Page 26 of Strange Love

There is a brief moment of hesitation before Corey responds, “No, I generally don’t have girlfriends. I focus on hockey, but with you as my ‘girlfriend,’” he says, using air quotes, “some of the other girls around here might back off.” He pauses momentarily before adding, “Besides, you’re not expecting me to act like a real, devoted boyfriend. I don’t have to divert any focus. It’s for show.”

“How do we sell it?” I ask.

“By acting like a couple,” he answers, his eyes flickering towards mine.

“I am not having sex with you, Corey Delacour!” I whisper-shout, my cheeks flushing at the thought.

He lets out a hearty chuckle and holds up his hands in defense. “Woah, Ivy Owens. I didn’t say anything about that,” he smirks. “But we will have to spend some time together. Hold hands, maybe,” he suggests with a shrug. “And you have to come to my home games.”

“Maybe,” I reply skeptically. “I can’t believe I’m even contemplating this idea. It has disaster written all over it.”

“We’ll also have to kiss,” he adds, his mischievous glint returning.

“What? Kiss? Nope. No deal,” I argue firmly.

“You think it’s going to be that bad?” he jokes, feigning insult.

“No,” I say shyly with a shake of my head. “That’s not it.”

“Wait, have you ever been kissed before?” he teases, leaning closer.

I glare at him as my face grows warmer by the second.

“Well, well, well,” he says with a grin. “Looks like someone’s blushing.”

I resist the urge to roll my eyes again, “I’m not answering that.”

“But you just did,” he points out with a playful wink. “This is going to be fun.”

“My answer is no. I won’t fake date you. Let’s just drop it,” I say firmly, crossing my arms in front of me.

Coach Jensen hushes us, so I turn around to face the front. My intention is to begin the essay I’m supposed to write, but I can feel Corey’s eyes burning into the back of my head.

Soon, a crumpled piece of paper lands on the desk by my hand. I quickly hide it underneath my desk without looking and make a horrible attempt at a fake cough to disguise the sound of opening the note, earning me a chuckle from Corey behind me.

Unfolding the paper, I read the messy handwriting scrawled on it.

“Ivy Owens,

Will you fake date me?

Check here for yes and here for no.

P.S. Check yes. You won’t regret it.”

Damn, this charming bastard. I bite my lower lip while I consider his preposterous proposal. I mean, no good can come of this, right? Why would I ever entertain this idea? You know why, Ivy. Over 6 feet of gorgeous, fabulous-smelling hockey player. And the chance to do something normal in your life. Without allowing myself to overthink the situation, which is so unlike me, I check a box, fold the note, and drop it behind my back, over my shoulder.

Seconds later, I hear the paper rustle as Corey laughs, the confident chuckle of a man used to getting what he wants.

As 5 o’clock nears, I begin packing my things when Corey tugs on my hair to get my attention.

“What?” I asked, turning to face him.

“Just wanted to remind you to enjoy your last night of being single,” He laughs.

“So what do I call you? As your girlfriend?”

“Well, my teammates call me Delzy. My mom calls me Corey,” he replies smoothly.