Page 13 of Damsel in Defense
“And why would the ‘Golden Boy,’” she mocks me by mimicking my air quotes, “want to be seen dating me?What’s in it for you?”
“My image will get a reset too.I want to be seen as human, not as some glorified hockey player.You’re real, Victoria.You feel big emotions and grab at every experience life throws at you.You’re spontaneous and strong and have so much courage.I want some of that to rub off on me.”
“You barely know me,” she says in a hushed tone.“How can you be sure I’m really all those things?”
“You’re not a damsel in distress.You just need someone playing a little defense for you.I know I can be that person.”
She crosses her arms, thinking about my words.“This is insane.”
“Maybe.But it could work.”
She frowns, studying me.“What would all this entail?”
“That’s a longer conversation.One I don’t think either of us is rested enough to have right now.”I reach for my phone.“You up for exchanging numbers?”
She takes it, hesitating before inputting her number.
I shoot her a quick text so she has mine too.“I’ll message you tomorrow so we can plan a time to talk.Sleep on it.Really give this a good think.”
She gives me a look that says she’s already wrapped her head around it—and thinks it’s ridiculous.
But then she surprises me by saying, “Fine.Maybe this will also make sense when coffee is in my system.”
“That’s all I’ll need.”
I turn and press the elevator button.The doors ding open instantly, and I step in.
She sticks her arm out to stop them from closing.The bold move makes me grin.“For the record?You’re nuts.”
I grin.“But you like that about me.”
She doesn’t answer, just lets the doors slide shut with the ghost of a smirk on her lips.
And for the first time in my life, I feel like I’m playing offense instead of defense.
CHAPTER FIVE
VICTORIA
I’m going to chuck my phone across the room.The constant buzzing is starting to make my skin itch.
Instead, being the rational woman I am, I switch my phone over to silent mode.
Every app is dinging.Mentions, tags, new gossip headlines.People speculating about my “new man.”And not the usual comments either—no one is calling me a train wreck or a hot mess in heels.
They’re calling me…lucky.
Adorable, of all things.Urg.
At that description, I do throw my phone to the other side of the couch.A dramatic overreaction?Possibly.But it felt good.
I can’t sit here and stew any longer.I need to sweat the chaos out, move my body so that I can focus more clearly.Jumping up from my spread position on the sectional, I head for the kitchen, chug a triple-shot coffee that should probably come with a warning label, and push myself through an aggressive HIIT workout in my barely furnished condo.I don’t have a ton of space at the moment, but even surrounded by boxes, I’m able to break a sweat.
By the time I collapse in a puddle of my own poor decisions, I’m sore, exhausted…and still thinking about Mason’s ridiculous proposal.
Fake dating.
Fucking hell.I can’t really be considering it, can I?
