Page 160 of Don't Fall for the Goalie
God. The way he publicly claimed me does something dangerous to my heart.
Heat rushes through me all over again.
I watch it again… and again.
Daltyn could’ve laughed it off. Could’ve called me a friend.
Instead, he looked the barista in the eye and called me his girlfriend in a coffee shop like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Then I see a notification from TikTok.
I click on it, watching a video of the same scene, only someone slowed this one down. It’s even hotter than the first one I watched.
My face is flushed as I go to the comments section. And it only gets worse when I read them.
THE WAY HE SAID MY GIRLFRIEND!?!?! HOT!!!
I would’ve folded instantly.
That barista just survived a near-death experience.
Not him following her into the bathroom after. Lucky bitch
Green Mountain Avalanche goalie Daltyn Guyer seen exhibiting concerning levels of possessiveness
I’m internally combusting as I read each of the feral comments, feeling like the luckiest woman on the planet because Daltyn called me his girlfriend.
And he never retracted it, although we spent the entire day and night together.
I gaze out the window, feeling way too comfortable here. Wishing I’d never have to leave, but deep down, knowing this is temporary.
I’m living in denial. And yeah, I’m staying here a bit longer.
My phone is blowing up with notifications when I finally tear my gaze from the window, forcing thoughts of me sitting in the stands as his actual girlfriend away.
Good lord.
I’m tagged in videos and photos on social media. A few of them show Daltyn and me exiting the coffee shop, hand-in-hand. Our hair is mussed, clearly indicating that what we were doing in the bathroom wasn’t innocent. At all.
My face is on fire as I read through more comments. I stare at photos where I look dazed and flushed, post-orgasm glow impossible to hide, while Daltyn smirks like a man who knows exactly how to please a woman. Videos where we look very cozy and comfortable, like we are actually a couple.
And it makes me… happy. Yet sad.
Because the truth is, this isn’t real.
My phone buzzes with a text.
Daltyn: Ignore the internet today if it gets overwhelming.
I bite my lip, holding my phone against my chest.
This is fake. It’s not real.
But it’s so hard to remember that when we’re cooking and laughing together. When we stare at each other while eating with goofy smiles, until one of us throws something at the other. When I curl up on the couch in his arms, he puts the blanket over me without asking. Because he doesn’t need to. He knows when I’m cold.
A long, mournful sigh escapes as I study a picture of his handsome face. My finger caresses his jawline on the screen of my phone.
I’m in trouble.
