Chapter 10
RODRIGUEZ
Her parents are waiting for us after we’ve been cleared through customs.
I spot them before Juliette does, a woman who looks like an older version of her, with the same sharp features and dark hair standing next to a tall man with graying temples who’s scanning the crowd.
“There,” Juliette says, following my gaze. She takes a deep breath that I can hear over all the other noise around us. “Ready?”
“Always.”
She looks totally unconvinced, but she’s already moving toward them, pulling her bag behind her.
I follow, mentally running through everything she told me on the plane.
Her mom is warm and talkative, her dad is protective and skeptical.
Be charming but not too charming. Be respectful. Don’t screw this up.
No pressure or anything.
“Jules!” Her mom sees her first and rushes over, pulling Juliette into a hug that looks like it might crack a rib. “Oh honey, we missed you so much. How was the flight?”
“Fine, Mom. It was fine.” Juliette extricates herself, smoothing down her sweater, and gestures to me. “This is Rodriguez. Rodriguez, these are my parents, Catherine and Richard.”
Catherine turns to me with a wide smile. “Rodriguez! Juliette’s told us so much about you.”
I seriously doubt that, but I smile back and extend my hand. “It’s great to meet you, Mrs. Chastain. Thanks for having me.”
“Oh please, call me Catherine, and this is Richard.” She gestures to her husband, who’s studying me with the kind of look that says he’s already planning where to bury my body if I make any wrong moves.
“Sir. Nice to meet you.”
“Rodriguez.” His handshake is exactly what I expected, pressure applied, held just a beat longer than necessary. Testing. Measuring. “Juliette says you play hockey.”
“Yes sir. For the Seattle Puckaneers.”
“Professional?”
“Three years now.”
He nods, still assessing me. “And you met at the training facility?”
“That’s right. Juliette’s doing an internship there, and I saw her teaching skating classes and...” I glance at Juliette, who’s watching this exchange with barely concealed anxiety. “I couldn’t help but introduce myself.”
“He was very persistent,” Juliette adds, “He asked me for coffee multiple times before I said yes.”
Catherine laughs. “That sounds about right. Jules has never made anything easy for anyone.”
“Mom.”
“What? It’s true. You’ve been like that since you were three.” She loops her arm through Juliette’s. “Come on, let’s get out of here. We’re parked in short-term and you know how your father gets about parking fees.”
Her father leads the way with the kind of purposeful stride that suggests he’s timed this route many times before.
Their car is an immaculately clean SUV. Her father loads our bags while her mother keeps up a steady stream of conversation about the flight and the weather and how excited Olivia is that we’re finally here.
I open the back door for Juliette and she glances quickly at me like she can’t believe I’d be gentlemanly enough to open the door for her.
“So, Rodriguez. Juliette said you’re staying through Monday?”
“Yes, well, Juliette mentioned there were a lot of wedding events, so I figured I’d stay for the whole thing. Plus we’re on the Olympic break, so I’ve technically got two weeks of free time right now.”
“That’s wonderful. It’ll be nice to get to know you properly.” Catherine’s smile is genuine. “Richard, did you hear that? Rodriguez is planning on staying for the whole week.”
“I heard.” Richard pulls out of the parking spot. “That’s a long time to be away from your team.”
“Well everyone’s pretty scattered right now. Plus I needed the break honestly. Season’s been pretty intense.”
“I bet. How’s the team doing this year?”
And just like that, we’re talking hockey.
Richard asks questions about our record, our playoff chances, specific players he’s seen in highlights.
Turns out he actually follows the league pretty closely, and I relax into it, because this is easy.
I can talk hockey all day, especially when it means her dad isn’t asking me about my intentions.
Juliette’s hand finds mine between us on the seat, and when I look over, she’s staring out the window with the little grimace she showed me on the plane.
I squeeze her hand and she looks at me. I mouth “okay?” and she nods, but the tension in her shoulders says otherwise.
Catherine is talking about the welcome dinner tonight, running through who will be there, what time we need to be ready. “It’s just immediate family and the wedding party. Don’t worry, we’re very casual. But it’ll be your first time meeting everyone, so—”
“I’m looking forward to it,” I say, cutting off what sounds like it might become an anxiety spiral. “Juliette’s told me a lot about Olivia and Owen.”
