Alex
Just finished an early practice. More of a strategy lecture from our coach to get us in the zone to hit the ice tonight. Are you up yet? Don’t you want to wish your boyfriend good luck, baby?
Alex
Kidding, you don’t have to if you don’t want to. But cheer for me when I score tonight. And don’t be surprised when I point at you. It means I’m dedicating the goal to my girl.
These check inshave been nonstop since yesterday when Alex decided he would be my fake boyfriend. He went quiet late last night, finally allowing me to enjoy my current read in peace. Thismorning the texts have started up again. When I got up, I found three new messages waiting for me.
Not long into my first Friday class, I nearly choke on my coffee when he sends a question about the title of my book only to let me know he found it—probably on the display I set up yesterday during my shift—less than five minutes later.
Then there’s the text with a photo of his newly purchased romance novel ten minutes after.
Followed by his thoughts on the first chapter being interesting when I’m sitting down in my next class.
Interesting.
What does that mean? Does he think it’s weird? Is he still reading?
The thoughts continue to pile on one after the other.
Any chance I have of focusing on the rest of my classes for the day flies out the window because I’m worrying about his opinion of romance books based on trying one. Thankfully it’s a contemporary book, because I don’t know how the hell I’d handle it if he tried something in the fantasy or monster realm.
On my way into the library to meet up with my weekly study group early in the afternoon, I finally get an answer to the questions I can’t stop thinking about.
Alex
Didn’t mean to keep going, but I couldn’t stop reading after I finished the first chapter. I’m up to the part where they’re caught in the rain after they went on the trail ride.
Someone almost knocks into me when I stop in my tracks, right in the middle of the aisles between the extra work tables on the second floor. It’s less distracting up here than the tables at the center of the atrium on the first floor.
“Watch out,” the student mutters, sidestepping to get by.
But I’m not paying attention to anything going on in my surroundings.
I’m so surprised by the unfathomable idea of Alex—hot, popular, athletic,prime example of ideal masculinityAlex—not only reading a romance, but enjoying it. So shocked that my brain bypasses my default setting to overthink ten responses as a required step prior to replying.
Before I’m aware of it, I’ve texted back.
Lainey
You actually like it?
Alex
It’s not weird if I do, right? It’s good. I’m man enough to admit it. Some parts have me grinning like an idiot.
Alex
I’ve never felt my face get so hot either. They weren’t even doing anything sexy. Theo and Brody caught me reading a few pages during lunch. They asked why I was so red. I didn’t know how to explain to them that this guy swung the girl out of the way of the wild horse they’re training and had her pinned to the wall to shield her with his body while they were staring at each other.
What is happening? My heart beats faster.
On one hand, I know exactly what scene Alex is talking about. It had me kicking my feet and screaming into a pillow last night when I read it. The long stare built the tension between thecouple, then the hero’s gaze dropped to the heroine’s lips and gave me butterflies.
On the other hand, I can’t unload all of my excited fangirling over the moment between the couple. Not to him. It’s too much.
I jolt when my phone vibrates again in my hands.
