Jhett shifts at my feet, his warm weight anchoring me to the bed even as curiosity begins to override my desire to stay cocooned in my blankets.
Fine.
I blindly reach toward the nightstand, nearly knocking over my water glass, before my fingers close around my phone. The screen is painfully bright in my dim bedroom, forcing me to squint as I unlock it.
Five text messages. Three Instagram notifications. And one alert from that celebrity gossip app I downloaded months ago and keep forgetting to delete.
“Hockey Playboy Spotted Ring Shopping with Mystery Brunette.”
My brain takes a moment to process the words, still muddled with sleep.
Wait. What?
I bolt upright, suddenly wide awake. Jhett lifts his head, alarmed by my sudden movement.
There’s a photo underneath the headline. It’s slightly blurry, taken from a distance, but unmistakably shows Dylan and me standing close together in Meridian Jewelers, looking at something in a display case. My stomach drops as if I’ve just stepped off a cliff.
“No, no, no,” I whisper, my heart rate accelerating.
I tap the notification with a trembling finger, and the full article fills my screen. More photos. One of Dylan holding my hand as I try on a ring. Another of us laughing together, his arm around my waist.
Oh gosh.
My mouth goes dry. A cold sweat breaks out on the back of my neck. I throw off the covers and race to Genna’s bedroom, Jhett trotting behind me, confused by this deviation from our normal morning routine.
“Genna!” I burst through her door without knocking. “Wake up!”
She groans from beneath her pile of blankets, a tuft of dark hair the only visible part of her. “Go away. It’s too early.”
“Emergency,” I insist, yanking back her comforter. “Major emergency. Look!”
I thrust my phone at her face. She blinks rapidly, trying to focus, then grabs the phone from my hand, suddenly alert.
“What the heck?” She sits up, her hair a tangled mess around her face. “Is this for real?”
“It’s happening right now,” I say, pacing the small space at the foot of her bed. “I just woke up to, like, a million notifications.”
Genna scrolls through the article, her eyes widening. “Oh my gosh. Listen to this: ‘Sources close to the hockey star reveal that Williamston, known for his playboy lifestyle, has finally found ‘the one’ and is ready to settle down. The couple was spotted at high-end Meridian Jewelers on Saturday evening, where they spent considerable time in the engagement ring section.’”
“Sources close to the hockey star?” I repeat incredulously. “What sources? We were literally just looking at jewelry!”
“There’s more,” Genna continues, her voice rising in pitch. “‘The mystery brunette, who appeared completely smitten with Williamston, tried on several rings before the couple shared a tender moment that onlookers described as ‘definitely pre-proposal.’”
“Pre-proposal?” I grab a pillow from her bed and scream into it. “We were joking around! He was pretending to be my fiancé to mess with the sales clerk!”
Jhett whines at the foot of the bed, picking up on my distress. I take a deep breath, trying to calm down for his sake.
“Let me see,” I say, snatching my phone back from Genna. I scroll further, my heart sinking with each paragraph.
“‘After years of being linked to models and influencers,’” I read aloud, my voice rising in disbelief, “‘it appears the hockey heartthrob is finally ready to hang up his bachelor status.’ ‘Dylan has been different lately,’ says a teammate who wishes to remain anonymous. ‘More settled, less interested in the party scene. Whoever this woman is, she’s changed him.’”
“Anonymous teammate?” Genna scoffs. “Which one of those idiots is talking to gossip blogs?”
But I barely hear her. I’m staring at the largest photo in the article—Dylan and me outside the jewelry store, standing close together under the Christmas lights. The way he’s looking at me in the photo ... it almost seems like...
No.
I can’t go there.