“They’re wonderful together. You’ll see tonight.” Catherine pauses. “Owen’s friend Garrett will be there too. He’s the best man.”
“That’s great,” I say, keeping my voice light even as I squeeze her hand tighter. “Looking forward to meeting him too.”
Richard catches my eye in the rearview mirror.
There’s something in his expression that makes me think he knows more than Catherine does about the Garrett situation and he’s already cataloging every possible way I could hurt his daughter.
Mental math on whether a professional athlete is worth the risk to his kid who’s clearly barely holding it together.
His eyes hold mine for a beat before returning to the road.
Catherine fills the drive to the hotel with stories about wedding preparations and how stressed Olivia has been and how they’re just so happy both their girls are doing well.
Juliette doesn’t correct the “both their girls are doing well” part. Just keeps holding my hand, her grip almost painful now, and staring out the window. Her nails are digging into my palm but I don’t pull away. If this is what she needs to get through the car ride, she can leave marks.
“We’ll let you two get settled,” Catherine says as we arrive at the hotel, pulling Juliette into another crushing hug. “Dinner is at six at a place a few blocks from here. You can walk. Wear something nice but not too formal.”
“Got it,” Juliette says.
Catherine turns to me and, before I can prepare for it, pulls me into a hug too. She’s shorter than Juliette, and I have to bend slightly to accommodate it. “It’s so good to finally meet you, Rodriguez. Jules is lucky to have you.”
“I’m the lucky one, Mrs. Chastain.”
“Catherine,” she corrects, beaming at me.
Richard shakes my hand again. “See you tonight.”
They drive off and Juliette and I just stand there on the sidewalk with our bags, the reality of what we’re doing suddenly very present.
“That went well,” I offer.
“My mom hugged you within thirty seconds of meeting you.”
“Your mom seems great.”
“My dad thinks you’re too charming.”
“Your dad is skeptical of everyone. I could tell by the handshake.”
“The handshake? You shook hands like normal people.”
“There’s a whole language to dad handshakes. Trust me on this.” I grab both our bags. “Come on. Let’s check in and figure out this hotel situation.”
The hotel lobby is the kind of place that makes you feel underdressed even when you’re not. We cross to the front desk and the woman behind it smiles as we approach.
“Checking in?”
“Yes. Should be under Chastain. Juliette Chastain.”
The woman types. “Ah, yes. One room, king bed.”
I see Juliette’s face go through several expressions in rapid succession. “I, yes. That should be right.”
“Perfect. I’ll just need an ID and credit card.”
Juliette fumbles with her wallet and I lean against the counter, processing the one room, king bed situation. I knew we’d probably be sharing a room, it would look weird if we didn’t, but somehow hearing it confirmed out loud makes it way more real.
Six nights. One room. One bed. With Juliette.
I’m either the luckiest person alive or about to torture myself in ways I haven’t fully considered yet. Probably both. Definitely both.
The desk clerk hands over key cards and gives us directions to the elevators. We ride up to the fifth floor in silence, Juliette stares at the numbers ticking by, while I try not to think about the sleeping arrangements and failing completely.
The room is extremely nice. A king bed dominates the space and off to the side is a small sitting area with a loveseat by the window. Everything is very clean and very neutral and very much just one bed.
I’m going to die. This is absolutely how I die.
I’ve been cross-checked into next week by a guy who looked like he ate smaller hockey players for breakfast. I once played through food poisoning so bad the trainers had a bucket ready on the bench.
None of that compares to the specific panic of realizing I’m about to share a bed with Juliette for six nights while pretending I don’t want to.
Juliette opens her suitcase and immediately starts unpacking, moving things around like if she can control the physical space, she can control everything else.
It’s such a Juliette thing to do - controlling what she can control while everything else spirals.
I want to tell her it’s okay to let things be messy sometimes, but I know she won’t hear it right now.
“I can take the couch,” I offer, even though the couch is basically a glorified large chair at best and I’m six-two.
“Don’t be dumb. You’ll never fit on that.”
“I’ve definitely slept in worse places.”
