip or the way he flexes his fingers afterward.
It feels like one of those subtle things guys do, trying to work out a hierarchy among them, and I have a feeling Daniel didn’t come out on top.
Despite my nerves, I lift a hand to my face to hide the grin that tugs at my lips.
I like my fake boyfriend. Maybe I’ll fake marry him someday and have fake babies.
“Although I have to ask,” Daniel continues after Asher shakes Maya’s hand too, “there’s been some speculation about your contract situation, hasn’t there?
Something about lingering effects from that shoulder injury?
Sounds like you aren’t getting much interest from any other teams since the Strikers dropped you. ”
The change in the man beside me is so subtle that I might miss it if I weren’t standing close enough to feel his body heat.
His shoulders square almost imperceptibly, his jaw tightening just enough to make a muscle jump along his cheek.
I want to apologize, to somehow signal that I had no idea Daniel would go straight for the jugular, but I have to pretend I already know all about his career struggles.
“These things happen in hockey,” Asher replies, his voice level.
“Of course, of course.” Daniel shifts into full lawyer mode, his tone somehow both sympathetic and dripping condescension. “I’m sure it’ll work out. You were leading the team in scoring before the injury, right?”
“Second.”
“Ah, right. Still impressive numbers.” Daniel shakes his head, chuckling ruefully as if he can somehow relate personally to the struggles of a professional athlete. “Must be challenging, though. All that uncertainty hanging over your head. Especially at your age. You’re, what, thirty-two?”
“Twenty-nine.”
“Of course. Still, hockey’s notoriously unforgiving to aging players, isn’t it?”
My lips press together, anger bubbling up in my gut.
I can’t believe I used to take this man’s constant put-downs and nitpicking as ‘constructive criticism.’ And I hate that he’s turning all of that smooth-tongued bitterness on the poor man I dragged into pretending to be my boyfriend.
I’m sure Asher has had worse things said about him, given how vicious keyboard warriors can be toward celebrities, but I doubt many people have talked like this to his face. Because it’s fucking rude.
Then again, that’s pretty much Daniel’s signature move—finding someone’s pressure points and applying precisely calibrated force. He perfected the technique on me for years.
Another rejection letter? That’s rough. Maybe you should consider something more practical than trying to be an illustrator. After all, most successful artists do more important work than drawing stuff for children’s books.
“Daniel, didn’t you mention the parking meter?
We should move before they give you a ticket or something.
” Maya’s manicured hand lands on her fiancé’s arm like a diplomatic intervention.
I can’t tell if she’s sensed the way this conversation seems to be spiraling, or if she’s just getting impatient and wants to get out of here, but either way, I’m grateful.
“Oh, good point.” Daniel’s practiced smile clicks back into place like a mask. He glances toward the exit, than back at me as something seems to occur to him. “Actually, why don’t we offer you guys a lift into town? The Audi has plenty of space.”
Absolutely not. Being trapped in an enclosed space with my ex while maintaining the charade that I’m dating a hockey player sounds like the kind of psychological torture banned by international law.
I open my mouth to make up some excuse about how we have prior arrangements, but Asher speaks first.
“That’s generous.”
I snap my head around to stare at him, nearly giving myself whiplash in the process. He meets my gaze steadily, one dark eyebrow slightly raised as his lips twitch upward into a hint of a smile. He gives a small shrug as if to say, why not?
“That would—um, that would be great, actually,” I hear myself saying, because doubling down on terrible decisions has apparently become my personal brand.
Asher drops my hand and grabs his sleek black suitcase from the carousel with efficient ease, then nods toward my purple suitcase, which is sitting abandoned several feet away. “That’s yours, right?”
“I can get it,” I say quickly.
“I don’t doubt that.” His eyes meet mine again, that same inscrutable look passing over his face. “But it doesn’t mean you should have to.”
With that, he strides over and scoops up my bag too. We follow Daniel and Maya out of the small airport and toward the parking area, and as we near the car, Maya hangs back a little to fall into step beside me.
“So how long have you two been together?” she asks, glancing between me and Asher with curiosity.
Panic surges through me in a cold rush. We haven’t coordinated our story. We haven’t discussed anything, obviously, because thirty minutes ago we were strangers.
“Five and a half months,” Asher says at the exact moment I declare, “Seven months.”
Oh, sweet Jesus.
In my defense, it seemed like a reasonable timeframe. Long enough to justify bringing him home for Christmas, not so long that the hockey world would already know about his mysterious girlfriend.
“I always round up,” I say quickly, heat crawling up my neck. “You know how time flies when you’re… blissfully happy.”
Do I know that? Does time actually accelerate during happiness? I’m not sure I’ve ever been so content in a relationship that I lost track of weeks.
“That’s adorable.” Maya beams at us, and I can’t decide whether she means it or if she’s mentally filing this interaction away for future gossip. “You must be over the moon that he could rearrange his schedule for Christmas.”
“Yup.” I smile stiffly. “Absolutely euphoric.”
When we reach the car, I watch Asher load our bags into Daniel’s pristine trunk, and then we all climb inside.
The Audi still radiates that new car scent, even though Daniel bought it during our relationship.
He always had very specific car maintenance protocols, and equally specific rules about certain girlfriends not consuming French fries in the passenger seat.
Asher and I end up in the back together, with Maya sitting in the front passenger seat by Daniel, and suddenly the spacious interior feels claustrophobic.
The combined scents of leather conditioner and Daniel’s distinctive cologne trigger unwanted sense memories of the last time I was in this car, shortly after he broke up with me and was dropping me off at my best friend Samantha’s place.
I stayed with her for a few weeks before I left town, and I’ve been bouncing around ever since.
Daniel starts the car up, navigating us out of the small airport parking lot.
I chew my lower lip, torn between scooting closer to Asher to keep selling the lie or scooting all the way over until I’m pressed up against the window.
As it is, his thigh presses against mine through our clothes, radiating warmth that seems to seep straight through to my bones.
“So, tell me.” Daniel adjusts the rearview mirror to make eye contact as we roll down the street toward town. “How exactly did you two meet? It seems… unlikely, given your very different career choices.”
I swallow, my mind going blank.
Dammit. This is why I didn’t want to ride with them. We already botched one question about our ‘history,’ and now I have no idea what to say. I’m totally unprepared for this, and if our answers don’t add up, it’s not going to take long before they get suspicious.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.