10. Clichés

10

Clichés

Maxime

I can't believe she's letting me tag along to her mom's birthday party. I was bracing myself for yet another turn down, but the fake dating idea worked. Not that there was any way I'd let her go alone after she mentioned that arranged marriage thing.

I'm thrilled to spend some more alone time with Hayley. Her opinion of me is starting to change, I can tell. She did say I was a "pretty decent guy," so maybe she'll finally see that real men—scratch that—that I can be better than her fictional ones. And if I'm forced to use a notorious book cliché to get there, so be it. Clichés exist for a reason; they're usually true, and they work .

Once we're back at the bookstore, Hayley gasps when she sees the progress. They're done assembling all the furniture, the counter is installed, and Adler is even setting up their computer.

"Wow," she breathes, dropping her bag near the entrance. "This looks so cool."

It really does. With the painting finished, the display tables up, and the shelves all put together, it's really starting to look like a bookstore. Now, it just needs some books.

Hayley heads over to chat with the girls, telling them everything we found at the store. "And we came across the cutest pillow for Mr. Darcy. Look." She glances toward me, and I pull it out of the bag.

"Aww," they both say at the same time, which makes the guys chuckle.

"Let me bring it to him," I say, shuffling over to Mr. Darcy's place. When he sees me approaching, he emerges from his bedding area and rubs against my leg. I've never really been a pet person, but this cat is pretty cute.

"Hey, bud," I say, petting his head. "Look what we got you." I show him the pillow, and he immediately sniffs it. Then, I place it on his bed. As soon as I stand back up, he goes to lie down on it. I turn around to face Hayley. "I think he likes it."

Chitchat takes over the room, and the guys discuss our interviews and photo shoot tomorrow after practice. Merde . With everything happening, I kind of forgot that was coming up, and I'm not glad for the reminder. I did a few press interviews when I first got drafted and even before that, but tomorrow is the full shebang. Big press conference, one-on-one interviews, and a photo shoot for the new season. I know playing for the NHL means being in the public eye, but all that attention just adds to the pressure. Especially since there's still a chance that I won't make the cut and they'll send me to the farm team instead.

Looking around, I realize our work here is done for the day. We'll come back in a few days to hang the sign out front, since it hasn't been delivered yet. I'm glad I have a day planned with Hayley. Otherwise, that would mean I'd have only one afternoon left with her.

"See you on Sunday for our date ," I tell Hayley as we're saying goodbye.

Some of the guys whistle, and someone slaps my back. "Finally!"

Hayley just shakes her head, arms crossed as she waits for them to stop. "Fake date, Beaumont. F.A.K.E., remember? "

The guys burst into laughter, and I hold back a sigh. Well, I tried. I don't even want to keep this stupid bet going. That's not why I offered to go on a fake date with her, nor why I'm spending so much time with her—it never really was. But it would be nice to get them off my back. Someone took my towel again this morning as I was showering, and while I'm confident in my body, walking the entire length of the bathroom soaking wet isn't particularly pleasant. Not to mention I almost slipped and fell a couple of times.

"Semantics," I say, shaking my head. She fixes me in a serious stare, but I know she really wants to smile. It's a shame she doesn't allow herself to.

"Bye, Nash." I wink. "I'll pick you up at eleven?"

She finally graces me with a smile, and my heart booms. "Sounds good."

Yesterday was a long day. First came training, although that went better than usual. I think I'm finally finding my groove. I beat my record of consecutive scores with this team, and Coach even slapped my back when we got off the ice. Then, we had a press conference with the entire team .

It was nice to talk to my dad on the phone during lunchtime, but he mostly talked to me about hockey. As a big hockey fan, he's ecstatic that I finally made it into the NHL. It sucks that he can't travel yet because of his knee surgery. Hopefully, he'll be cleared for a visit soon.

After that, we did solo interviews with a bunch of sports journalists. Since I'm the first-draft rookie, they were all eager to ask me "how I felt" and "if I was nervous for my potential NHL debut." What kind of question is that? I'm freaking out.

Finally, there was the photo shoot. Okay, that part was kind of fun, even though it was weird at first. But I quickly got caught up in the moment.

Today, however, will be a lot more fun. I'm sure of it. Don't get me wrong, I love hockey, and even if the pressure is mounting, I am eager to start. I love being on the ice, and once I'm settled in, I have no doubt this will be the best year of my life. But I don't mind enjoying one more hockey-free day before it all starts. Especially if it's an all-Hayley day.

Once I parallel park at the end of the street, I jog to the store. I'm wearing a pair of black jeans with a gray fitted shirt. Hopefully, it's an appropriate outfit for today's event .

I peek in the shop window but don't see anyone, so I ring the bell of their apartment.

"Come up," Hayley says, buzzing me in. "I'll be just a second."

I trudge up the stairs, and I don't even have time to knock before Alice opens the door.

She draws me into a hug, enveloping me in her usual flowery perfume. "Hey. You look nice." She frowns. "You do know it's not an actual date, n'est-ce pas? "

I roll my eyes. " Je sais , sis. If it was, I'd have brought flowers, and the girl would know about it." I smile before brushing past her. I've never been to their place before, though Alice sent pictures when they moved in. It has cool loft vibes with beams on the far wall behind the TV, a large open kitchen slash living area, and a corridor on the left that leads to the bedrooms and bathroom, I'm guessing.

"I'm not kidding, though," Alice says, poking my bicep. "She said you were just helping her out. Mais je te connais . You always have an ulterior motive."

