Fake Dating My Ex's Favourite Hockey Player - Chapter 53: Chapter 53
You are reading Fake Dating My Ex's Favourite Hockey Player, Chapter 53: Chapter 53. Read more chapters of Fake Dating My Ex's Favourite Hockey Player.
TESSA
God help me.
Of course it’s Aaron freaking Cobalt. Because why not?
There he is — gliding across the ice like it’s an extension of his body, all smooth lines and effortless control. He isn’t just good. He was stupidly, unfairly, annoyingly good.
Left winger for the NYC Titans, but honestly? If Liam is the heart of the team, Aaron is the sharp edge. Fast, unpredictable, and lethal when it counts. The kind of player that makes defence lines cry and sports commentators lose their minds.
Everyone loves to compare them — Liam, the golden boy center, all power and precision. Aaron, the chaos wrapped in charm, turning plays into magic like it was no big deal. Together, they make the Titans impossible to beat. Separately? Still a damn nightmare.
And of course, he’s the last person I want to see right now.
I spin on my heel, making a beeline for the exit, but my stupid heels betray me. The sharp CLACK, CLACK echoes louder than his skates slicing the ice, and I hear him stop. I can practically feel his eyes burning into the back of my head.
“Tessa?”
Crap.
So much for a clean getaway.
I pause, inhale slowly, and turn around. I don’t run — I never do. Even if I do kind of want the ground to swallow me whole right now.
Instead, I paste on the fakest, brightest smile I can manage and look him right in those stupidly gorgeous eyes.
“What?”
For some reason, Aaron starts skating over to me. He hops off the ice and casually swaps out his skates for a pair of flip-flops. Bright blue. With pineapples.
I stare. “Seriously?”
He glances down at his ridiculous flip-flops, then back up at me like I’m the weird one. Typical. “You finally done?”
His voice drips with that usual Aaron-level arrogance — like he’d rather be getting a root canal than talking to me.
I cross my arms. Not because I’m defensive or anything. Just cold. Obviously. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
He gives me a look. One of those ‘God, you’re exhausting looks’ he’s basically trademarked by now.
I scowl and rephrase my question. “Why do you care, asshole?”
He doesn’t answer. Just walks right past me, bumping my shoulder. I bend down to yank off my heel — honestly considering chucking it at his big, stupid head — but before I can, he’s already digging into his duffel bag.
He pulls out his keys, glances over at my tragic shoe situation, and lets out an exaggerated sigh.
“My car’s outside,” he mutters, eyeing my heels. “Try not to twist your ankle before we get there.”
“Car?” I blink. “Yeah, no. I’m not getting into—”
Before I can finish, he’s already moving. In two long strides, he’s in front of me, his hand wrapping around my arm. Not rough, but firm. Like he’s not giving me a choice.
“Like hell you’re not,” he says, low and sharp. “Look — I’m only doing this because Cam asked me to. You don’t want to be near me? Fine. But don’t be stupid. It’s late. It’s dark. And this isn’t exactly the safest neighbourhood to walk around in stilettos.” There’s something bitter in his voice, though I don’t know why.
I think about all our past interactions and realise this is probably the longest sentence he’s ever made. Hell, I wasn’t sure he was capable of communication.
“For Cam?” I echo. “Why would Cam tell you to take me home?”
But I already know the answer. Cam definitely knew Lyle was going to ditch me. Hell, he probably saw it coming before I did.
“Wait… is that why you’re still here?” I eye him skeptically. “You were waiting? Why didn’t you come find me? I’ve been in my office since, like, nine in the morning.”
He pauses, eyes flicking toward mine like he’s debating what to say. Then, of course, he does the most Aaron thing possible.
Ignores it completely.
“You forgetting anything?” he asks, already heading for the door.
I huff, clutching my heels in one hand. “No.”
“Good.” He pulls the door open and glances back, just once. The look in his eyes is oddly intense, for a moment I think he has something to say, but he clenches his jaw and walks out the door.
God, I hate him.
I follow.
We finally make it to the parking lot. I’m walking behind Aaron, more like trailing after him, and trying not to stare.
But I do.
I mean, it’s not my fault his back looks like that. Broad. Strong. Like it’s been carved out of stupid marble or something. His sweatshirt clings just enough to show the muscles underneath, and I hate that I notice. I hate it even more that I keep noticing.
