Chapter 8
RODRIGUEZ
I’m outside Juliette’s apartment thirteen minutes early because I’m not screwing this up.
I’ve been awake since three. Showered, shaved, put actual effort into my appearance for the first time in weeks. Dark jeans, gray shirt, leather jacket. Hair styled but not overdone. Just enough cologne that she’ll notice it in the car but won’t think I bathed in it.
My leg bounces as I sit in the driver’s seat, knee protesting slightly but I can’t make it stop. This is my shot. The one I’ve been waiting for since September when I saw her skate and completely lost my mind. She’s finally letting me in, even if it’s fake, even if it’s just for a weekend.
My phone buzzes against my thigh.
Almardon
You’re insane
Probably
Almardon
You’re flying to Toronto to fake-date a girl who barely tolerates you
Your point?
Almardon
My point is you’re going to get your heart broken
Worth it
He sends back the shrug emoji and I pocket my phone. Almardon doesn’t get it. Nobody does. They all think I’m being ridiculous, chasing someone who’s made it clear she’s not interested.
But they didn’t see her face yesterday when she told me about her ex. They didn’t hear the way her voice cracked when she said he got engaged after three months. They don’t know that underneath all that ice, she’s actually hurt and trying so hard to pretend she’s not.
I want to be the person who makes her stop pretending. Or at least the person who’s there when she does.
At 4:55, I text her.
Outside
The building door opens two minutes later and she walks out pulling a suitcase, wearing leggings and an oversized sweater, hair in a ponytail. No makeup that I can see. She looks tired and beautiful.
I get out and take her suitcase, my fingers brushing hers as I lift it from her grip. “Morning.”
“It’s not morning. It’s still night.” But she’s looking at me, really looking, and finally registers what I’m wearing. Her eyes do this quick sweep from my face down and back up. “You dressed up.”
“This is dressed up?”
“You look like you’re going to a photo shoot, not catching a nine AM flight.”
“I always look like this.”
She laughs, the sound cutting through the pre-dawn quiet. “You absolutely do not.”
I load her suitcase into the trunk. “Get in, JuJu. We’ve got a flight to catch.”
She slides into the passenger seat and I take a second before getting in to just appreciate that this is actually happening. Juliette Chastain is in my car. We’re going to the airport together. I have an entire weekend to prove to her that I’m not just the annoying guy who won’t leave her alone.
I’m going to make this count.
“You okay?” I ask once we’re on the road, glancing at her profile in the dim dashboard light.
“Fine.”
“You look tired.”
“I didn’t sleep much.”
“Nervous about the wedding?”
“Something like that.” She’s looking out the window, not at me. “I still can’t believe I’m actually doing this.”
“Which part? Going to the wedding or bringing me?”
“Both. Mostly the second part.”
“Having second thoughts?”
“I’m having all the thoughts.” She finally looks at me. “This is insane. You know that, right?”
“Completely insane,” I agree. “But it’s going to work. Trust me. By the end of this weekend, your ex is going to be wondering what the hell he was thinking letting you go.”
“That’s not the goal.”
“Maybe not. But it’ll be a nice bonus.”
She’s quiet for a minute. “Why are you doing this?”
“I told you. You need help and I can help.”
“That’s not an answer. Nobody flies across the country to fake-date someone they barely know out of the goodness of their heart.”
She’s right. She’s absolutely right. But I’m not ready to tell her the real reason yet.
That I’ve been thinking about her for five months straight.
I saw her skate once and haven’t been able to stop thinking about her since.
Every time she looked at me like I was annoying her, all I could think was that I wanted to be someone she actually saw.
“Maybe I’m just a really good guy,” I say instead.
“You’re really not selling this.”
“Okay, fine. Honest answer?” I pull onto the highway.
“You’re interesting. You’re the first person in years who hasn’t immediately liked me, and that’s kind of fascinating.
Plus you’re beautiful and talented and you need help, and I’m apparently incapable of not trying to help beautiful women who need it. ”
“That’s still not the full truth.”
“It’s true enough for five in the morning.”
She doesn’t push it. Just settles back in her seat and goes quiet. After a few minutes, she’s actually fallen asleep, her head tilted against the window.
I turn the music down and just drive, stealing glances at her when I can. She looks peaceful like this. Younger. The stress that’s always in her shoulders is completely gone.
I want to see her look like this more often. A lot more often.
We check in at the desk and our seats aren’t together. She’s in economy, I’m in first class.
“I’m going to see if they can move us together,” I tell her. “Wait here.”
