He laughs, dimples on display. “You looked me up?”
I shrug, not meeting his stare. I had before but not like last night where I spent an insane amount of time searching him up. “I figured if we’re going to fake it, I’ll need to know more about you. Your parents didn’t ask a lot of questions, but I’m sure they will eventually.”
That’s a lame response and I know Sylas thinks just as much because he scoffs. “You just wanted to look me up, didn’t you?”
My lips tick up a little. “Shut up. It’s not?—”
“Bullshit.” He speaks over me. “Did you watch my highlights? Loved seeing me in my uniform? Get turned on by it? Did you replay the clips?”
Now I scoff, loud enough that the people next to us skate past us, peeping at us. “Sylas, you are—” I chuckle in astonishment. “There are not enough words to describe what you are. There are enough self-important people in this city. There’s not enough room for you here. So stop?—”
“I can’t. I won’t.” He raises my hand and shocks me when he brings it to his mouth and brushes his lips along my knuckles. His breath tickles and warms my cold skin. “I can’t help it, I’m an assured person,” he says as he drops my hand, still keeping a firm hold on it.
He did it so absently, like it was something he didn’t think about. Something he did, just to do. Something he’s done countless times.
It’s bizarre—in a good way—howpretendingfeels so real.
“Assured,” I mock, watching the white cloud of my breath get carried away by the chilly wind. “Bigheadedsuits you better.”
A haughty smirk stretches across his face. “But really, you looked me up?”
Flashbacks of last night’s videos surface. His agility, his speed, his strength, the way he carries himself. I see why he’s so proud. He’s good, although sayinggoodis probably downplaying how talented he is.
“Yes, happy? You’re my boyfriend. I feel like I still don’t know a lot about you, and I was thinking of your parents. Eventually, they’ll ask me questions.”
And maybe I looked him up just to see him in his uniform.
“Whatever you want to know, just ask. If you want pictures or videos, I’m happy to send those to you. All you have to do is ask,girlfriend.”
I chuckle and pause, my gaze gravitating toward the orange cones placed on the ice in the center. There’s a girl, who I assume is a figure skater because she jumps and twirls so effortlessly.
“I’ll pass.” I grin at the playful roll of his eyes. “So, why ‘Punisher’?”
“I watch an episode ofThe Punisherbefore every game.”
“Superstitious much?” I tease.
“Don’t judge me. I have to. If I don’t, I’m thrown off my game.” He smiles, knowing I mean nothing by it. “I also have tea and eat a peanut butter and jelly sandwich before every game.”
I did know that, and I think it’s cute. “WhyThe Punisherthough?”
“Because the first time I watched it before a game, I scored a hat trick and the one time I didn’t watch it, my shoulder popped out of its socket.” There’s a grim look on his face, jaw tense before he blinks and it’s gone. “Sorry about our communications class?—”
“It’s fine. I’m over it. How’s your shoulder now?” I glance at it, remembering how he stood after he was harshly shoved against the boards then dropped to the ground, holding his arm.
“It’s good.” But he doesn’t sound sure of himself like he usually does. “Never been better.”
I stare skeptically at him. He looks out of it, like he’s not himself.
“Are you sure?”
His smug smile returns. “Positive. I’m good. That was three years ago. As was the fight.” He sighs sharply, and a billowing white cloud expels from his mouth.
The change of conversation screams he’s done talking about it. I want to let him know he can talk to me, but this is fake, afterall. He doesn’t necessarily have to tell me anything. Although I do want to know, I’m not sure how much I can ask or what I can ask. I don’t want to make him uncomfortable.
Still, I say, “If you ever want to talk about it, I’m here, fake girlfriend or not.”
“I love how much you care about me.” He kisses my knuckles again, making my stomach flutter.