He presses the key fob and the car chirps. A sleek black Jeep flashes its lights. Of course he drives something cocky like that.
I try to hide the shock on my face when he pulls the car door open for me. Instead, I put a hand on my shoulder and gasp dramatically. “Can you carry me in too? You were right about the heels, I think I sprained my ankle.”
I’m clearly messing with him. Obviously.
But he just frowns a little, eyebrows pulling together like he’s genuinely… worried? That can’t be right.
He can’t possibly bel—
Before I can blink, he’s suddenly in front of me — and then, oh my God — he scoops me up into his arms. Bridal style.
BRIDAL. STYLE.,
I freeze. My mouth drops open. I can’t even come up with a insult or sarcastic comeback. I just stare at him.
His eyes meet mine — with that same way-too-intense look from earlier. “Do your feet hurt like this? Is this okay?”
I manage the tiniest nod.
He gently settles me into the passenger seat, like I’m made of glass. Then he buckles my seatbelt. I feel his fingers brush against my waist, and I swear I forget how to breathe.
He bites down softly on his bottom lip, like he’s trying to figure out what to say next. “If it still hurts, I’ll grab some medicine. You probably haven’t eaten anything either, right? I can pick up food. Something warm. You like that pho place, right?”
My brain short-circuits.
“Aaron,” I say, voice barely above a whisper. “I— I was kidding. I’m fine. Really.”
He pauses.
Then blinks. Once. Twice.
And then it hits him.
“Oh,” he says.
And he blushes.
Aaron Cobalt blushes.
And I think I forget how to be annoyed at him for a second.
Needless to say, the car ride after that is extremely uncomfortable. Every time I look at Aaron, I swear his cheeks flush a rosy pink.
I frown a bit. What the hell is wrong with him? “You never asked for my address.”
For some reason, his flush only deepens. “I don’t need it.”
I eye him, he’s so suspicious. He’s acting completely different from the ass hat I’m used to seeing every day. Mr ‘I’m so perfect everyone look at me, I’m nothing like Tessa’.
Okay, fine. Maybe I’m overdoing it a bit, but it’s not like he thinks any higher of me. And he’s made it very known. The first time we met, when he was traded here from LA last year.
For some reason, the memory replays in my head every two weekends, just as a reminder that Aaron Cobalt isn’t this hot, perfect man the media — which is, me, unfortunately — plays him out to be. But a complete, utter asshole.
ONE YEAR AGO
I’m in my cubicle, staring at a half-eaten pretzel like it personally offended me. I jab at it with my pen while scrolling through the latest headlines about the team.
Dante spotted at a gay bar.
Not shocking. Terrible for PR, though. I sigh and start drafting a press release in my head.
Aarav and Fareedah… on a date?
I blink at the screen. That can’t be right. They hated each other last month. Didn’t she throw a drink at him?
Then, of course, there’s Lyle.
Another hook-up. Another tabloid photo.
I try to pretend it doesn’t sting. It still does.
Before I can spiral, a new email pings.
A beverage sponsorship proposal for Liam and Parker.
I let out an actual groan.
Why is a hockey club this understaffed? At this point, I don’t even know what my job title is anymore. PR manager? Crisis babysitter? Human shield?
Debbie walks by with her usual stack of doom files, and I nearly cry in relief. “Thank God, D—”
“Nope. Don’t even try it.”
She slaps the files onto my already-chaotic desk. “I’m drowning, Tess. Let me die in peace.”
We both have matching eye bags and share one brain cell.
“Why won’t HR just hire more people?” I whisper. “One more all-nighter and I’m throwing myself out the window.”
“Blame upper management,” she mutters. “They’re cutting costs for that fancy arena renovation.”
I scowl at her like she personally designed the budget.
“TESSA! Boss is looking for you!” someone yells from down the hall.
The urge to throw myself off the top floor? Yeah, it’s creeping in again.
Then my phone buzzes. A message from Emilia.
It’s a picture of takeout containers. I zoom in. Sushi.
Tessa: Girl. You’re allergic to fish.
Emilia: Yeah… Zane kinda forgot. He’s ordering pizza as an apology.
I smile despite myself.
