Chapter 23 #2
The smile in her tone is evident. I grin right alongside her. Cole doesn’t only support Maya’s love for reading and writing, but immerses himself in it as well.
“We’ll miss you,” Amelia says. “And I’m sure Kennedy will miss having a support system for when I interrogate this man—”
“Cameron’s celiac, so please make sure you pick a place that has options for him,” I cut her off, my hands trembling on the steering wheel. “Love you. Bye!”
I hit end before she can ask any more questions or Maya can throw me farther under the bus.
“You didn’t need to hang up on her,” Maya points out. “Seems a little dramatic.”
“I thought that was more cost-effective than throwing my phone out the window so you wouldn’t give her more details about my love life,” I snark.
“Why didn’t you tell her about Cameron? I’m assuming Frankie doesn’t know either?”
I shove my hand into the candy bag, pluck out a gummy worm, and bite off its stupid, delicious head. “You know how my sisters are. They’re like dogs with a bone.”
She scoffs, giving me an incredulous smile. “Yeah, like you. You’re like a fucking bloodhound the moment you catch a scent of new information.”
I growl at her in reply, sounding suspiciously like the grumpy goalie meeting my sister tomorrow.
“Amelia will like Cameron,” she says.
Her reassurance might work if that’s what I was really worried about.
I have no doubt my oldest sister will adore him (after she grills him for approximately an hour). The issue is that she’ll ask about him for months after we inevitably break up. Or at least ask about him until I find someone new to date who’s half as interesting or good-looking or secretly sweet.
Ugh.
I feel like Eloise at the Plaza as I step into Cameron’s hotel room using the key he left for me at the front desk.
Technically, family members and partners aren’t allowed to stay with players during away games, so Maya and I have our own room booked.
We checked in, but said room will simply remain unoccupied while we break that particular rule.
The room has stunning floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking Central Park, the open curtains framing the glittering skyline.
The art on the walls is fancy. Like it’s curated rather than copy and paste.
The king-size bed is covered in crisp white linens that have a thread count higher than my credit score, and the bathroom visible through the half-open door looks like it has one of those rainfall showers I’ve only ever seen on home improvement shows.
Cameron arrived with the team this morning, and all over the room, I find evidence of him.
His suitcase is splayed open on the luggage rack, a pair of his shoes next to the bed, one tipped on its side as if he kicked them off haphazardly.
A sweatshirt (one I’ve been considering adding to my collection) is casually tossed on the couch, and a half-empty water bottle sits on the nightstand next to his phone charger.
It’s casual and comfortable and way too intimate. Because I’m here to play Cameron’s fake girlfriend. Nothing more.
My phone buzzes in my pocket, and when I pull it out, his name flashes on my screen as if he could sense that I’m thinking about him.
Cameron Davies
You get in safely? Or was Alec the Ungrateful Bastard right to be worried about your driving skills?
Kennedy Caplan
I liked you better when you didn’t make jokes.
And you’re not one to judge, considering you drive like you’re personally offended by the existence of other cars.
But yes, just got to the hotel room.
Want to know who else is here?
I should wait until after the game to tell him we’re spending tomorrow morning with my sister, her husband, and my niece, but alas, I’m too antsy. If I have to be stressed about it the entire night, then he does, too.
Cameron Davies
Maya.
Kennedy Caplan
Well, yes, but my sister.
Cameron Davies
At the hotel?
Kennedy Caplan
No, in NYC.
Fun fact: Amelia and her family live in the Upper West Side.
Cameron Davies
Riveting. An actual fun fact would be that Cleopatra lived closer to the invention of the iPhone than to the building of the Great Pyramid.
Or that Iceland’s phone directory is alphabetized by first name, not last.
I can’t help but laugh. Of course Cameron has weird, fun facts handy in that nerdy brain of his.
Kennedy Caplan
Yeah, okay, sure, but my fun fact is relevant because Amelia wants to do brunch with us tomorrow.
When he doesn’t respond right away, I toss my phone onto the bed, needing to focus on anything but what he might say. This can go one of two ways. He freaks out and doesn’t want to go or he has no problem with going, which then begs the question: Why is he so chill with it?
I should unpack, or text Maya to see what she’s wearing, or check my email, or do something productive. Instead, I find myself gravitating toward Cameron’s suitcase.
It’s not snooping if we’re dating, right? That rationalization probably doesn’t work since we’re fake dating, but oh well. He’s the one who left it unzipped.
The suitcase is surprisingly well-organized for a guy who lives on the road, with all his clothing in neatly labeled packing cubes.
I suppose he’s got his packing strategy on lock after being in the NHL for so long.
Nothing exciting catches my eye, so I move to the bathroom, where his small toiletry bag rests to the right of the sink.
I probably shouldn’t open it.
I do it anyway.
It’s full of all the standard stuff: deodorant, cologne, a razor, eye drops, allergy meds. Boring. I’m about to zip it back up when I notice a folded piece of paper tucked under his toothpaste. Hotel stationery, by the looks of it.
