I swallow hard, reading the comments.
The terrifying part isn’t the internet thinking Daltyn is in love with me. It’s the tiny part of me starting to hope they’re right.
Before I can respond, another text appears.
Allie: Connor texted. The team is giving Daltyn a bunch of shit.
I bury my face in the couch cushion.
Until my phone beeps again and curiosity wins out.
Harper: Jake changed Daltyn’s locker room nameplate to “Peyton’s Husband.”
My jaw drops.
Me: HE DID WHAT?
Allie: Connor says Daltyn ripped it off and threw it. Then Connor put it back.
Even though I can only imagine how irritated Daltyn is, my traitorous heart does an embarrassing little flutter at the words, “Peyton’s husband.”
Harper: Men truly never mature.
Despite the locker room chaos, Daltyn is still one of the most emotionally steady men I’ve ever met. Which somehow makes all of this worse.
Me: You’re all enjoying this way too much.
Harper: To be fair, Peyton… He did take you lingerie shopping like an emotionally unstable bodyguard.
Allie: And the way he looks at you??? Girl.
I stare at the messages. Then the photos of Daltyn. The one where he’s looking at me, a wide smile on my face, has my heart fluttering. So does the one where he looks furious enough to kill someone for breathing too close to me.
The scary part?
It doesn’t look fake.
That’s what keeps messing with my head.
Not the posts. Not the comments. Not even the internet, which keeps calling me Mrs. Goalie.
It’s him.
The way he touches me. Looks at me. Protects me.
Like somewhere along the way… he forgot we were pretending.
I groan and toss my phone onto the couch cushion beside me.
“I’m living in a nightmare,” I mutter.
From the laundry room, Thelma chuckles softly. “You’ll survive.”
Easy for her to say. She isn’t currently being complimented and cyberbullied by strangers at the same time.
A while later,Thelma walks back into the living room carrying a neatly folded stack of laundry.
“Everything should be done,” she says. “I left Mr. Daltyn’s clothes in his room.”
