“Twenty-nine.”
“Of course. Still, hockey’s notoriously unforgiving to aging players, isn’t it?”
My lips press together, anger bubbling up in my gut. I can’t believe I used to take this man’s constant put-downs and nitpicking as ‘constructive criticism.’ And I hate that he’s turning all of that smooth-tongued bitterness on the poor man I dragged into pretending to be my boyfriend. I’m sure Asher has had worse things said about him, given how vicious keyboard warriors can be toward celebrities, but I doubt many people have talked like this to his face. Because it’s fucking rude.
Then again, that’s pretty much Daniel’s signature move—finding someone’s pressure points and applying precisely calibrated force. He perfected the technique on me for years.
Another rejection letter? That’s rough.Maybe you should consider something more practical than trying to be an illustrator. After all, most successful artists do more important work than drawing stuff for children’s books.
“Daniel, didn’t you mention the parking meter? We should move before they give you a ticket or something.” Maya’s manicured hand lands on her fiancé’s arm like a diplomatic intervention. I can’t tell if she’s sensed the way this conversation seems to be spiraling, or if she’s just getting impatient and wants to get out of here, but either way, I’m grateful.
“Oh, good point.” Daniel’s practiced smile clicks back into place like a mask. He glances toward the exit, than back at me as something seems to occur to him. “Actually, why don’t we offer you guys a lift into town? The Audi has plenty of space.”
Absolutely not. Being trapped in an enclosed space with my ex while maintaining the charade that I’m dating a hockey player sounds like the kind of psychological torture banned by international law.
I open my mouth to make up some excuse about how we have prior arrangements, but Asher speaks first.
“That’s generous.”
I snap my head around to stare at him, nearly giving myself whiplash in the process. He meets my gaze steadily, one dark eyebrow slightly raised as his lips twitch upward into a hint of a smile. He gives a small shrug as if to say,why not?
“That would—um, that would be great, actually,” I hear myself saying, because doubling down on terrible decisions has apparently become my personal brand.
Asher drops my hand and grabs his sleek black suitcase from the carousel with efficient ease, then nods toward my purple suitcase, which is sitting abandoned several feet away. “That’s yours, right?”
“I can get it,” I say quickly.
“I don’t doubt that.” His eyes meet mine again, that same inscrutable look passing over his face. “But it doesn’t mean you should have to.”
With that, he strides over and scoops up my bag too. We follow Daniel and Maya out of the small airport and toward the parking area, and as we near the car, Maya hangs back a little to fall into step beside me.
“So how long have you two been together?” she asks, glancing between me and Asher with curiosity.
Panic surges through me in a cold rush. We haven’t coordinated our story. We haven’t discussed anything, obviously, because thirty minutes ago we were strangers.
“Five and a half months,” Asher says at the exact moment I declare, “Seven months.”
Oh, sweet Jesus.
In my defense, it seemed like a reasonable timeframe. Long enough to justify bringing him home for Christmas, not so long that the hockey world would already know about his mysterious girlfriend.
“I always round up,” I say quickly, heat crawling up my neck. “You know how time flies when you’re… blissfully happy.”
Do I know that? Does time actually accelerate during happiness? I’m not sure I’ve ever been so content in a relationship that I lost track of weeks.
“That’s adorable.” Maya beams at us, and I can’t decide whether she means it or if she’s mentally filing this interaction away for future gossip. “You must be over the moon that he could rearrange his schedule for Christmas.”
“Yup.” I smile stiffly. “Absolutely euphoric.”
When we reach the car, I watch Asher load our bags into Daniel’s pristine trunk, and then we all climb inside. The Audi still radiates that new car scent, even though Daniel bought it during our relationship. He always had very specific car maintenance protocols, and equally specific rules about certain girlfriends not consuming French fries in the passenger seat.
Asher and I end up in the back together, with Maya sitting in the front passenger seat by Daniel, and suddenly the spacious interior feels claustrophobic. The combined scents of leather conditioner and Daniel’s distinctive cologne trigger unwanted sense memories of the last time I was in this car, shortly after he broke up with me and was dropping me off at my best friend Samantha’s place. I stayed with her for a few weeks before I left town, and I’ve been bouncing around ever since.
Daniel starts the car up, navigating us out of the small airport parking lot. I chew my lower lip, torn between scooting closer to Asher to keep selling the lie or scooting all the way over until I’m pressed up against the window. As it is, his thigh presses against mine through our clothes, radiating warmth that seems to seep straight through to my bones.
“So, tell me.” Daniel adjusts the rearview mirror to make eye contact as we roll down the street toward town. “How exactly did you two meet? It seems… unlikely, given your very different career choices.”
I swallow, my mind going blank.
