I hesitate, because he really isn’t going to like this. “Outside, we need to make our relationship look real, but inside…inside we’re just…roommates?” I don’t mean for it to come out as a question, but I wasn’t sure “friends” was the right word either.
“Roommates?” Everett echoes.
“Yeah. Platonic roommates.”
His jaw tics, but I’m not sure if it’s in irritation or amusement.
“You almost kissed me back there earlier,” he points out.
I turn to look into the kitchen, at the exact place I was standing when I reached up on my toes and?—
“That can’t happen. My hormones and emotions are a fucking mess right now. If we…I don’t…I can’t …”
“Don’t worry; you won’t fall for me,” he states coldly.
I blink at him.
“How do you know that?”
“Because I’ll drive you crazy. I’ll fuck up left and right, and I’ll make your life harder than necessary. You’ll be counting down the days until this is over and you can get on with your life.”
I stare, dumbfounded. He’s serious. He really thinks that little of himself.
I’ve only spent a small amount of time with him in the grand scheme of things, and not once have I ever counted down any kind of time to get away from him.
Okay, that might be a lie. Those first two hospital appointments were hell, and I couldn’t get out of there fast enough. But that’s different.
I want to tell him that he’s wrong. That me falling for him is a very real threat right now. But I know he won’t believe me.
“Well, I think it’s for the best we stay safe. Who knows which way my hormones will swing next? Being more than roommates will complicate things in the long run.”
His brows pinch, his eyes dropping to the floor for a beat. “What about friends? Can we be friends?”
Tears burn my eyes as he urges me for just a little bit more.
Vulnerability oozes from him. All I want to do is run over and wrap my arms around him. To tell him that I’d love nothing more than to be his friend. That I promise to show up for him every day and prove to him just how awesome he is. But the words will mean nothing. Instead, I promise myself to show him.
“Yeah, Everett. We can be friends.”
“My friends call me Rett,” he points out with a smirk, although the darkness in his eyes lingers.
Silence falls between us as the reality of what we’re about to embark on hits, all the lies we’re going to have to tell.
But as uncomfortable as that makes me feel, I know we have to do this. And together, we will.
Starting tomorrow, I’m no longer just Bea, owner of The Bea Hive salon.
I’m Bea, girlfriend of the NHL legend Everett Donnelly.
The whole world will know my name, and our relationship will be thrown into the spotlight.
“I’m sorry, I?—”
I launch from the couch and run as fast as I can to my bathroom before bringing the pastry and hot chocolate back up.
“Shit,” I hear before heavy footsteps enter the room, and before I can say anything, a large, warm, supportive hand presses against my back.
That sense of safety returns, and I force everything we just talked about from my head as I deal with the consequences of our actions all those weeks ago.