The fact that my own sister knows me so little brings a stab to my chest. "No I don't. Nash is nice. I have a free day, and she needs company to help pacify her mom. There's nothing else happening."

"There'd better not be," Emma says, her dark stare sweeping over me. She stands up from the couch where she had apparently been sitting. She's wearing all black today, and combined with her black hair, I didn't even see her on the black couch.

"You scared me," I say with a chuckle.

"Good." She strides past me on her way to the corridor, not saying anything else.

Now I definitely feel like I'm stuck in a book. Although it's starting to look more like a Stephen King novel.

"Why do you look so nice?" I ask Alice, my eyebrows raised. She's wearing a light-pink dress that flares at her knees, her hair is tied into a ponytail with a bow, and she has makeup on. My sister always pays attention to her looks, but this is extra.

A slight blush colors her lips. "I'm going on a date. A real one."

"With who?" I furrow my eyebrows together. Alice goes on way too many dates for my liking. Especially in a big city like New York, where the proportion of creeps is statistically higher.

"None of your business. I can take care of myself. Besides, I have pepper spray and my rape alarm bracelet, just in case."

I scoff. "That's reassuring."

She rolls her eyes. "It's just an extra precaution. And don't change the subject. I have my eye on you, Max. Hayley told me you asked about our store, what we have planned and all that."

"Is that a crime?" I ask, releasing an exasperated sigh.

"You've never asked me a single question about it."

Swallowing hard, I try to formulate an answer when Hayley emerges from a door in the corridor. "Sorry. I changed my outfit three times. My mom . . . You know."

I shove my hands into my pockets to prevent me from doing something inappropriate, like marching up to her and kissing her soft lips. She always looks pretty and perfect, but it's obvious she put a lot of effort into her appearance today. She's wearing black pleated pants that twirl when she moves, and she paired those with a white shirt embellished with lace on the neckline. Her makeup looks stunning, and she's adorned herself with some jewelry.

It's not the fact that she dressed up that has me fighting my instincts. It's the idea that, in a way, she's wearing her vulnerabilities on her sleeve, and I want to let her know everything is going to be all right. To tell her that she's beautiful and that she needs to let her mom's comments fly over her head. Yes, a kiss would tell her all those things. But that doesn't fall within the scope of "faking it." The second reason I have to fight myself not to kiss her is because there's this teeny tiny hope that some of this is for me. Even if she's just as gorgeous in her everyday clothes with no makeup on.

After going back in for a few finishing touches, she finally comes out of her room. "I'm ready."

I nod, my shoulders slumping in relief. I'm eager to get on the road and away from my sister's glare.

"Bye, girls," Hayley says with a wave.

Alice waves back. "Have fun, and be good," she adds, directing the order toward me.

I don't even dignify that with an answer.

"You look great today," I say, glancing at her as we slide into my car. Fine, it might have been slightly longer than a glance—probably closer to ogling. But no matter what she's wearing, it's impossible for me to take my eyes off Hayley Nash.

Pressing her lips together, she frowns. "What's that you've got there?" she asks, grabbing the small gift bag from the central console.

I turn the engine on and glance at her. "Something for your mom."

"You got my mom a gift?" Her voice comes out louder than usual, and her eyes are the size of two pucks.

"You don't think I'm going to walk into a birthday party without a gift, do you?" I give her a pointed look. That's not how I was raised .

"You shouldn't have," she says, shaking her head. "Emphasis on ‘shouldn't.' My mom is impossible to please. She and I agreed that I'd stop buying her gifts a long time ago. Even she knows that no one but herself can shop for her. And sometimes her personal shopper at Bergdorf."

"It's no big deal." I shrug. "I just didn't want to show up empty-handed. She can always exchange it for something else if she doesn't like it."

We keep driving for a while, and we start talking about music as she chooses a radio station—or rather, goes through every single station available without really settling on one. We also discuss the difference between growing up here and growing up in France.

The drive is pleasant as we whiz beneath the pure blue sky, and once we leave the urban area, only a few cars pass us on the road.

"So, what's the food situation at this event?" I ask as we turn off the highway. "Please, tell me there'll be food." My stomach gurgles in agreement.

Her laughter fills the car. "Of course there's food. That's actually the best part. My mom always hires a catering company for the party, and they're amazing. They make these super-crisp potato bites and croissant sausage rolls that are to die for. "

"Now that's my kind of party." I nod, my stomach still stirring.

We roll into Greenwich, and Hayley instantly tenses next to me.

"Are you okay?"

"Yes," she says with a nod. "I think so. Hopefully, having you there will help. I'm kind of drained after our big week, so I don't know how long I could have resisted their matchmaking wrath."

Well, in that case, thank goodness I'm here.

"She's not a bad person, though. I don't want to give you that impression. She's just a little hard to please, especially when it comes to me. My guess is she's so accustomed to being surrounded by perfection, it's a bit of a shock when she sees me," she says with a chuckle. "I don't fit in her pretty little boxes."

I almost slam on the brakes. "Don't say that. There's not even an ounce of truth in those words."

The fact that she thinks she's anything short of perfection blows my mind, and not in a good way.

Her cheeks flush, and she peers out the window. "Thanks. But you don't have to say that now. My mom isn't here. It's good, though. Save that for the party. Oh, we're here. Turn right. "

I tighten my grip on the wheel and roll through the gate of a huge colonial mansion.