My fingers itch to grab it, but what if it’s something meaningful or private? Like a good-luck note he wrote to himself?
Nah. Cameron’s not the type.
I pull out the paper, carefully unfolding it. The message is written in bold, slightly messy handwriting.
Stop snooping, Kennedy
I freeze, then burst out laughing, the sound echoing across the marble floor.
I’m caught somewhere between embarrassment—because damn, am I really that predictable?
—and grudging admiration for how well he played this.
He knows me well enough to not only anticipate my nosiness but to plan for it, too.
That thought is followed by a little tendril of unease. Not wanting to untangle the mess of feelings that intimate realization leaves, I opt to get dressed for the game.
Last week, Cameron had an entire box of jerseys delivered to my apartment.
The package was full of a variety of styles, home and away, and even a replacement for the vintage one that got spilled on.
I can probably attend every game for the next three seasons without repeating an outfit.
I’m debating between the two I brought when my phone dings.
I snatch it up quicker than a Venus flytrap.
Cameron Davies
Ugh. The sound that escapes me is guttural.
A fucking thumbs-up emoji? What the fuck does that mean?
Is he agreeing? Being passive aggressive?
Indicating that he’s going to hitchhike back to Boston after the game so he doesn’t have to go?
Did he even read my message or did he simply skim it and fire off the world’s most noncommittal response? The emoji equivalent of a “k.”
Kennedy Caplan
Did you read what I said? Amelia wants to go to brunch so she can MEET MY “BOYFRIEND.”
Cameron Davies
I know. I sent a thumbs-up.
Kennedy Caplan
My brother-in-law will be there, too.
Cameron Davies
That’s fine.
Kennedy Caplan
And my niece.
Surely there’s a limit to how agreeable he’ll be about meeting my family members. Two of them, sure, but three? That’s a perfectly reasonable boundary for the man I’ve been fake dating for… damn, has it really only been a few months?
Cameron Davies
Any cats or dogs?
Kennedy Caplan
No…
Cameron Davies
Okay, then since I’m allergic to those but not your sister, brother-in-law, or niece, I’m not quite seeing the issue.
Despite my irritation, my mouth curves into a reluctant smile.
Kennedy Caplan
The issue is that meeting my family is kind of a big deal SINCE WE ARE IN A FAKE RELATIONSHIP. And you responded with a THUMBS-UP.
Cameron Davies
Would you have preferred the heart eyes emoji? Because I can resend if that helps.
Kennedy Caplan
I CAN’T READ YOUR MOOD THROUGH THE PHONE, CAMERON. WHAT ARE YOU THINKING?
Cameron Davies
Do all caps mean you’re yelling at me?
Kennedy Caplan
YES. VERY LOUDLY. AND WITH LOTS OF HAND GESTURES.
Cameron Davies
Cool. Just making sure.
Kennedy Caplan
WELL?
Cameron Davies
It’s not a big deal, Kennedy.
That simple response only makes my heart pound harder. Not a big deal? Is he kidding me?
Kennedy Caplan
SHE’S GOING TO ASK QUESTIONS, CAM. LOTS OF THEM. IF YOU THINK I’M INVASIVE, WAIT UNTIL YOU MEET HER.
Cameron Davies
You asked me how I deal with my balls chafing the week after we agreed to this. I think I’m well-trained at this point.
Kennedy Caplan
FYI YOU NOT FREAKING OUT IS MAKING ME FREAK OUT MORE.
Cameron Davies
Stop yelling at me. I guarantee you won’t like the consequences.
Kennedy Caplan
If it involves spanking, I guarantee I will.
The three dots indicating Cameron’s typing disappear and reappear no less than five times.
Cameron Davies
You’re playing with fire, sweetheart.
Kennedy Caplan
I look better in warm lighting anyway.
The pit in my stomach, where my nerves have gathered and swirled all day, morphs, and heat develops there instead. Sex with Cameron is… it sounds dramatic to say life-changing, but it really is.
It’s like he’s learning my body the way he learns how to read his opponents on the ice—studying every reaction, memorizing what makes me gasp, what makes my legs shake, what makes me forget my own name.
He pays attention in a way that feels almost overwhelming and watches me when I come apart, like he’s cataloging every detail.
He makes me feel beautiful and sexy without having to say a word.
And it’s not just the physical part, though, God, the physical part is incredible. It’s how he pulls me into him after and traces patterns on my skin while we’re catching our breath and kisses my shoulder and asks if I’m okay, genuinely wanting to know the answer.
It’s the intimacy of it that’s terrifying. Because I’ve had good sex before, but I’ve never had this. Sex like this isn’t supposed to happen in fake relationships, because with it comes emotions that don’t just disappear when the arrangement ends.
My phone buzzes again.
Cameron Davies
Can’t wait to play a sixty-minute game hard as a fucking rock.
Kennedy Caplan
I like to keep you on your toes. Good luck!