Chapter 4 #2
"You have good hands," he said. His voice was rough, a low rumble in his chest.
"Dancer," I said, pulling my hands back slowly. I felt the loss of contact like a chill. "We know bodies. We know pain."
I sat back on my heels, wiping my hands on my stolen t-shirt. The adrenaline was fading, leaving me shaky.
"Why didn't you call the team trainer?" I asked.
Nick let out a bitter laugh, closing his eyes again. "And let them see this? The Captain, crumpled on the floor because he did an extra set of squats? The Scouts are already questioning my durability. If they knew about the chronic spasms, I’d drop to the second round. Maybe the third."
"So you hide it?"
"I manage it."
"You're doing a terrible job of managing it," I said bluntly. "You're tight everywhere. Your hamstrings are like guitar strings. Your glutes are firing wrong. You're overcompensating for the old injury, and it's throwing your whole kinetic chain out of whack."
He opened one eye. " kinetic chain? Did you take a class?"
"I'm a Dance Major with a minor in Kinesiology, you snob," I snapped. "I know how muscles work. Better than you, apparently."
He looked at me for a long moment. Then, he sighed, scrubbing a hand over his face.
"Thank you," he said. The words sounded foreign in his mouth, clumsy.
"Don't thank me yet," I said, standing up. My knees popped. "I came in here to quit."
Nick stiffened. The mask slammed back into place instantly. "What?"
"I came in here to throw my phone at you and quit. Check The Sin Bin, Nick. Everyone thinks I'm a hooker."
He frowned, reaching for his own phone which lay on the floor nearby. He tapped the screen, scrolling. His jaw tightened as he read.
"I see," he said quietly.
"Do you?" I crossed my arms. "Because this isn't just a 'PR issue' for me. This is my life. I can't walk across campus without people snickering. I can't get a job. And now, I'm stuck living with a guy who threatens to evict me every time he gets horny."
He looked up at me sharply. "I did not threatened you because I was... horny. I threatened you to maintain professional boundaries."
"Bullshit," I said. "You wanted to kiss me. You still want to."
He didn't deny it. He just stared at me, his grey eyes darkening.
"But I can't stay," I continued, my voice trembling slightly. "I can't be your dirty little secret. It's humiliating."
Nick slowly pushed himself up to a sitting position. He tested his hip, wincing slightly, but nodding. He looked at the floor, thinking. I could practically hear the gears turning in his head. The chess player was back.
"You're right," he said.
"I know I'm right."
"No, I mean... the arrangement is flawed. The secrecy is the problem. Secrecy breeds speculation. Speculation leads to rumors." He looked up at me. "We need to change the narrative."
"How?"
"We make it real."
My heart skipped a beat. "Excuse me?"
"Not real," he corrected quickly. "Publicly real. We stop hiding. If you are my 'girlfriend,' living here makes sense. It legitimizes your presence. You aren't a paid escort; you are the Captain's partner. The rumors die because the mystery dies."
"You want to fake date me?" I laughed, a harsh sound. "Nick, you literally just said you needed to focus on the draft. A girlfriend is a distraction."
"A real girlfriend is a distraction," he said, climbing to his feet.
He towered over me again, but this time, he leaned against the wall for support.
"A fake girlfriend is a shield. Think about it.
The Scouts think I'm cold. They think I lack connection.
If I have a steady, serious girlfriend...
it softens me. It makes me look stable. Mature. "
He took a step toward me.
"And in exchange," he said, "you help me."
"Help you with what? Your reputation?"
"My body," he said.
I blinked. "What?"
"You said I'm firing wrong. You said my kinetic chain is broken.
You fixed a spasm in five minutes that usually takes me two days to recover from.
" He looked at me with a strange intensity.
"I need to make it to the draft without falling apart.
The team trainers just tape me up and give me cortisone.
You... you actually understand the mechanics. "
He extended a hand.
"Here is the new deal," he said, his voice dropping into that business-like cadence, but with an undercurrent of desperation.
"We enter a public relationship. I claim you.
I shut down the rumors. No one disrespects you again.
In exchange, you stretch me. You rehab me. Every night. You keep me on the ice."
I stared at his hand. It was large, calloused, and currently shaking ever so slightly.
It was a crazy idea. It was insane. Pretending to date the most popular, most hated guy on campus? Spending every night putting my hands on his half-naked body to "fix" him?
It was a recipe for disaster.
But then I thought about the text from Gary the Landlord. I thought about the sneers at the party. I thought about the way Nick had looked on the floor—human, hurting, and needing me.
And I thought about the fact that if I agreed, I would have him. In a way no one else did. I would know his secrets. I would know his weakness.
I would have the control.
"And the threats?" I asked, looking up at him. "The 'I'll evict you' bullshit? That stops. If I'm helping you, I'm a partner. Not an employee. You don't threaten partners."
Nick nodded solemnly. "Agreed. No more threats. We are... allies."
"And I get to use the gym for my own practice."
"Fine."
"And you have to come to my Winter Showcase."
He paused. "Why?"
"Because that's what supportive boyfriends do, Nick. If we're selling this, we're selling it all the way."
He hesitated, then nodded once. "Done."
I took a deep breath. I reached out and took his hand. His skin was warm, his grip firm.
"Okay," I said. "Deal."
As we shook on it, standing in the sweat-scented air of the gym, I felt the shift in the universe. The contract had changed. We weren't enemies anymore. We were conspirators.
But as his thumb brushed over my knuckles, sending a jolt of awareness straight to my core, I knew we were lying to ourselves.
This wasn't going to be just business.
"Good," Nick said, not letting go of my hand. "First session starts tonight. Don't be late."
He released me and limped toward the shower, leaving me standing there with my heart pounding against my ribs like a trapped bird.
I looked at my hand. I could still feel the phantom pressure of his grip.
We were allies now.
God help us both.