Page 21 of Empty Net

“Really?” He raises a brow. “Because it seemed to me like your mother was winning that little battle of wills, and you were moments away from blowing your cover. She knew you were lying.”

“She did not,” I mutter, but deep down, I know he’s right. She knew, and Iwasabout to tell her the truth. I was tired of her questions, tired of hearing her words, especially because they were true.

“She did,” he says, slipping his tux jacket down his arms, then closing the distance between us. I’m already warm before he even wraps it around me.

I’m pretty sure ninety-nine percent of the guys here have already discarded their coats, sporting unbuttoned dress shirts and loosened ties, but not him.Of coursenot him.

“Listen,” Fox says, stepping back and putting space between us like the nice guy he is, “if you’re really that upset, I won’t go. You could say I had a hockey thing come up or something.”

It’s tempting. It really is. But I have a sneaking suspicion that would somehow be far worse than pretending to be dating for a night. And really, what’s the worst that can happen? It’s just one night, and at least I’ll get to spend the evening with someone I know, someone I actually like instead of feeling alone in a room full of people who are undoubtedly talking about me whenever my back is turned.

I peek up at Fox through my lashes, trying very hard not to notice the moonlight hitting his jawline, highlighting the stubble peppering it. Or the way his brown eyes seem to glimmer beneath the moonbeams. How his dress shirt is tight over hisbroad shoulders, tapering in at his waist with precision. Or how even though he looks reminiscent of a high school science teacher chaperoning prom with his shirt still perfectly in place, bowtie completely straight, hands tucked into his pockets, he doesn’t. He looks good.Toogood.

I swallow, then sigh.

“Fine.”

His eyes widen. “Fine? Does that mean…?”

I nod. “Yes, you can be my date. I mean, it makes sense anyway, doesn’t it,boyfriend?”

He grimaces as he lifts his hand, squeezing the back of his neck like he’s suddenly embarrassed by his genius plan. I tug his jacket tighter around me, craving its warmth and relishing the scent that’s entirely him, tickling at my nose while we stand there awkwardly. Me, wrapped in his jacket that’s about three sizes too big and hits below my knees, and him, his hands still stuffed in his pockets and looking like he’s about to tell me Pluto’s a planet again or some shit.

Is this how it’s going to be at my dad’s party? Because if so, there is no way my mother is going to buy us dating. She might be smitten by Fox and excited that I have a date for now, but if we don’t sell it, I’m never going to hear the end of it.

“So…” Fox says, rocking back on his heels. “Want to dance?”

I can’t help it—I laugh.Loudly.

Of course Fox wants to dance. Of course Fox is completely unaffected by this. Of course he’s grinning at me right now, andof courseit’s working.

I smile back. “Yeah, Fox, I’d like to dance. But first?”

“First?”

“I need a drink.”

His smile grows. “I think I can manage that.”

“Champagne for you, vodka soda for me.”

“Thank you.” I take the glass from Fox’s outstretched hand, instantly bringing it to my lips. I lost my buzz from earlier with our very sobering conversation on the balcony, and now I’m on a mission to regain it, maybe even surpass it. I need it, considering I’m now “dating” a hockey player.

I gulp the drink down in record time, then hand the empty glass back to him. To my surprise, Fox says nothing. He just chugs most of his vodka and orders us another round. Fresh drinks in hand, we make our way to one of the many standing tables. I lean against it, rolling my champagne flute between my fingers, and Fox mirrors my moves. I still have his coat wrapped around me, the scent of Irish Spring and mahogany wafting about every time I move just the right way.

“So,Arthur,” I say, enjoying the frown that momentarily pulls at his lips far too much. “How did we meet?”

“Well,Lilah Jane,” he teases, “I think we can tell the truth on that.”

“Which is?”

“You fell in love with my goalie stretches.”

I laugh loudly, but it dies quickly when I realize his words might be hitting a bit too close to home. I think back to last year when Auden took me to my first Seattle Serpents game, and I couldn’t take my eyes off the way Fox stretched against the ice. It was almost like he was fucking, his hips moving up and down suggestively. Of course, I knew he wasn’t doing anything remotely sexual and I fully understood what was happening, but still, I let my mind wander for a moment. Probably because I was horny as hell, but whatever.

“I’m not sure that’ll go over very well,” I eventually say.

He grins. “Fine, then. My backup answer of ‘mutual friends’ will have to suffice.”

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