Chapter Four
Lana
I stretch, feeling the crisp sheets against my bare skin. Wait…why am I naked?
Blinking, I feel a wave of confusion hit. I’m not in my bedroom in LA, and I’m not in Ryan’s guest room. I roll over and the scent of his cologne engulfs me, but the bed beside me is empty.
Memories of the night before rush through my mind, leaving me breathless—the romantic restaurant, the flashing cameras, Ryan’s strong hands, his soft lips, and the line we crossed.
He was so gentle with me.
My heart hammers in my chest, staring at the empty bed.
Oh god, he was my first sexual encounter.
It wasn’t like I hadn’t had plenty of opportunities back in Los Angeles since there were a handful of guys who tried, but I hadn’t wanted any of them. I was too focused on getting into Rice.
And they weren’t Ryan. He had set the standard for the kind of man I wanted years ago, even if I didn’t understand it at the time.
I glance at the clock on his nightstand and fly to my feet, nearly tripping over myself in the process. I need to leave in ten minutes to get to class on time. Guess I’ll have to eat on the way, and hopefully Ryan won’t be too upset that I can’t cook for us.
Snatching up my clothing from the night before, I dart across the hall to the guestroom. The bed is still perfectly made because I hadn’t touched it.
I toss my dress into the hamper and throw on the first set of clothes I can find.
I finger comb my hair and throw it up in a messy bun.
My mind races, trying to think of what I have in the kitchen that can be eaten on the go.
I haven’t gone grocery shopping yet, but maybe Ryan has protein bars on hand.
I can’t find socks—I still haven’t unpacked—so I grab a pair of sandals and put them on. I snatch my backpack and just as I swing it onto my shoulder I hear Ryan’s low, rumbling voice drift down the hallway.
I freeze when I realize who he’s talking to.
“Tucker, relax.”
I crack open the bedroom door and hold my breath. He sounds tense, and I quickly gather that Tucker has already seen the paparazzi photos online and is demanding to know what the hell is going on.
Shit, I forgot to text him about that. I had gotten so caught up with classes and everything after Ryan and my conversation that I let it slip.
I had intended to tell him, and I hope he isn’t too mad.
I’m not sure what I’d do if Tucker decides to rescind his offer to pay my tuition because of what happened between Ryan and me.
I let out a shaky breath, trying to listen for signs that this is more than just a fake relationship for Ryan. Because it is for me—especially after last night.
Tucker is the only person Ryan would say that to honestly.
“I promise, it’s all fake. It’s entirely for PR. I told you about my management issues. We staged it to get the paparazzi off my back. I would never actually do anything to hurt Lana, you know that.” Ryan sounds too calm.
The words feel like a bucket of ice water dumped over my head. I stagger back as a sharp pain blooms in my chest.
It’s all fake. Of course he doesn’t feel the way I do.
My heart feels shattered. My first sexual encounter and heartbreak, all in less than twenty-four hours. I can’t take it.
Ryan says a quick goodbye and hangs up. I hear him let out a long sigh.
Wiping a stray tear from my cheek, I grip the straps of my backpack to ground myself and wait for him to go back to his room.
Once the door shuts, I slip out and quietly snatch my keys from the hook on the wall. The front door swings silently as I make my way out into the hall. When the elevator arrives, I get in and press the button, looking down at my sandals.
I want to look up and see Ryan standing there, ready to hold me and tell me this is just as real for him as it is for me. I try to tell myself I don’t care. But that’s a lie. I care entirely too much, and I know that if I look up and find him there I won’t leave.
***
That night, after overthinking all day, I’m sitting at Ryan’s first home game in the family luxury box beside his PR rep, Brenda. She’s a bit of a pushy woman, pressing me for details about my life, how I met Ryan, what he’s like outside of the arena and media attention.
I give her mostly single sentence answers, not willing to share private information that Ryan hasn’t given me permission to share.
Brenda seems disappointed, but I barely focus on that.
The atmosphere inside the arena is far too electric and surreal.
I’ve never been to a live game before, let alone one of Ryan’s.
I’m used to cheering from afar, watching his games on the living room TV with my parents or on my phone if I was at Anna’s for a sleepover.
I still have screenshots of some close-ups saved in a locked folder.
Anna used to tease me about them until she realized why I saved them.
