Chapter 19

The energyat the stadium in Atlanta is electric. For starters, the team is walking into the arena on an actual red carpet. There's a huge media presence here, rows and rows of cameramen and reporters, as well as an enormous crowd of fans hoping to glimpse their favorite players.

Beside me, Parker loops her arm through mine, her eyes scanning the crowd. "It's crazy, right? I still can't believe this is happening."

We're standing in a roped off section for team staff and family members, watching as the Appies slowly trickle into the arena.

The Yellow Jackets, as the home team, came through first, and there was a lot of enthusiasm as they did. But only a few Appies have filed past, and the response has been just as big. I'm not sure the Yellow Jackets expected our fans to show up like they have, but the game is completely sold out, and the fans circling the arena are wearing just as much turquoise and gray as they are yellow and black.

The charity sponsoring the match-up, an organization that supports underfunded sports programs in Title One schools, has been very vocal about the money the game has already raised just through ticket sales. Based on the energy of the crowd, they'll likely get that much or more from merch sales, which both teams agreed to donate.

That's the most important part, I know. But as I watch the guys talk to reporters from ESPN and USA Today and Sports Illustrated, pausing to answer questions and pose for photos, I hope they play well, too.

Nathan has been nervous this week. They all have been. Even though the stakes of this game are basically nonexistent, I know they would secretly love to win, if only to justify all the attention they've been getting. I can't imagine the pressure.

I feel it, and all I'm doing is pretending to be the very smitten girlfriend of the Appies' top left defender.

To be honest, I'm not having to pretend much, at least not when it comes to the smitten part.

Nathan and I have mentioned being friends at least a dozen times in our text messages this past week, as though we have to remind ourselves over and over so we don't forget.

I've never been so excited to attend a game, if only to drop the friend label for a few hours and embrace the girlfriend one.

I realize how backward that sounds. But I get to kiss Nathan when we're in public. I get to step into his arms like I belong there, like he wants me there.

At some point, I'm going to have to talk to him. Own the intensity of what I'm feeling. But right before one of the biggest games of his life hardly feels like the right time. And then the playoffs start in a couple of weeks, and he's got his trip to Boston for Blake's plea hearing next weekend.

There's a lot going on for Nathan.

He doesn't need fake girlfriend drama.

Or so I tell myself.

Really, I'm just scared.

I don't want this to end. And admitting real feelings could absolutely end it.

Nathan and Alec appear at the beginning of the red carpet, waiting while several other players make their way down. I haven't seen him since we got off the bus a few hours ago, and my heart clenches at the sight.

He looks so good—in a dark gray suit I haven't seen before, his hair down and brushing his shoulders. He's looking at his phone, unaware of my ogling, so I drink in the sight of him completely unchecked. The sharp angle of his jaw, his broad shoulders, his fitted suit pants, which do a very nice job of accentuating how good hockey can be for a man's legs and glutes.

The man is basically perfect?—

I startle when my phone buzzes from my back pocket, pulling me out of my Nathan-induced trance.

But then I smile, because it's Nathan who is texting me.

Nathan

You're staring, Callahan.

I look up and meet his gaze across the crowded space, and his lips lift into a knowing smirk.

I scowl and type out a reply.

Summer

Don't let it go to your head. It's all part of the act. *winking emoji*

You DO look nice though. You know how to wear a suit, Bruiser.

Nathan

You're not so bad yourself. You look good in Appies colors.

I look down at the Appies jersey I'm wearing with my favorite jeans.

Summer

You think? I've got this (fake) boyfriend who plays on the team. I'm wearing his jersey.

Nathan

Turn around and let me see.

Summer

If this is just an excuse to check out my butt, I'm fake breaking up with you.

Nathan

Summer. Let me see my name.

His text hits me like a punch to the gut. Because those words don't feel fake. And the smoldering look in his eyes doesn't either.

Summer

FINE, Mr. Bossy Pants.

I send my reply, then turn, pulling my hair over my shoulder so Nathan can see his last name written across the back of my jersey. When I look back, his smoldering look has shifted into something different. Something more.

Summer

Now who's staring?

Nathan

Can't help it.

Nathan looks up from his phone as someone gestures, giving him what looks like a two-minute warning. He nods, his jaw tightening, and a pulse of nerves pushes through me.

I quickly pull out my phone, wanting to text him something that might ease some of the tension I know he has to be feeling. It only takes a second to decide what to say.

Summer

Hey, did you hear about the Zamboni driver who disappeared?

Nathan reads the message, then looks up, meeting my eyes. I grin, then send him one more message.

They hope he resurfaces soon.

I bite my lip as I watch for Nathan's reaction. He shakes his head, rolling his eyes in a way the joke absolutely deserves, but his eyes are smiling, so I'm counting that as a win. As he slips his phone into his pocket and follows the woman ushering him toward the first interviewer, he gives me the tiniest nod, and it feels like a thank you.

I keep my eyes glued to him as he makes his way down the red carpet. As he finally nears the end of the line, Parker nudges me, her phone lifted. "Hey. Scoot a little closer to the rope?"

"What? Why?"

She nods toward the portable bleachers set up for the fans on the opposite side of the red carpet. "You've been spotted by fans. I bet they'd love to see Nathan say hello before he goes inside."

My heart starts hammering as Nathan leaves the last reporter, then makes his way toward me. A cheer erupts as he breaks into a jog, and I can't keep myself from smiling.

As soon as he reaches me, he scoops me up into an enormous hug, lifting me off the ground as the cheering intensifies.

"Should we kiss for our fans?" he says, his mouth close to my ear.

"I don't think they'll settle for anything less," I say.

Then his lips are on mine, his thumb sliding over my cheek in the gentlest caress. It's not quite a stage kiss—I can tell Nathan is enjoying himself—but I can also tell he's holding back. That's not unexpected, considering our audience, but it triggers a sharp yearning deep in my chest. I want more than this. I want Nathan to kiss me for real. Even if no one is watching. I want Nathan to kiss me like he feels what I'm feeling.

When he pulls back, I look into his navy eyes and manage a smile. "Do good out there, Bruiser," I say. "I'll be cheering for you."

His gaze narrows slightly as he studies me, and I wonder if he can sense what I'm feeling, but then Alec calls his name from the arena door, and the moment is over.

Nathan presses one more kiss to my forehead, then he pulls away and leaves me with Parker.

She eyes me as I watch him walk away. "Eighty percent?"

I breathe out a sigh. "Maybe even eighty-five."