Eighteen

Despite the less-than-ideal circumstances of how we gave in to our attraction to one another, texting Chantelle has become the highlight of each night. When I get home from practice, tired and sweaty, I immediately hop in the shower, then relax the rest of the night with her.

Well, with her over the phone. So far, we've covered all the basics about each other's lives. She's an only child and has a great relationship with her parents. Minus the giant lie she's keeping from them. And she claims she's a little anal about the way she likes things, which doesn't really surprise me.

I learned that her middle name is Eve, which was the inspiration for her pen name, Evie Chandler, and that she broke her arm in the third grade. I also found out that she likes to ride her motorcycle with a group of guys she met at a stoplight one time. Not totally sure how I feel about that, but she assured me they're all good guys.

Ronnie is, of course, her best friend and has been like a sister to her. Chantelle said that explaining the truth to her went about as well as it could. She agreed to keep our secret, but made it known she doesn"t support what we"re doing. Chantelle assured her it would only be for a few more weeks, then everything would go back to normal.

At least…we hope.

I"ve shared things with Chantelle as well, but I still haven't discussed my mom's cancer. The team knows, which means she likely does too but, it's not something that's easy for me to bring up.

What I do know is that I've loved getting to know Chantelle better this week.

Tonight, though…tonight we're going to video chat.

My heart's pumping double time just knowing I'll get to see her gorgeous face. And it's late, so I'll get to see her in all her cozy, loungewear glory. Or maybe pajamas. Will she have makeup on or be bare-faced? I don't know, but it doesn't matter.

I'm already certain I'll take Chantelle in any and every form she comes in. Dressed up, dressed down, sleepy, grumpy, sassy…I'm quickly coming to realize I want all the different versions of her.

Which is scary for a guy like me who has never really gone all-in with a girl. I dated a decent amount in high school, but once I graduated and pursued professional skating, my love life screeched to a halt. Kenzie and I spend a ton of time together training and practicing routines, which is why we're so close. But there's never been any kind of romantic spark between us.

And with as zeroed in as my nutrition is, I don't usually go out to social gatherings, knowing I'll have to abstain from whatever everyone else is eating and drinking. So there isn't much socializing that way, either. Though that hasn't been true since joining the Dragons, but even now I can't take advantage of my newfound social life because everyone thinks I'm married.

I check the time again, eagerly anticipating nine p.m., when Chantelle said she'd call. Ten more minutes. When my eyes begin to burn from staring at my phone's screen, I decide to take out my contacts. I didn't want to have to do it before our call since she doesn't know I wear glasses, but sometimes eye health comes first.

I head into the bathroom where I slip them out, brush my teeth, and wash my face. It's better that I get ready for bed now in case our phone call goes late into the night. Which I wouldn't mind. At all. Thinking of lying in bed talking to Chantelle—seeing her—sends my heart back into overdrive.

My phone rings two minutes before our scheduled time and my heart stops. Like some overeager adolescent, I rip my glasses from my nightstand, toss them on my face, then jump into bed and try to arrange my arms as casually as possible over my head so I look like I've been lying here the whole time.

Clearing my throat, I tap the accept button. Chantelle's face pixelates a bit before coming in more clearly with her husky, "Hey."

"You're early," I say with a smirk, still trying to settle myself so my heart rate will return to its normal cadence. It's embarrassing how completely off-balance she makes me feel. I blame the close proximity of our motorcycle ride from the other night. The way her body felt against mine is almost burned deeper into my brain than our first kiss.

"I like to be punctual," she says as she averts her eyes and tucks a dark lock of hair behind her ear. "There's nothing wrong with being a little early, is there?" I'm about to tell her no and that I was kidding when she continues. "I mean, if it's not a good time or I'm interrupting something, I can call later. I just—"

"Chantelle," I interrupt her rambling in a stern voice. "You're fine. I was just giving you a hard time." Her shoulders seem to relax a bit as she meets my eyes through the screen.

"Sorry, I just…" She shrugs. "I know I can be a lot to handle sometimes. So if being early bothers you, I'll make sure to be a few minutes late next time."

My smile falters and I wonder where all this is coming from. "Why would you calling me early be a lot for me to handle?"

Her head falls back when she says, "Hang on." She sets her phone down as rustling sounds in the background, then I'm back in her hands again and neon pillows are propped behind her back. Pink, blue, and purple surround her dark hair like a rainbow as she breathes a heavy sigh. "I just know that there are things about me that have the tendency to drive people crazy sometimes. My obsessive punctuality is one of those things."

"It doesn't bother me. I like to be punctual too."

"Okay, but what about my attention to detail?" she asks like an accusation. "That bothers you."

A chuckle rattles through me, and I prop an arm behind my head. "It only bothered me because you saw right through my fa?ade. In any other circumstance, your astute attention to detail would've been endearing." I smile and hope she knows I'm flirting with her. Or trying to, at least.