Tessa: You beautiful, utter fool.
God help me.
Of course it’s Aaron freaking Cobalt. Because why not?
There he is — gliding across the ice like it’s an extension of his body, all smooth lines and effortless control. He isn’t just good. He was stupidly, unfairly, annoyingly good.
Left winger for the NYC Titans, but honestly? If Liam is the heart of the team, Aaron is the sharp edge. Fast, unpredictable, and lethal when it counts. The kind of player that makes defence lines cry and sports commentators lose their minds.
Everyone loves to compare them — Liam, the golden boy center, all power and precision. Aaron, the chaos wrapped in charm, turning plays into magic like it was no big deal. Together, they make the Titans impossible to beat. Separately? Still a damn nightmare.
And of course, he’s the last person I want to see right now.
I spin on my heel, making a beeline for the exit, but my stupid heels betray me. The sharp CLACK, CLACK echoes louder than his skates slicing the ice, and I hear him stop. I can practically feel his eyes burning into the back of my head.
“Tessa?”
Crap.
So much for a clean getaway.
I pause, inhale slowly, and turn around. I don’t run — I never do. Even if I do kind of want the ground to swallow me whole right now.
Instead, I paste on the fakest, brightest smile I can manage and look him right in those stupidly gorgeous eyes.
“What?”
For some reason, Aaron starts skating over to me. He hops off the ice and casually swaps out his skates for a pair of flip-flops. Bright blue. With pineapples.
I stare. “Seriously?”
He glances down at his ridiculous flip-flops, then back up at me like I’m the weird one. Typical. “You finally done?”
His voice drips with that usual Aaron-level arrogance — like he’d rather be getting a root canal than talking to me.
I cross my arms. Not because I’m defensive or anything. Just cold. Obviously. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
He gives me a look. One of those ‘God, you’re exhausting looks’ he’s basically trademarked by now.
I scowl and rephrase my question. “Why do you care, asshole?”
He doesn’t answer. Just walks right past me, bumping my shoulder. I bend down to yank off my heel — honestly considering chucking it at his big, stupid head — but before I can, he’s already digging into his duffel bag.
He pulls out his keys, glances over at my tragic shoe situation, and lets out an exaggerated sigh.
“My car’s outside,” he mutters, eyeing my heels. “Try not to twist your ankle before we get there.”
“Car?” I blink. “Yeah, no. I’m not getting into—”
Before I can finish, he’s already moving. In two long strides, he’s in front of me, his hand wrapping around my arm. Not rough, but firm. Like he’s not giving me a choice.
“Like hell you’re not,” he says, low and sharp. “Look — I’m only doing this because Cam asked me to. You don’t want to be near me? Fine. But don’t be stupid. It’s late. It’s dark. And this isn’t exactly the safest neighbourhood to walk around in stilettos.” There’s something bitter in his voice, though I don’t know why.
I think about all our past interactions and realise this is probably the longest sentence he’s ever made. Hell, I wasn’t sure he was capable of communication.
“For Cam?” I echo. “Why would Cam tell you to take me home?”
But I already know the answer. Cam definitely knew Lyle was going to ditch me. Hell, he probably saw it coming before I did.
“Wait… is that why you’re still here?” I eye him skeptically. “You were waiting? Why didn’t you come find me? I’ve been in my office since, like, nine in the morning.”
He pauses, eyes flicking toward mine like he’s debating what to say. Then, of course, he does the most Aaron thing possible.
Ignores it completely.
“You forgetting anything?” he asks, already heading for the door.
I huff, clutching my heels in one hand. “No.”
“Good.” He pulls the door open and glances back, just once. The look in his eyes is oddly intense, for a moment I think he has something to say, but he clenches his jaw and walks out the door.
God, I hate him.
I follow.
We finally make it to the parking lot. I’m walking behind Aaron, more like trailing after him, and trying not to stare.
But I do.
I mean, it’s not my fault his back looks like that. Broad. Strong. Like it’s been carved out of stupid marble or something. His sweatshirt clings just enough to show the muscles underneath, and I hate that I notice. I hate it even more that I keep noticing.
He presses the key fob and the car chirps. A sleek black Jeep flashes its lights. Of course he drives something cocky like that.
