30. Devon

Devon

It was a close fucking call in the hotel lobby.

My lungs burn as I race up the stairs. I didn't miss training this morning—I would never miss training—but I needed a reason to get some distance from Lola, or I was going to touch her. I was going to get my hands under her pretty little dress.

I'd taken one look at the elevator and known I wasn't a strong enough man. To be enclosed in a box with her, where nobody could see us, for a whole minute? It would have been too much.

By the time I get to my floor, I've sprinted up twelve flights of stairs, and I need to stop and take a breather. Luckily, Lola isn't on my floor, so I don't have to worry about running into her in the hallway. I glance out of the stairwell briefly to make sure none of the guys are lingering around, then I duck into my room and close the door behind me.

For the first time since walking into that bookstore with Lola, I'm able to take a deep breath. Being around her, I keep my back straight. I keep my arms at my sides. I want her to see me as the best version of myself, but it's also exhausting reminding myself not to touch her, not to do the little things like brushing a lock of hair away from her face or resting my hand on the small of her back.

I wander over to the bed, kick off my jeans, and fall in, pulling out my phone to use as a flashlight. I flip through the book I read in the coffee shop with her and find the scenes—those scenes—that stuck in my mind the most.

Just like that, I'm hard, picturing what's happening. Without meaning to, I juxtapose myself and Lola into the scenes, which only makes it worse. Before I know what I'm doing, my hand is in my boxers.

Images of Lola flash through my mind in a loop—her in the bookstore, thumbing through the titles, really taking her time, joking and laughing with the clerk, ordering more books to be sent to her apartment in New York.

I would love to go to her apartment and see where she sleeps and what she has on her shelves. I picture her there, undressing, stepping into the shower, and running her hands over my wet chest. Within moments, I gasp against the pillow as I unravel with her in my mind.

After, I picked up my phone and searched for her name, which was something I should have done the moment I met her. Right away, I realized she's a much bigger deal than she lets on, having published more than twelve books, several of which are bestsellers.

While searching for her, I found her Instagram, which has over 500,000 followers. I blink at the number. I don't have Instagram because I don't care for social media, but even I know that is a pretty fucking high number.

Lola isn't my girlfriend. We're not dating, and I don't have any claim to her.

But still, I feel a welling sense of pride in my chest when I see everything she's accomplished. The best part is she published all these books, amassed these followers, and built her brand while being her most authentic self.

I tap into her Instagram stories and watch as a picture of her from this morning pops up. She has her hair in a bun and is still in her pajamas, but the photo shows her smiling over the top of her laptop screen.

Almost done with draft one!

I tap over to her page and read through the comments on her posts, the most recent of which is a picture of her and Ellie at the Kings game.

@shareeee2 Please, please, please tell me this is about Devon Chambers

@thatcozyreadergirlie Is this just for research, or are you actually dating a hockey player?!?!?

@georgialynnrose Lola, I have seen the pictures, and if your book has the same vibes as your relationship, I am soooooo ready for it! Too cute! xxx

There are a bunch of comments responding to the last one, asking @georgialynnrose what pictures they're talking about and where people can find them. I see someone mention the name of a magazine and quickly search up the site. They've already posted pictures of Lola and me walking into the hotel, our hands linked.

In the cover photo, Lola looks up at me with wide, adoring eyes. It looks so real that it makes my chest tight, but this is Lola—queen of romance. If anyone knows how to fake a relationship, it's her.

I search for her name again and tap into her website. Before I know what I'm doing, I click on her link to take me to an independent bookseller. On that site, I add every single one of her books to my cart and check out before I have a chance to second-guess myself.

They'll be delivered to my apartment in Vermont.

There were plenty of videos about her books on YouTube, but I also found a video interview from more than a year ago in which she answered questions people sent in via social media.

"Hi, Lola. Thank you so much for joining us today!"

"Thanks for having me, Kylie!"

"Well, you and I both know what the readers are here for, so let's jump right in. Our first question today is this: plotter or pantser?"

I watch as Lola laughs on screen, putting her hand to her chin.

"That's a good question. First, I think some people might not understand this one. A pantser is someone who writes by the seat of their pants, while a plotter is someone who plots, obviously, but I think a lot more goes into it. Like, a plotter will know everything about their characters before they write the book. I feel like I'm a bit of both. If I have a ton of inspiration, I'm just writing and seeing where it will take me. But after that initial burst of inspiration passes, I usually need some sort of outline to get me through the rest. But I don't usually create character boards. I find that the character comes to me as I write them."

"Wow, thank you for giving such a thorough response to that. I'm not a writer, but I feel like if I were, I'd be a pantser because I'm so bad at planning."

They laugh for a moment, and the host shuffles the notecards.

"Okay, the next question is—are any of your characters based on real people?"

I think of the hockey romance she's writing, then remind myself this is an old video, so she won't mention anything about that.

"Of course," she says, which makes my heart skip a beat for some reason. Is a confirmation that she bases her characters on people a confirmation that she could be writing a character based on me right now? I chew on my lip as she continues, "All characters are based on real people," she says, "but I think it's really a blend, you know? Like I'll take my mom's love of elephants, my best friend's laugh, and my brother's occupation and smash them all together to make a realistic person, but not exactly like anyone I know."

"Great answer. Here's another question, and this one is less writing-related."

"Okay."

"The question is—what is your greatest fear?"

"Oh god," Lola laughs. "I mean, if you ask my therapist, she'd say fear of failure." They both laugh, and Lola runs a hand over her hair. "But I think the simplest answer is heights. I'm one of those people who can't do roller coasters. Some tall buildings are too much even."

I pause the video, sit back in the bed, and grin like a lunatic in the dark. I might as well be rubbing my hands together like a Disney villain or cackling so the laugh echoes through the room.

Because I just figured out what Lola and I are doing for our next date.