Page 13 of Off The Rush
Together, we walk toward the campus cafeteria, our steps falling into sync. I notice Emma glancing around as students pass by, some of them casting sidelong looks in my direction. She wrinkles her brow and asks, “Are you always this popular?”
“Popular?” I chuckle, rubbing the back of my neck. “The hockey team’s doing well this season. People just recognize me, I guess.”
Emma nods, her eyes darting away momentarily. “Ah, that makes sense.”
As we enter the bustling cafeteria, I guide her toward the trays. The scent of pizza and fries wafts through the air, making my stomach rumble. “Do you follow hockey at all?” I ask, curious to know if she’s ever caught a glimpse of me on the ice.
“Uh, not really,” she admits, her cheeks flushing slightly. “I don’t know much about it, to be honest.”
“Maybe you should come to one of our games,” I suggest, trying to sound casual. “You know, since you’re supposed to be my girlfriend and all.” In truth, I want her there for more than just appearances; there’s something about her presence that feels reassuring, even though we’ve only just met.
“Maybe,” she says with a small smile, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “I’ll think about it.”
“Great. You could wear my jersey,” I reply, grinning back at her.
We grab our trays and load them up with food - I go for a burger and fries, while Emma opts for a salad and some pasta. As we make our way to an empty table, I notice the whispers around us intensifying. The weight of their stares is almost tangible. I reach forward to take Emma’s hand, hoping the gesture will ease her discomfort and sell the act.
“Wow, they really do pay attention to you,” she says, squeezing my hand in response.
“It comes with the territory,” I shrug, trying not to let it get to me. “So,” I say, changing the subject, “how did you get started in singing?”
“It’s just something I’ve always had a passion for,” Emma says, her green eyes shining with curiosity. “How did you get into hockey?”
“Ah, well, it’s kind of a family thing,” I admit, taking a bite of my burger before continuing. “My dad played back in his day, and my older brother followed in his footsteps. When I was old enough to lace up a pair of skates, they had me on the ice.”
“Sounds like it means a lot to your family,” Emma observes, twirling her fork in her pasta.
“Yeah, it does,” I agree, suddenly feeling a bit wistful. “What about your family? Are they into music as much as you are?”
Emma hesitates, her expression clouding over. “Let’s just say… it’s complicated,” she says, avoiding my gaze.
“Fair enough,” I reply, deciding not to push the issue.
As we continue eating, I can’t help but think about how easy it is to be around Emma. Sure, we barely know each other, and this whole fake relationship thing is pretty bizarre, but there’s something about her that draws me in. Her passion for singing, her kindness, her determination - it all intrigues me. I want to know more about her, and not just because we’re pretending to date.
As we finish up our dinner, I can’t help but feel a sense of warmth growing between us. The conversation flows easily, and even though this entire situation is based on a lie, there’s an underlying truth to the connection we’re building.
“Hey, Emma,” I say, clearing my throat. “Can I walk you home?”
She glances outside, taking note of the fading sunlight, before turning back to me with a grateful smile. “I’d appreciate that, Alec. Thanks.”
We gather our belongings and make our way out of the cafeteria, our hands brushing against each other every now and then as we walk side by side. The air is cool and crisp, the scent of autumn leaves filling the campus. The sound of laughter and music drifts in the distance from students enjoying their Thursday evening.
“Did you have a good time tonight?” I ask her, genuinely curious about her thoughts on our first public outing together.
“Actually, yeah. I did,” she replies, looking over at me with those stunning green eyes. “I was worried it would feel awkward or forced, but… it didn’t. Not entirely, anyway.”
“Good,” I say, feeling a sense of relief wash over me. “I felt the same way. It was… nice.”
“Nice,” she echoes softly, a small smile forming on her lips.
As we continue walking, I’m struck by how comfortable I feel around her. Our conversations are open and honest, despite the pretense of our relationship, and I can’t deny the attraction I feel for her. There’s just something about Emma that makes me want to know more.
But for now, I push those thoughts aside, focusing on the present moment and the time we’re spending together.
“Here we are,” Emma says, stopping in front of a small, cozy-looking house. The porch light casts a warm glow over the front steps, and I can see the faint outline of a guitar resting against the living room wall.
“Wow, this place is cute,” I comment, taking in the scene before me.