I try to hide the shock on my face when he pulls the car door open for me. Instead, I put a hand on my shoulder and gasp dramatically. “Can you carry me in too? You were right about the heels, I think I sprained my ankle.”
I’m clearly messing with him. Obviously.
But he just frowns a little, eyebrows pulling together like he’s genuinely… worried? That can’t be right.
He can’t possibly bel—
Before I can blink, he’s suddenly in front of me — and then, oh my God — he scoops me up into his arms. Bridal style.
BRIDAL. STYLE.,
I freeze. My mouth drops open. I can’t even come up with a insult or sarcastic comeback. I just stare at him.
His eyes meet mine — with that same way-too-intense look from earlier. “Do your feet hurt like this? Is this okay?”
I manage the tiniest nod.
He gently settles me into the passenger seat, like I’m made of glass. Then he buckles my seatbelt. I feel his fingers brush against my waist, and I swear I forget how to breathe.
He bites down softly on his bottom lip, like he’s trying to figure out what to say next. “If it still hurts, I’ll grab some medicine. You probably haven’t eaten anything either, right? I can pick up food. Something warm. You like that pho place, right?”
My brain short-circuits.
“Aaron,” I say, voice barely above a whisper. “I— I was kidding. I’m fine. Really.”
He pauses.
Then blinks. Once. Twice.
And then it hits him.
“Oh,” he says.
And he blushes.
Aaron Cobalt blushes.
And I think I forget how to be annoyed at him for a second.
Needless to say, the car ride after that is extremely uncomfortable. Every time I look at Aaron, I swear his cheeks flush a rosy pink.
I frown a bit. What the hell is wrong with him? “You never asked for my address.”
For some reason, his flush only deepens. “I don’t need it.”
I eye him, he’s so suspicious. He’s acting completely different from the ass hat I’m used to seeing every day. Mr ‘I’m so perfect everyone look at me, I’m nothing like Tessa’.
Okay, fine. Maybe I’m overdoing it a bit, but it’s not like he thinks any higher of me. And he’s made it very known. The first time we met, when he was traded here from LA last year.
For some reason, the memory replays in my head every two weekends, just as a reminder that Aaron Cobalt isn’t this hot, perfect man the media — which is, me, unfortunately — plays him out to be. But a complete, utter asshole.
ONE YEAR AGO
I’m in my cubicle, staring at a half-eaten pretzel like it personally offended me. I jab at it with my pen while scrolling through the latest headlines about the team.
Dante spotted at a gay bar.
Not shocking. Terrible for PR, though. I sigh and start drafting a press release in my head.
Aarav and Fareedah… on a date?
I blink at the screen. That can’t be right. They hated each other last month. Didn’t she throw a drink at him?
Then, of course, there’s Lyle.
Another hook-up. Another tabloid photo.
I try to pretend it doesn’t sting. It still does.
Before I can spiral, a new email pings.
A beverage sponsorship proposal for Liam and Parker.
I let out an actual groan.
Why is a hockey club this understaffed? At this point, I don’t even know what my job title is anymore. PR manager? Crisis babysitter? Human shield?
Debbie walks by with her usual stack of doom files, and I nearly cry in relief. “Thank God, D—”
“Nope. Don’t even try it.”
She slaps the files onto my already-chaotic desk. “I’m drowning, Tess. Let me die in peace.”
We both have matching eye bags and share one brain cell.
“Why won’t HR just hire more people?” I whisper. “One more all-nighter and I’m throwing myself out the window.”
“Blame upper management,” she mutters. “They’re cutting costs for that fancy arena renovation.”
I scowl at her like she personally designed the budget.
“TESSA! Boss is looking for you!” someone yells from down the hall.
The urge to throw myself off the top floor? Yeah, it’s creeping in again.
Then my phone buzzes. A message from Emilia.
It’s a picture of takeout containers. I zoom in. Sushi.
Tessa: Girl. You’re allergic to fish.
Emilia: Yeah… Zane kinda forgot. He’s ordering pizza as an apology.
I smile despite myself.
Tessa: You beautiful, utter fool.
End of Fake Dating My Ex's Favourite Hockey Player Chapter 53. Continue reading Chapter 54 or return to Fake Dating My Ex's Favourite Hockey Player book page.