11
Sasha
Dinner last night was… incredible. The food was delicious, the atmosphere was perfect and the company was…
I don't even know how to put it into words. I’ve never been on a real date before, even if it technically wasn’t one.
But sitting across from someone, asking questions simply because you want to know the answer, with no pressure or expectations…
It felt completely different from anything I’ve ever experienced.
The only downside was everyone else. The lingering stares, the flashes from phone cameras when people thought they were being subtle, even just the whispers from people around us. It was too much. I get that I signed up for this, but I still hate it.
I’ve never liked being the center of attention, I hate people talking about me. My mind always goes to the same place. Are they judging me? Do they think I’m not good enough for Conor?
I’m not like the normal girls he hooks up with.
I’m not blonde or tall with legs for days.
I don’t look like I belong on the front cover of a fashion magazine.
I don’t wear outfits that show lots of skin or post glamorous selfies every other day.
I’m just not that kind of girl. The kind Conor actually likes.
And that just makes me wonder even more why he agreed to do this in the first place. He’s not getting anything out of this arrangement, so why?
But somewhere between the starters and dessert, all the whispers seemed to disappear. Conor has his way of making everything else fade into the background.
He’s kind. Genuinely kind. He’s funny without even trying, thoughtful in ways I never expected, and so much more real than the cocky flirt I knew a few weeks ago.
I thought he was all charm and one-liners, but getting to know the man behind all of that has been…
dangerous. Not because of him. Because of me.
With Max, we knew each other forever. There were never those deep conversations about childhood dreams or favorite memories or the kind of future we both wanted. By the time we started dating, we already knew all of those things.
With Conor, every conversation uncovers something new. And I find myself wanting to know everything.
My phone lights up on the reception desk, pulling me out of my thoughts. I quickly glance around, making sure Larry is nowhere in sight before picking it up and reading the text.
Livvy: Guess who just made headline news!
Me: Hmmm, you?
Livvy: Nope.
Livvy: YOU!
Me: WHAT???
A second later, another message appears with a link attached. It’s from one of those sports gossip websites that seems far more interested in athletes’ love lives than their actual careers.
I open the article and the first thing I see is a photo of Conor and I at the restaurant last night.
It’s a sloppy photo taken from someone’s phone.
Conor’s hand is across the table, mine resting in his.
I’m smiling up at him and he’s watching me with a look that could only be described as admiration.
It’s funny. We actually look like we’re in love.
The headline makes me roll my eyes. Florida Flames star, Conor Matthews, trades endless flings for a real first date. Where do these people get off making assumptions about strangers? I mean, yeah it’s true, but they don’t know that.
I skim the entire article, not really wanting to see what they say but needing to know at the same time.
Meaningless hookups.
First girlfriend.
Changed man.
Who is the mystery woman?
And then I reach that final line.
Will it last or is this just another notch on Matthews’ belt?
My stomach rolls with nausea. I shouldn’t care. We’re not actually dating. We’re not sleeping together. I can never become another notch on his belt because this isn’t even real.
I just need to keep reminding myself of that.
Have I thought about it? Obviously. I mean, hello…
He’s hot as hell and I bet he knows how to make a woman feel good, but we can’t go there.
It’ll complicate things between us and that’s why we have these rules.
I can’t let another man hurt me like Max did.
If that happened to me again, I don’t think I’d survive that.
So for now, Conor and I are friends who are pretending to date, and when this deal is over, we’ll just be friends.
“I have a gift for you.” Conor's voice fills my ear through the phone the second I leave work. I'ts almost as if he was watching the clock until 5pm hit so he could call me.
“Oh?” I smile to myself as I walk down the sidewalk. “And what is it?”
“Well, I can't tell you that, Angel. It’s a surprise.” I chuckle, heat rushing to my cheeks from the nickname he’s given me. It doesn't matter how many times he says it but when he does, in that husky voice, I can't help but blush. It's a weakness. “When will you be home?”
“Five minutes or so. Why?”
“Because I’m here waiting for you.”
