I bark out a laugh. “I’m not dating. Not like I can speed-run a relationship.”
“No boyfriend, huh?” He keeps it easy, but a corner of his mouth ticks up, quick and gone.
I take another sip, then blurt before I can think better of it. “What I need is a fake fiancé. Like in a Christmas movie. Borrow one, keep the receipt, return January first.”
His look sparks for a heartbeat. “You’d still try it on, tag tucked in? To see if it fits?”
I nearly snort the hot chocolate. He drinks, all innocence, but his eyes give him away. We’re watching the same reel.
“Would be efficient,” he adds casually.
“Easy,” I rasp, glaring over the rim of my cup. “Shame those don’t exist.”
Then he really turns, gaze steady on mine. “Why not?”
“Why not what?”
“Why not find one?”
“I was joking.” I think.
“I’m not.” He breathes, slow and certain. “I’d do it. If you think I’d pass muster.”
Rockefeller Center hums. The lights blink. The city holds its breath.
“You would?” I ask, my laugh coming out strangled. “We barely know each other.”
“We work together. We live in the same building.”
“We share an elevator sometimes. That’s not the same as—” I gesture helplessly. “Wesley, this is insane.”
“So is losing out on your inheritance because your dead grandmother had opinions.”
“It sounds too easy,” I say, because saying yes would make me a lunatic.
“How hard can it be?” He counts it off, practical. “We convince whoever needs convincing. Trustee? Lawyer? Parents?”
“Sure, I suppose. But what’s in it for you?”
He’s quiet for a beat. I watch his expression shift—vulnerability cracking through the easy charm.
“You don’t have to tell me,” I say quietly.
“No, it’s—You told me your issue.” He scrubs a hand over his face. “Everyone back home thinks I made the wrong choice,” he says slowly, like he’s pulling each word out with pliers. “Left Alaska for the professional hockey league. Chose money over roots, fame over family.” He looks at the ice. “My ex is engaged to a guy who works my dad’s boat. Stable. Reliable.” He shrugs, trying to make it light, but fails. “The thing is, she’s probably right. He can give her everything she wanted. But it still fucking stings.”
“You want to prove you didn’t sacrifice everything.”
“Something like that.” His voice drops. “And honestly? I want her to feel it. That gut punch when you realize the person you thought would always be yours...isn’t.” His eyes meet mine, unflinching. “That makes me sound like an asshole.”
“No,” I say. “It makes you sound hurt.”
He exhales; his shoulders loosen. “Everyone back home pities me. ‘Poor Wesley, couldn’t keep his girl.’ I’m tired of being the guy who got dumped.” He leans forward, elbows on his knees. “Showing up engaged changes the narrative. Suddenly I’m not the loser. I’m the guy who moved on and upgraded.”
“Upgraded,” I repeat, mouth twitching. Is that what I am in this scenario? An upgrade? Proof that he didn’t fail?
Then again, I’m using him to avoid Bennett the fucking Fourth. So maybe we’re even.
“You know what I mean.”
