Spiral (Off the Ice, #2) (30)

“No!” she exclaims. “Well, not entirely. I just mean we have no idea what to expect. There aren’t any rules to this stuff, so how do we know if we’re doing it right?”

This is the only thing going right for me, and now she’s second-guessing, maybe even backing out, before we’ve even started. “Is that what you need? Rules?” I ask.

She shrugs, watching me like I’ll have all the answers.

“We’ll set some terms and conditions, then,” I declare. “But we’re having dinner first.”

“Fine with me.” Sage gets two plates with napkins as I arrange the tacos. She sits cross-legged on the couch to face me.

When Sage takes a bite, her eyes widen. “Did you make this?”

I can’t seem to pry my gaze from her mouth when I nod.

“You could have just cooked for me, and I would have agreed to date you.” She wipes her mouth with a napkin and chews like she’s tasted heaven.

“You like it?”

She hums in appreciation, and something warms my chest. We eat in comfortable silence, forgetting the rules for a few minutes. When she takes my empty plate to the sink, I follow her, drying the dishes after she washes them, like this is our practiced nightly routine.

“Okay, so what’s the first rule?” Sage asks.

“We can start with who is allowed to know that this is fake. Aiden and a few of my friends back home already know, so if you have anyone you trust, you don’t have to lie to them.”

She only nods, and when we’re finally settled on her couch again, she pulls out her phone and types fake-dating for dummies into her Notes app. Her shoulders are still tight, but she’s stopped anxiously chewing on her lip. “That’s easy. I don’t have any friends.”

I’ve never heard someone say something so sad with that much confidence. She’s said it before, but I’ve always thought she was joking. “None?”

“None. And no, I’m not a loser, I just never had the time to make friends in college and I didn’t keep in touch with anyone from high school.” She says it casually.

I don’t get it. My friends are what made my college experience worthwhile. Other than my parents’ house, the hockey house was home for me.

“What about your brother?”

“No way. He said I look genuinely happy with you, and I couldn’t tell him it’s not real. I don’t even know what I’ll say if he finds out from someone else.”

“Is that it? You’re afraid that people will figure out we’re pretending?”

“Yes,” she says, dropping her head in her hands. “I may have read some of the stuff people are saying, and you were right. There’s no way I’m good enough to be dating you.”

I bark out a laugh, and it makes her lift her head from her hands to look at me.

“Remind me to never be vulnerable with you again,” she mutters.

“I’m sorry, I’m not laughing at you. People will talk, and like I’ve said before, I don’t share that thought. You’re talented and beautiful. Frankly, they should be wondering what you see in me.”

Flustered, Sage shuffles to sit beside me so she’s not facing me anymore. The side of her arm touches mine, and I ignore the spark of connection.

“Okay, first, let’s outline what we want from this. Like Build-A-Bear but for a fake relationship. Build-A-Boyfriend!” She pats herself on the back for coming up with that.

“Do I get to Build-A-Girlfriend too?”

“Nope, I come well equipped.”

“And I don’t?”

Sage stares at me blankly, like I’m missing something.

“What?”

She appears reluctant to continue. “When reading my comments during that one moment of weakness, I came across some about you too. They said you haven’t been in a relationship, like, ever. Or if you were, it was never made public.”

“I haven’t.”

She hides her surprise. “Exactly. So, I’ll turn you into the perfect boyfriend. I’m basically doing your future girlfriend a favor.”

“Is this the charity part of our relationship?”

Her smile surfaces. “I won’t make you do anything you don’t want to do, Elias.”

“I doubt there’s something I wouldn’t want to do with you.” The words spill out easily, and I don’t mean for them to sound so suggestive, but her eyes widen.

I clear my throat. “So what does this perfect boyfriend look like?”

“You,” she blurts, then sits straighter. “I mean, someone who’s loyal and kind. The type of person who’s not rude to waiters and admits when he’s wrong. And he should care about me.”

“So ... the bare minimum.”

She scoffs. “Trust me, most of what I’m saying is a reach for a lot of guys.”

It’s hard to keep the pitiful look off my face. “What else is on this unattainable list?”

“He should be tall. Taller than me, at least.” Then her gaze skims upward to my biceps, where my dark green full sleeve molds around my arms. “And strong. Definitely strong.”

Then she types another bullet point: social media.

“Since you already hard-launched our relationship on live television”—she gives me a sidelong glance—“we can just post a picture of us this week and go from there.”