I stop walking. “What? Why?”
“Because I want to see your face when you open my gift.”
“How long have you been there?”
A quiet chuckle meets my ears. “That doesn't matter.” Which in other words means he’s been there for a while. I shake my head, unable to stop myself from smiling. I can't believe he has actually waited for me to finish work. What a man. “How was your day?”
I start walking again in the direction of my apartment.
“It was fine.” I release a heavy sigh. “People keep staring at me. It’s weird.
” People aren't just staring though. They're talking about me.
The amount of times I heard my name pass peoples lips in the office today was probably more than I've heard my whole life.
And now, I'm walking down the street and people keep turning their heads to look at me.
I hate this. But what did I expect? Dating a professional hockey player will have people turning their heads.
Especially a hockey player who has never dated before.
“Why were they staring?”
“Because of the article about us. Did you see it?”
“Nope.” He replies, popping the ‘p’. “I don't follow all that sports gossip shit.”
That surprises me. If the internet spent its time dissecting my every move, I’d probably read every single article.
“I’m here.” I say, walking through the doors of my apartment building.
“See you soon, beautiful.” Oh fuck. Be still my racing heart.
I climb the two flights of stairs to my apartment to find Conor standing by my door with a gift bag dangling from his hand.
His face lights up the second he sees me. “Damn.” His eyes slowly travel over me. “You look sexy in that outfit.” I look down at my black pants, blazer and sensible work heels. There's nothing sexy about it but that doesn't stop the blush from spreading across my cheeks and down my neck and chest.
“Stop it. There's no one around. You don't need to say stuff like that.”
“I'm not saying it for anyone else.” Lord have mercy. I think I need to add no compliments to our rules because every time he gives me one the butterflies in my stomach feel like they've just snorted a line of cocaine.
I let us both in through the door, throwing my keys on the entryway table and hanging my bag up behind the door. “One thing you should know about me is that I love getting gifts.” I tell Conor, eyeing the bag.
He hands me the gift bag while chuckling and it takes everything in me to open it with patience rather than ripping the thing to shreds. I carefully pull back the tissue paper and, oh my God!
“Conor!” I jump into his arms, literally jump and he catches me with ease. A Florida Flames Jersey. Number twenty-three. MATTHEWS. “I love it. Thank you so much.”
My legs are wrapped around his waist, my arms around his neck and he just holds me. His arms tighten around me for just a second.
I never want him to let go.
Wait, no. I shimmy out of his hold until my feet land on the hard floor. I should not be having those thoughts! Bad Sasha. I move across the room to the large mirror hanging on the wall.
“I thought you could wear it to my game this weekend?” He says and those damn butterflies come back tenfold. He wants me at his game. Me!
“I’d love to.” I hold the jersey up to my body. It’s huge! I could probably wear it as a dress.
“Good. It’ll make a bigger statement than just going out for dinner.”
“Oh.” I lower the jersey, folding it neatly and setting it onto the couch, doing everything I can to avoid Conor’s eyes.
I don’t need him to see the disappointment in mine.
“You’re right.” Of course that’s what he was thinking about.
Publicity. Attention. A stronger image of us as a couple. Fuck, I’m so stupid.
But that’s the whole point of this, isn’t it? This is what I wanted. So why does my chest suddenly feel so hollow?
“Well, I better get going. Talk to you later?” Conor says, eyeing me with so much hope.
I force a smile and just hope it looks convincing. “Definitely.”
He leans down, kisses me on the forehead and makes his way to the door. “Bye, beautiful.”
Once Conor is gone, I let the charade slip away. What is wrong with me? Of course he doesn't really want me there. He wants to get us more noticed as a couple. He’s doing this for me. That’s what this whole arrangement has always been. So why does it feel like I’m the only one who’s forgotten that?
This is why the flirting needs to stop. The compliments, the nicknames, the forehead kisses. They’re blurring the lines and I’m getting confused. I'm supposed to be playing the player here but the more time I spend with Conor Matthews, the less it feels like a game.