Page 71 of Perfectly Faked

“Leo...” She bites her lip and I suddenly wonder if I’ve said too much, asked her to be too vulnerable.

She plays with the hem of the hoodie. “Do you remember the night of the New Year’s Eve party when we were washing dishes and you backed me into that wall?”

“How could I forget?” I laugh softly. “I almost kissed you then. Before I had any excuse to.”

She looks at me with a soft smile. “That’s when I realized I wanted you again. Not just as a friend, but the way we used to be.” She sits on the bed, folding her legs underneath her. “You said you can’t be with me unless it means something to me. Well, it does—so much, it hurts when you’re not with me. Right now,all I want is for you to hold me—to chase away the monsters in my head—the ones that keep me up at night.”

“Monsters?” I ask. “Or hoodie thieves?”

“More like my mom chasing me down in heels, armed with disapproving looks and pointed questions.”

“Ah, the scariest kind,” I say in agreement, joining her on the bed. “I don’t know if I’m brave enough to facethat.”

“Actually...” She glances at the bedspread, her smile falling before she looks up at me. “This is me asking for help, Leo. I’m not good at it. And I know I’m being ridiculous...”

I put a finger gently to her lips to silence her. “Asking for help is not ridiculous—it’s a sign of trust. I’ll always help you, Vic. Even if it means sacrificing my favorite hoodie.”

I pull her into my arms as I settle against the pillows, wrapping my arms around her waist. She tucks herself into my chest and I lower my face, breathing in that faint strawberry scent. It’s all over my hoodie now, and I’m not sure I’ll ever get it back. But I’d sacrifice every hoodie in the world if it means I get to hold her in my arms for the rest of my life.

“Vic,” I whisper, dropping my lips to her neck and kissing it lightly.

“Yes?” she asks quietly in the dark.

“Would you be willing to wear my jersey once? So that every time I play, I can think of you. And when we’re apart, I’ll have a piece of you with me—always.”

“I’d love that more than anything,” she whispers, curling up in my arms. Her breathing softens almost instantly, and I feel the tension leave her body as she drifts off. Holding her now, it’s hard to imagine anything ever going wrong again.

TWENTY-EIGHT

victoria

My phone rings next to the bed, dragging me out of the deepest, most comfortable sleep I’ve had in ages. Leo’s arms are still around me, his face resting against my hair, his breathing deep and even. I silence the ringer and snuggle closer, letting myself savor this moment with him just a little longer.

There’s only one person who calls rather than texts—Mom. And I’m not about to interrupt this rare, peaceful moment with Leo to face her inevitable morning critique about why I’m not at the rink practicing.

A text message buzzes next. Slowly, I reach for my phone on the nightstand, careful not to move Leo’s arm.

Mom

I stopped by your place to take you out for breakfast as a surprise. Seems like I’m the one who got the surprise. Your elderly neighbor told me your apartment flooded and you’re staying at a friend’s house. She gave me your new address and I’m on my way over.

My stomach knots. I’d never told my parents about the flood because I didn’t want them insisting on me staying at their house or finding out I was at Rose & Thorn. Dad knows where his players live—and Leo would be last on his list of people I should room with. This was supposed to be a temporary thing—low drama, no parental involvement, and me establishing healthy boundaries.

Apparently, Delilah didn’t get the memo. She was just trying to be a good neighbor, but now I’m in trouble.

My eyes cut to Leo, still peacefully asleep beside me looking all sorts of adorable. There’s no way she’ll believe nothing happened between us. Not with him in my bed, like he made himself at home here. And then there’s herthingabout hockey players. This is about to go downhill fast unless I come up with a plan.

“Leo,” I whisper, gently shaking his shoulder. “You need to get up. My mom is on her way over, and you cannot be here when she arrives.”

He stirs, murmuring sleepily, “What?”

I’m already halfway out of bed, grabbing clothes from my dresser in a panic. “My mom is coming over,” I say louder, hopping on one foot as I slide my other foot into a pair of joggers before he opens his eyes.

He props himself up on one elbow, rubbing his eyes. “So?”

“So?” I nearly shriek. “She’s going to take one look at you in my bed and make about fifty assumptions. And you know how she feels about hockey players.”

He grins lazily, tugging me back toward him. “You think I’m scared of your mom? That’s cute.”

---