“Rodriguez. We’re both adults. We can share the bed.” She says it like she’s trying to convince herself. “It’s a king. There’s plenty of room.”
“Okay, if you’re sure.”
“I’m sure.” She’s not looking at me. “We should probably talk about boundaries. For the room.”
“What sort of boundaries?”
“I don’t know. Like which side of the bed do you want? And we’re just sleeping. You know that right? Nothing weird.” She points her finger at me, as if she’s already determined I’m the type of guy who would do “weird things” in bed.
“JuJu, I’m not going to do anything weird.”
“I know. I just want to make sure we’re on the same page.”
She’s so nervous, her anxiety bleeding through her usually perfect exterior.
I cross the room and stop in front of her. “Hey, look at me.”
She does, but it’s reluctant.
“I am not going to do anything you’re not comfortable with. If you want me to sleep on the couch, I will. If you want to sleep on the couch, that works too. If you want to share the bed, that’s fine. But nothing happens that you don’t want to happen. Okay?”
“Okay.”
“And if at any point this week gets too weird or too much, we use the safe word and figure it out. Yeah?”
“Poodle.”
“Exactly. Poodle.” I squeeze her shoulder. “We could do a pillow barrier. In the middle. If that would make you feel better.”
Please say no. Please say no. Please say—
“That’s so stupid,” she says. “We’re adults. We don’t need a pillow barrier.”
Thank god.
“Okay. Just offering.”
“I appreciate it. But we’ll be fine.” She’s trying to sound confident. “It’s just sleeping.”
“Right. Just sleeping.” I step back, giving her space. “We’re going to be fine. Your family already loves me. Your dad only half wants to murder me, which is pretty good for a first meeting. And tonight we just have to get through one dinner. That’s it.”
“One dinner where Garrett and his fiancée will be there.”
“One dinner where Garrett and his fiancée will have to watch us be adorable together. Big difference.”
That gets almost a smile. “You’re very confident about this adorable thing.”
“Have you met me? I’m extremely adorable.”
“You’re extremely something.”
“I’ll take it.” I check my phone. “We’ve got about three hours before dinner. You want to nap? Unpack? Go explore the city?”
“I should probably shower and start getting ready.”
“Three hours is a long time to get ready.”
“You don’t know my hair.”
“Okay. You do your thing. I’ll just be here. Not making it weird.”
She almost smiles again, and I count it as a win.
She disappears into the bathroom with her toiletries bag and I hear the shower start.
I unpack my own stuff, hanging up the nicer shirts I brought for dinners, organizing my toiletries on the opposite side of the vanity from hers.
Her things are already arranged with the same precision she applies to everything, bottles lined up by height, labels facing forward.
I flop back on the bed, our bed, the bed we’re going to share, and pull out my phone to check in with the team.
Made it in one piece
Almardon
How’s Toronto?
Met the parents. Still alive.
Almardon
Damn. Was hoping you’d need a rescue
Thanks for the vote of confidence
Almardon
Seriously though, how’s it going?
Ask me again in 6 days
Almardon
That good huh
Talk later
I set my phone down and just sit on the edge of the bed.
Through the bathroom door, I can hear the shower running.
This is insane. I’m in Toronto, in a hotel room with a woman who barely tolerated me two months ago, about to have dinner with her family and her ex-boyfriend, pretending to be something I’m not.
Except it doesn’t feel like pretending. Not really.
When I took her hand in the car, it felt natural. When I opened the door for her without thinking about it, that wasn’t an act. When I promised her nothing would happen unless she wanted it to, I meant every single word.
I’m not pretending to care about her.
I’m just pretending she knows how much.
And now I’m going to spend six nights sleeping next to her.
Six nights of lying there in the dark trying not to move too close, trying not to let her see how gone I actually am.
Six nights of knowing this is fake when every instinct I have is screaming that it’s the most real thing I’ve felt in years.
I’m so screwed.
The shower turns off and I hear her moving around in the bathroom. I should probably start getting ready too. Make a good impression at this dinner. Show her family that I’m worth her time.
Show her that I’m worth her time.
Show her ex that he’s an idiot for letting her go.
Trying not to hope that maybe, by the end of the week, she’ll look at me like I’m not just her fake boyfriend.
Like I might be something real.