“It’s fine. We don’t have to sit together for the whole flight—”
“We’re supposed to be dating. Trust me on this.”
I approach the counter while she’s distracted with her bag.
“Morning,” I say, sliding over my boarding pass and passport with my most charming smile. “I have kind of a favor to ask. My girlfriend and I booked separately and just realized we’re not sitting together. Any chance you could work some magic and get us in the same section?”
She glances at my picture, then does a double-take. “Wait. Don’t you play for the Puckaneers?”
“That’s me.”
“Oh my god, my son is obsessed with you guys. He has your jersey.” She’s already typing on her computer. “Let me see what I can do here.”
I lean against the counter, keeping my posture relaxed and friendly. “I really appreciate it. This wedding is kind of a big deal for her family, and showing up together would just, you know, set the right tone.”
“Say no more.” More typing. She glances past me at Juliette, who’s checking her phone. “That’s her?”
“Yeah.”
“She’s gorgeous.”
“I know. I got really lucky.”
The agent smiles at that and prints out new boarding passes. “Okay, I’ve moved her so you’re both in first class. 2A and 2B.”
“You’re a lifesaver.”
“Just don’t tell my boss I did this.” She winks. “And tell your girlfriend she’s lucky too.”
“Will do. Thank you so much.”
I walk back to Juliette and hand her the new boarding pass. She looks at it. Looks at me. “This is first class.”
“Yep.”
“I didn’t book first class.”
“I know. Come on, security’s going to be a nightmare.”
“Rodriguez—”
“JuJu. Let me do nice things for you. It’s part of the boyfriend package.”
She opens her mouth like she wants to argue, then closes it. “Fine. But you didn’t have to do that.”
“I know. I wanted to.”
At security, I let her go first and watch the TSA agent do a double-take when he sees her. Yeah, buddy. I know. She’s gorgeous.
Once we’re through, I steer us toward a coffee shop. “You want anything?”
“Coffee. Largest they have and as much cream and sugar as you can fit.”
I order two large coffees and pay before she can even think about arguing about it. When I hand her the cup, our fingers brush and she takes it like it’s a lifeline.
“Thank you.”
“Don’t mention it.” I check my phone. “We’ve got about forty-five minutes before boarding. Want to sit or—”
“We should probably talk about our story. Get it straight before we land.”
Right. The story. I’ve been so focused on just getting her to say yes that I haven’t actually thought about the details.
“Okay. How did we meet?”
“At the facility. That’s true enough.”
“When did we start dating?”
She thinks about it. “January. Recently enough that my family won’t be surprised they haven’t heard about you, but long enough that bringing you to the wedding isn’t weird.”
“Works for me. And what time’s your return flight? I should book the same one so we fly back together.”
She pulls out her phone and shows me her itinerary. “This one. Leaves at noon.”
I look at the date.
Then I look again.
“JuJu.”
“What?”
“This says Monday.”
“I know.”
“Monday. As in, next Monday.”
“Yes.”
I stare at the screen, then at her. “I thought we were flying back Friday.”
“Why would we fly back Friday?”
“Because...” I do the math in my head. “Leave today, wedding’s Thursday, fly home Friday. Three nights.”
She’s looking at me like I’ve grown a second head. “Rodriguez. Who gets married on a Thursday?”
“I don’t know. Why would I know anything about why people get married when they do!”
“The wedding is Saturday.”
“Saturday.”
“Yes. Saturday. Like a normal wedding.”
Oh.
Oh.
“So we’re going early to spend time with my family,” she continues, “and staying Sunday after because my aunt wants to do brunch and my mom’s making a whole thing about it.” She takes her phone back. “Is that a problem?”
Is it a problem?
I thought I was signing up for three, maybe four nights max. Fly in, be charming, make her ex jealous, fly out. Totally manageable.
She’s talking about six nights.
Six full nights in Toronto. Six nights of pretending to be her boyfriend in front of her entire family.
Six nights of wedding events and family dinners and oh holy shit, we’re going to be sharing a hotel room.
For six nights. Six nights in the same room as Juliette Chastain.
Six nights of trying to be a gentleman while she’s probably wearing pajamas or whatever she sleeps in and I’m supposed to just act normal about it.
Six nights of watching her get ready in the morning and seeing her with her guard down and pretending this is all fake when—
My throat is suddenly dry and I take a huge sip of coffee to tamp down the panic, draining half of the cup in one go. It burns going down but at least it’s something to focus on besides the fact that I just agreed to share a room with her for almost a week.