"And the fact that I'm a writer who zones out the entire world when I get into my groove? That's not going to irritate you? What if we're hanging out and I get a story idea? I'll be forced to write it down immediately. You could be left alone for hours. Neglected. Ditched for a fictional boyfriend."

"Does that mean I'm your real-life boyfriend?"

She pauses with her plush lips parted. It's hard not to stare at them now that I know how soft and sweet they are.

"I don't know." Her eyes dart around the room like she's trying to look anywhere but at me. "Do you…want to be?"

My heart begins to pound again, beating a rhythm that screams yes. But I force myself to play it cool. And casual. And hopefully a little confident. "I thought I made my intentions pretty clear before you left my brother's house."

She nods, and it's impossible not to see how her cheeks turn a darker shade of pink. "Okay, then. But if you're going to be my boyfriend, I feel like there are some more things you should know about me."

"Okay." I hold out the last syllable, wondering why she's being so hesitant. "Well, let's start with what I already know. You're passionate and caring. Committed to your favorite sports team."

A small smile starts on her face, so I keep going, hoping to prompt it to bloom more fully.

"You're punctual, which is not annoying, by the way." Her smile grows a little more. "And you're also an amazing writer who churned out a best-selling book."

Her eyebrows lower as her gaze snaps to mine. "How did you know my book is a bestseller?"

"I looked it up online."

She tilts her head just enough for me to notice. "Wait. Have you…read it?" I bite my lip to keep in a laugh.

"And if I have?"

"Stop," she demands. "You're not serious." One hand comes up to cover her mouth, her black-painted fingernails tapping against her top lip.

"Wouldn't a supportive boyfriend read your work?"

"Supportive boyfriend?" Her dark eyebrow arches high and she levels me with a glare. "We literally just decided tonight that we're officially dating."

"Okay," I concede. "So I might've started it the night I bought it from you."

She shakes her head, clearly fighting a smile. "You did not."

"I did. I told you I was going to read it and I wouldn't lie to you, peanut."

Her face alights with what I can only guess is pleasure as the grin I hoped would bloom fans out across her face. "And are you…liking it?"

"I said you were an amazing writer, didn't I?"

She rolls her eyes. "Yeah, but any decent boyfriend would say that."

"No. A decent boyfriend would say, good for you, babe, you wrote a book. Only an infatuated boyfriend would read said book, then comment on your writing."

She purses her lips as her cheeks redden further. "So…you're infatuated, huh?"

I sigh and shake my head. "Hard not to be after the other night."

Her eyelids lower as she stares back at me. "You're wearing glasses."

I chuckle and adjust the frames. "You just now noticed?"

"No," she quips. "I noticed right away. But I've been trying to decide if I like them on you."

This time, my eyebrows raise appraisingly. "And…do you?"

She bites her lower lip and nods. "Does Joel wear glasses too?"

"He does. But we both started wearing contacts in high school."

She lifts one bare shoulder in the sexiest, flirtiest way, then asks, "Do you think you could wear them more often? Like…when we go out on our first date?"

Once again, the stupid organ that pumps blood throughout my body hammers like it's on steroids. "Yeah, I think I can do that. If you'll go like you are right now—without makeup."

Her mouth drops open. "How can you tell I'm not wearing any makeup?"

"You're not the only one who pays attention, Chantelle." This comment seems to please her since she smiles and begins to twirl a piece of hair around her finger.

"So," I say. "About this first date we're going to have…What would you like to do?"

She bites her lip again, then drags her teeth across it. "I don't know. I was sort of…hoping to see you figure skate in person sometime. That would be pretty cool."

"In person? Does that mean—"

She releases an exasperated groan as she props her device up against something. Probably a pillow. Laying on her side with both hands tucked under her chin, she makes such a cozy image that it takes me a second to remember what we were talking about.

"Fine," she relents. "I admit that I've watched you before. Well, you and Kenzie."

A thought forms and I ask, "Would you like to go skating? Together?"

A wide smile stretches across her face. "Yeah, I'd love to."

"All right, then. It's settled. How about tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow is perfect."

"Pick you up at six?"

She nods, then says she has to get some writing done before bed, and we both take our time saying goodbye. Ten minutes later, I find myself still staring at the ceiling in my bedroom, replaying our entire conversation.

Everything with Chantelle feels so real and right. But every time I think about how precarious things are with the Dragons, and more importantly, Joel's position with her dad, my stomach roils with dread. If we're not careful, we could be found out. And if I'm pretending to be Joel when it happens, the damage could be irreparable.

We got lucky that Ronnie found us and not someone else.

Is it possible to be myself as Chantelle's boyfriend and still be Joel on the ice?

It all makes my head hurt. At times I'm not sure where Joel ends and Jude begins. And that's not the worst part. The worst part is that now that Chantelle and I have crossed the line from enemy acquaintances to lovers, everything I do will affect her too.

I close my eyes and send up a silent prayer, asking God if I'm doing the right thing by doing this for my brother. But before I get any kind of answer, I'm asleep and dreaming of a hazel-eyed author who asked me of all guys to be her real-life boyfriend.