Wait, shit.Fakedating.
It’s a little better once they’re on the ice. Blake looks incredibly sexy in his gear and he knows it, lifting the hem of his jersey at every opportunity where he knows I can see. He spotted me in the crowd seconds after they hit the ice, and his gaze never strayed as he did his elaborate and highly suggestive warm up. The sight alone was enough to make me blush, every vein in my body set alight in anticipation. I swore I saw him grin at the sight.
As the game unfolds I study his movements, relying on the knowledge of Raf’s boyfriend, Nico, to figure out the plays. He also tells me that, while effective, Blake’s actions on the ice are generally frowned upon and his sitting in that box thing is because he’s out on a penalty, and not just him looking after his energy like I assumed.
His eyes find mine as he waits out his time, a soft smile playing his lips. There is a look in his eyes that is hard to pin down yet leaves butterflies swarming inside of me, spreading a kind of itch I know deep down only he can scratch.
The other partners stare at me like I’ve grown a second head when I burst out in laughter at the sight of Blake falling on his ass. I’m worried sick about him being in there, let it be known, but this fall was so dramatic that I know he’s okay without himtelling me. It’s their loss, really; him sliding across the ice on his butt is objectively the funniest thing I’ve ever seen. I hope someone turns it into a meme.
I pull Blake’s beanie further over my ears and tug at my mittens, the biting cold tearing through my many layers no matter what I do. Another reason to hate hockey: chronic pain flare-ups are almost guaranteed with every game or practice I go to.
Nico jabs me in the side and points to Blake just in time to see him score, and like a 00’s romcom, he points right at me while blowing a kiss. I laugh and pretend to catch it as if it were a tangible thing, my cheeks bursting with color as I notice myself on the big screen. To round out the cliché I press my hands together in a heart shape and mouthI love you,andrelief washes over me as the screen goes back to showing the players.
“You two are so cute. I’ve never seen a man this smitten,” Nico says. “Not with a woman, anyway.”
“You think he’s smitten?” I look out onto the ice to find his eyes on me again, a smile playing on his lips before his gaze is pulled back to the puck. My heart flutters at the thought.
“Oh, I have no doubt,” Nico says. “He’s not even trying to hide it, either–he’s gone soft. Did you know he gave Raf a trip to Paris for his birthday?”
I shake my head no.
“Blake said that when love is real, it should be celebrated, and he wanted us to have something truly special. Who does that? Who just gives their friend a trip to Europe and downplays how big that is?”
“He does,” I say. It makes sense; this is the one thing he could give Rafael that the latter couldn’t pass down to his family, something he’s forced to use himself. Smart thinking on Blake’s part. “Blake doesn’t care about money. If he likes you, he’d buy you the world without a second thought.”
Nico laughs. “He really likes you, so what did he buy you?”
“Nothing. I don’t want his money.” I look away, dodging the questioning look on Nico’s face as I whisper, “I just want him.”
Is this what life with Blake would be like? Going to hockey games, cheering him on, freezing my butt off? I could get used to it, I admit. His teammates are nice—well, most of them—and so are their partners. Nico is great company in the dull moments, and Blake plays with such passion even I enjoy watching him play. But then what?
As a teacher, I can’t follow him from state to state once he’s in the NHL, and I can’t ask him to give up his dreams for me. Being with me comes with enough compromises as it is. I’m sure he’d encourage me to stay home, and say that I don’t have to work if it’s a drain on my health, but I’m not giving my dreams up either.
What am I even doing, thinking about these things? I don’t even know if anything Blake and I share is real, and here I am, dreaming of a future with him. I can’t help it, though; it just feels soright. The fact thatAlexis Taylorhas a nice ring to it doesn’t help, either.
I’d be lucky, so incredibly lucky, to have Blake to call mine—for real, that is.
Though I know, deep down, nothing about this is fake for me.
It’slate at night when we get back to the hotel, the both of us quiet and aching.
“I’m going to take a hot shower, try to thaw out a bit.” I toss my coat and purse onto the bed, running a hand through my hair with a sigh. Even standing right next to the steaming radiator, I still feel as cold as the Arctic.
Blake lets himself fall onto the bed, yanking his boots off one by one. “Need any help? I’mverygood at showers.”
The lowest part of my belly aches at the thought. I bet that shower wouldreallywarm me up. Still, there is another contest date planned for tomorrow, and I should probably reserve what little energy I have for that.
“You’re welcome to join me, Blakey-bear, but I barely have enough fumes left to get through a shower, let alone anything fun.”
“Fair enough. Today was a lot. Go ahead, Sunshine. I’ll be here if you need me.” Blake shoots me the softest smile, full of fatigue and emotions I don’t allow myself to acknowledge.
“I’ll be right out.”
I don’t bother searching for my pajamas, snatching only a set of fresh underwear from my bag. Blake has seen me naked before; I doubt he minds seeing me in my underwear.
In the bathroom I peel off every layer, from the hat to the leggings and underwear, and before long the scalding hot stream of water washes over me. The relief is almost immediate, the stiffness in my muscles easing with every moment, though it does little for the pain.
A knock sounds from the door, and I don’t think twice.
