I may have jacked myself up since high school, but deep down, I will always be that kid.
I can fake confidence now. I can pretend I believe I’m as hot as people say I am, but I suddenly feel like I’m eighteen years old again.
I let out a burst of air as I pace back into the living room, double- and triple-checking that everything is in its place. I’m not used to this rush of nerves, not anymore.
Usually, I keep myself out of any situation that unsettles me, so I was apparently having an off moment when I invited Westly to my house. I drag my hand back through my hair and quickly smooth it down again. Ever since he burst into my office in a whirlwind of rage, things have not been going to plan.
There’s a knock on my front door, and I freeze. I’m being ridiculous. Sure, I’m willingly letting a hockey player who I’m going to be pretending to date into my home, big deal. It’s not something to stress about. Even though he appears friendly and—thank you, Dave, for pointing it out—is incredibly hot. All I need to do is keep control of this situation. I shake out my arms to try and relax before moving to let him in.
It’s a cold day, and his cheeks are flushed pink under his hoodie, but as soon as I open the door, he unleashes a smile that lights up his entire face. And it really is a gorgeous face. I thought hockey players were supposed to look all rough and have no teeth. Westly is unshaven with dark stubble and piercing green eyes. He’s effortlessly hot in the unkempt, I just rolled out of bed and look like this kind of way.
I realize I haven’t moved or said anything, so I step aside to let him in and remind myself that yeah, Westly is a hockey player, but surely he’s too old to pants me and shove me outside for my whole neighborhood to see. There’s nothing to be nervous about.
“Thanks for coming, Westly.”
“No ‘Westly.’ Please. Dad used to call me that and …” He shakes his head. “Yeah, West is fine.”
And we’re off to a great start. Jesus.
“Nice place,” he says lightly as he walks into my living room.
The compliment—especially when I’m not so sure it was sincere—shouldn’t warm me like it does. My house is small, but it’s been recently updated, and I’m proud of it.
“Want something to drink?” I offer.
“Water, thanks.”
Awkward. Damn, this is so awkward. I’d imagined it would be, but this is next-level, kill-me-now awkwardness. Neither of us says anything as he follows me into the kitchen, and my mind is blank.
I pour him some filtered water and hand it over. “You know, I always got the impression you were more confident than this.”
“Likewise.” West eyes me before taking a long sip. His Adam’s apple works up and down, snagging my attention.
I tear my gaze away. “I suppose it’s not every day we have a sudden boyfriend we have to get to know.”
He takes a seat at the small dining table, setting his phone and keys down.
I take the seat opposite. “How’s your sister?”
“Okay, I think? I’ve tried to bring it up with her a few times, but she insists she’s fine and won’t talk about it.”
“That’s hard.”
“It is. I have no idea what to do or how to handle it, and—” He stops. “Sorry. I’m not here for that. This is about you. Where do we start with this?” he asks. “Favorite colors? Favorite animals?”
I huff out a breath. “Somehow I doubt we’ll be quizzed on those.”
“Porn choices?”
When my eyes widen and my gaze flicks to his, he grins.
“Sorry. Bad joke, I guess.”
“Why don’t we start with how we met? I mean, we don’t technically need to know much about each other. We just need to make it believable.”
“All right.” West taps his phone to light up the screen in such an absentminded way I’m not even sure he’s aware he’s done it. When he sees no notification, he turns back to me. “You saw me across the crowded staff room and instantly wanted to climb me like a tree.”
“Why am I the one doing the climbing? Wouldn’t it work better if you saw me?”
He snorts and gestures to himself. “Come on.”
I’m going to kill Dave for gushing over how attractive West is. I was more than happy going on with life, completely immune to West’s attractiveness. He’s wearing gym shorts that show off his strong legs, has exactly the amount of stubble I like in a man, and meets my eyes in a way that makes me feel like an equal.
I can play his game though.
I push up the sleeve of my T-shirt and flex. He might be a hockey player, but he’s lean muscle, built for speed.