6. Trenton
Trenton
“Why are you laughing? I thought you were on my side.”
Grandma’s shoulders shake after I tell her about Cassidy’s unhinged TikTok videos. “I am on your side. But I think this girl will be good for you. She’s got spunk, and you need someone with gumption.”
“Gumption.” I smirk. “Is that what you call it when someone is a royal pain in the ass?”
She smacks me on the back of my head. “Watch your mouth.”
“Ow. How can you still hit as hard as you did when I was a kid?”
“Obviously I’m not hitting you hard enough if you’re still using words like that.”
I lay back against the chair and smile for what feels like the first time in a really long time. “You know, maybe this whole thing is one big blessing in disguise. I get to spend time with you now that we’re living in the same city.”
“There’s a silver lining in everything bad that happens to you, Trent. It’s all about the angle you choose to look at it from.”
I cover her hand with mine. “How are you doing?”
“I’m about as well as an eighty-three-year-old woman can be. I told you, don’t worry about me. You’ve got a lot to focus on with preseason around the corner.”
“And I told you: I will always worry about you because you’re the most important person in my life. Above hockey, above everything.”
She shakes her head. “Cassidy is going to fall head over heels in love with you.”
I roll my eyes. “This is all fake, Nana. No one’s falling in love.”
She smiles as if she didn’t hear a word I just said, but I won’t argue with a senile old woman.
My grandmother falls asleep in her recliner soon after.
I linger on the couch, not wanting to leave without saying goodbye to her.
I pull up Google on my phone and type in Cassidy’s name in the search bar.
I don’t know what I’m looking for. Celeste did a deep dive on her and came up with nothing more than a speeding ticket several years ago.
Cassidy Quinn is a seemingly normal human.
It’s pretty impressive that she’s a bestselling author. I don’t know any authors in real life—especially ones who are only in their twenties. I imagine it’s a huge accomplishment.
One of the links takes me to her Instagram account.
Most of the posts are about her books, but there are a couple pictures of herself peppered in.
I suppose my fake dating situation could be worse.
If I have to pretend to date someone, I’m happy it’s someone who looks like Cassidy.
She’s thick and curvy with a killer smile.
If only she didn’t get under my skin so much, I would actually be into her.
It’s ridiculous that I even have to do this in the first place. I just want to play hockey. Why do I have to worry about my image? Who cares about who I’m dating? Why do any of those things matter? Doesn’t the world have anything better to do than gossip?
No matter how many times Celeste explains it to me, I’ll never understand it.
I glance over at Nana. This is what’s important in life. Family. Loved ones. Doing the things you’re passionate about.
If people could get off the damn internet and keep their noses out of everyone else’s business, the world would be a better place.
After visiting Nana, I head back to my apartment to do some laundry.
Moving across the country has made all of my clothes wrinkly and smelling like musty cardboard.
A familiar sound floats down the hallway, and I recognize the off-key singing immediately. I slow my stride as I approach the laundry room, and peer through the door that’s cracked-open just enough to catch a glimpse of the scene inside.
Cassidy holds a bottle of detergent up to her mouth as she belts out the chorus to Pat Benatar’s Shadows of the Night. Her hair is tied up in a messy bun on top of her head, and she’s dancing around like she’s in her own personal laundry room.
An older gentleman glances at her over the top of the book he’s trying to read, wearing a small smile on his face.
On the opposite end of the room, a woman taps her foot to the beat of the song.
Does Cassidy not care that people can hear her?
Does she not care that her voice is terrible?
Or is she that oblivious and unaware of her surroundings?
The latter worries me. Carefree crazy is a lot less attractive than delusional crazy.
I carry my laundry bag through the door, and plop it down right next to her. Cassidy yelps when she spins around and spots me.
She taps on her phone and the music stops. “You scared me.”
“Didn’t think you’d hear me above all that screeching.”
She plants her hand on her hip. “What do you have against 80’s music?”
“Nothing. It’s your rendition of it that I have a problem with.”
Her cheeks turn bright-red. “My boyfriend shouldn’t speak to me in such a way, you know.”
I grunt. “I’ll be sure to work on that.”
The dryer buzzes and she bends down to pile her clothes into her laundry basket. “I’m going to order in tonight. You should come by so we can discuss our arrangement. Celeste emailed me a schedule of your upcoming calendar and you’re about to become a very busy man.”
“What is there to discuss?”
“We need to make sure we’re on the same page with everything.” She lifts a pair of black pants and folds them in half as her eyes dart around the room. “Plus, I have some questions. I don’t know anything about hockey, and that seems pretty important since I’m supposed to be dating a hockey player.”
I keep forgetting that she doesn’t know who I am outside of this building.
It’s been a while since I’ve met someone who didn’t know me.
I guess moving across the country can do that.
I’ve been in a hockey bubble in Seattle for a decade, and I couldn’t walk to my car without someone recognizing me or asking for an autograph.
