His forearms flexed on the wheel, dark button-down rolled to the elbows, black watch snug on his wrist. Steady, carved lines of strength, calm in motion—a very attractive, unbothered rock who got my pulse doing hot flips.
“You didn’t say where we’re going.”
“Figured I’d let it be a surprise.”
Oh, great, mystery. As if I wasn’t already barely holding it together. I exhaled, reminded myself this was just a dinner withmy fake date who hadn’t said yes, but he’d shown up, and that was screaming “It’s maybe happening.”
The restaurant was in the middle of downtown Sacramento, near the Convention Center—brick walls, string lights, soft jazz in the background, polished enough to make me aware of my hair, my shoes, my everything. The hostess greeted Sean as a regular, and I was the tagalong in someone else’s world.
She walked us to our table, Sean pulled out my chair for me, and I tried not to read too much into that. The menu was a novella. I skipped duck confit and words I couldn’t pronounce to find what was familiar, like chicken.
My pulse, which hadn’t slowed since I walked out of the house, continued its little flutter under my collarbone.
Sean didn’t speak right away; he let me sit in my quiet panic. We ordered wine for both of us; I was clearly going to need it. Then he finally leaned forward, elbows on the table, looking all coach-on-a-mission. Surprisingly, the worried lines I saw on his forehead at the rink were gone.
“I didn’t say yes yet,” he said.
“Okay,” I managed.
“If I do this, show up as your date, there are consequences. I’m in the media spotlight, and they don’t stop at game scores. They’ll dig into you, into us.”
That pulled me up a bit straighter. “Right…”
“Sometimes the media asks personal details. Most of it rolls off, but if I show up with someone, especially during playoffs…” He shrugged. “They notice.”
“So you’re saying if you pretend to be my boyfriend at Sam’s graduation party, I should be ready for out-of-context questions?”
He smirked, a slow curve of his lips. “Even if we say nothing, they’ll say something. It spins fast, and your name won’t be the only one dragged into it.”
I stared at him, surprised by how thoughtful he’d been. While I’d been focused on using him as a human shield against my ex, he’d been calculating potential falloutfor me. He was more than good at coaching; he was good at reading me, and that was its own kind of attractive.
“Wow. Okay. It feels like I ran from the rain and landed in the river with flash photography.”
He cracked a warm smile. “Not the worst metaphor I’ve heard, plus I’m a very good swimmer.”
The waiter came. We ordered. Chicken for me, a creature of habit, and steak with way too many adjectives for him, a man of refined taste. His knee brushed mine as he adjusted himself. A faint, accidental touch, but it still made my pulse skip.
Sean leaned back, eyes steady on mine. “Tell me about the ex.”
“Seriously?”
“To fake a date, I should know the stakes.”
I stared down at my silverware, suddenly unsure if I wanted to unpack this in a cool restaurant with soft jazz playing overhead. But if I were pulling him into the fire, he deserved to know how hot it burned.
I let out a breath and faced him. “Vince was someone I thought I’d build a future with. We were engaged, then he picked a job over me.” I looked away, pretending the condensation on my glass was more fascinating than his eyes. “That was two years ago.”
He didn’t interrupt. He listened, offering a slow, steady nod.
“He’s dropping back into my life again. For him, it’s no big deal, but it’s not about him anymore. It’s about what he left behind, about my mom’s interference,” I continued, feeling the familiar tightness in my chest.
Sean’s jaw ticked. “That couldn’t have been easy,” he said quietly. “Now your mom thinks she’s paving the way for you, but she’s digging a hole in it.”
“Yeah.”
“And you want a fake date to prove you’ve moved on?”
I met his gaze, chin tilting. “No. I want a fake date, so no one assumes I haven’t. It’s an important distinction.”