Ryan is an absolute powerhouse on the ice, and I dance between guilt and anger. I shouldn’t have snuck out, should’ve given him a chance to explain instead of assuming—even if I was running late—but I’m also pissed that he would lie to Tucker or me about what this is for him.
The game is close. I’m on the edge of my seat through the first and second periods, but when Ryan catches me smiling down at him during the third period, he starts playing like a man possessed, eyes laser focused on the puck, ending the third period with a shutout.
I watch, heart soaring, as the team rallies together into an excited mass of giant, muscular men and testosterone fueled shenanigans.
I grin and fall back into my seat. That was one of Ryan’s best games yet.
I’d already planned to let the arena clear out while waiting for Ryan to get changed, figuring no one would bother me here.
I caught an Uber after school after he told me we could ride together after the game.
I’d ignored his texts most of the day out of pettiness—not that he knew that, and probably assumed I was busy in class—but finally caved knowing it would be more cost-effective to let him drive me when possible.
“Oh, you must really be his good luck charm! I cannot wait to see more of you two this season,” Brenda praises.
My mood immediately plummets. I plaster a smile on my face and nod, pretending I’m just as excited, but the second she leaves I drop the act.
My expression relaxes, though not enough to suggest I’m unhappy in my “relationship” with Ryan.
I might be upset with him, but I don’t want to sabotage his season.
I play with the cuffs of my hoodie sleeves, contemplating if I should stick to the plan and wait for Ryan or take an Uber back to the penthouse instead.
“Would you like to come down to the press room, Lana?” Brenda reappears around the wall and I jump. “Ryan might be a while still, especially after a game like that.”
Her excitement bleeds over and curiosity gets the better of me.
“Sure, I’d love that.”
The walk down to the press room is thankfully too hectic for Brenda to continue talking my ear off as we weave through the throngs of people heading toward the parking lot.
I overhear fans gushing over the game, and even fans of the opposing team praising Ryan’s skill as a goalie.
When we get to the press room, my senses are completely overwhelmed.
The lights are bright and cameras flash erratically.
The raucous of twenty questions being shouted at once gives me a headache.
I get why Ryan is so emotionally wiped after a game.
Not only does he physically push himself, but he gets bombarded by pushy reporters the second they’re off the ice.
Brenda guides me to a clear space near the back wall. While I’m not really a fan of her so far, I am grateful for her at the moment. I expect her to leave, but she leans back against the wall beside me, watching Ryan with a predatory eagerness.
I could never work in marketing. I turn my attention back to the chaos between me and Ryan. I can’t see him over everything going on.
My heart thrums in time with the camera’s flashing, wild and out of control. I’m still mad, but I also can’t help but be drawn to him.
The crowd of reporters parts just enough for me to get a glimpse of the broody hockey player I’ve started to think of as mine.
Not mine. I remind myself.
He’s leaning with his elbows planted against the table, nodding as someone asks a question. I have no idea how he can hear her over everyone talking at once. I can barely form a single coherent thought with all the noise, but I guess by now he’s used to this.
His mouth moves in response, but I don’t catch what he’s saying since my eyes are locked on his lips, thinking about where they were last night.
I squirm as heat builds in my core.
“I know, it’s insane here, isn’t it?” Brenda asks, leaning over so I can hear her.
“Oh, um…yeah,” I reply, shifting uncomfortably, eyes still on Ryan.
As he finishes, he looks up and his eyes lock onto mine. I watch as his shoulders seem to visibly relax and throughout the rest of the interview he’s softer around the edges, “less stand-offish” as Brenda would put it.
Finally, after what seems like hours, the coach comes in and starts to shoo the reporters out, grumbling about how his players need food and sleep if they want to have more interviews like this. There’s a few audible groans, but the crowd starts to disperse.
“One last question, Ryan,” a female reporter pipes up.
Everyone pauses. He nods at her to go ahead. “What made you play so hard in the second half today? I’m sure we all noticed how intense you were.”
He looks at me as he contemplates answering, and time seems to freeze. I’m trapped in his eyes, the world melting away like it did during our kiss last night.
“My girlfriend,” he finally answers, looking back at the reporter. “She’s my good luck charm.”
The reporters go crazy, and I quickly pull up the hood on my jacket, praying no one recognizes me. I hear Brenda giggle, and I glance over at her, panicked. Is she really about to reveal me? She shakes her head and gestures for me to follow her out.