To Cassidy though, I’m simply Neighbor Man who slams his door too hard and makes fun of her singing.
When was the last time I was me, without hockey?
Maybe with her, I can be.
If she’s willing to help me then that’s the least I can do.
I pour a cap of detergent into the washing machine and toss in my clothes. “What are you ordering?”
“Whatever you want. I’m not picky.”
She pulls a scrap of red lace out of her pile and sets it to the side. She continues digging through her clothes until she comes out with a matching bra.
Dear Lord, her body in that set would—no. I’m not picturing my fake girlfriend in her underwear. That wouldn’t be right.
Cassidy clears her throat and my eyes flick to hers. “Play your cards right and you’ll get to see me in these.”
My eyes widen. “What?”
“I’m kidding. Geez, are you this serious all the time?”
Get it together, Ward.
She laughs and shakes her head. “Let’s order from Hamilton Pork. Their food is so good, I could go for one of everything on the menu.”
I swallow. “I’ve heard good things about the food here.”
Her mouth falls open. “Oh my god, I totally forgot that you’re not from around here.
I can give you the lowdown on all the best places to eat.
Maybe we should go out instead of ordering in.
That might be too soon though. I don’t think we’re ready to look like a couple in public just yet.
That’d be a rooky mistake. We definitely need some practice.
I’ve read a lot of books with this trope and they’re always unprepared for their first public interactions.
You know, it’s a good thing you got roped into this mess with me because I actually know a lot about fake dating and... ”
She continues rambling on about God-knows-what, but I find my mind drifting back to one singular question.
“Why are you doing this?”
She pauses mid-sentence. “Doing what?”
“This.” I gesture between us and lower my voice.
“Why are you so willing to fake date someone you don’t know?
You’re not taking the money, and you’re already well-known for your books, so you’re not in it for the clout.
You don’t even know who I am, so I can’t blame it on you wanting to make another notch in your hockey player belt.
So, why, Cassidy Quinn? Why are you helping me? ”
She finishes rolling a pair of socks into a ball and tosses them into her basket before hopping up on the washing machine to sit, letting her legs dangle. “Is it so hard to believe that someone wants to do something nice for you?”
“It is when you’ve been plotting my demise for the last week.”
She chuckles, and I try not to notice how nice her smile is. “No one has ever met their demise by out-of-tune singing.”
“So you admit you’re out-of-tune.” I arch a brow. “But I thought your mother used to call you her little songbird.”
Her eyebrows jump. “You watched all of my videos?”
Busted.
I hike a shoulder and act like it’s no big deal. “You’re a good storyteller.”
Her eyes narrow. “You just wanted to hear the part where I said how good-looking you are.”
“You can’t blame me. That was the only nice thing you said about me in the entire three-part series.”
She heaves a sigh and looks into my eyes.
“Well, I know what it feels like to be cheated on. To be betrayed by the one person you thought loved you. To not be able to trust anyone afterwards, because if it happened once, it can happen again. To feel like a chump because you didn’t see it coming.
And if the only way we can get over what happened to us is by getting revenge and pretending to be happy, then I’ll do it—for the both of us. ”
Sadness pricks my heart. Her answer is so real, so raw. It makes me want to be honest with her in return.
I rub the back of my neck before resting my hand on the washing machine beside her.
“I’m doing this because I want to show the world that regardless of what happens in my personal life, I’m still a damn-good hockey player.
Who I date doesn’t matter, what team I’m on doesn’t matter, and my age doesn’t matter.
All that matters is what I leave on the ice. ”
Cassidy gives me a confident nod. “Then let’s show them exactly that.”
Warmth rushes over my body, pooling in my chest. It feels good to have someone on my side.
When everything went down with my old team, it felt like everyone turned against me.
Sure, the team didn’t agree with what happened.
A guy shouldn’t take his best friend’s fiancé.
But ultimately, I left and no one fought for me to stay.
No one stuck up for me but me. I’d never felt so alone before.
Yet here’s this stranger who’s willing to fabricate a relationship for me. She’s willing to step into a whirlwind of professional hockey and paparazzi.
“It isn’t easy being picked apart by the world.” I pause, not wanting to scare her but needing to warn her for what’s to come. “Your life is about to get really public.”
She opens her arms wide. “I’ve got nothing to hide, Neighbor Man. Bring it on.”
And I believe her. It’s crazy to say that I trust someone I don’t even know, but she doesn’t seem like the type to be ashamed of anything that could get splashed across the internet. I might not know her, but I’m certain from the few interactions we’ve had that she owns who she is.
“What can I bring to dinner?”
She lifts the laundry basket and takes a few steps back.
“If you want me to be flirty, then bring wine. If you want me to take off my top and dance on the table, then bring tequila. And if you want me to be happy, then bring mint chocolate chip ice cream—the green kind with big chocolate chunks in it.”
My eyebrows hit my hairline. “This is a test, isn’t it?”
“Choose wisely, Neighbor Man.” She winks. “See you at six.”