Fake Dating My Ex's Favourite Hockey Player - Chapter 64: Chapter 64

EMILIA
Her eyes snap to mine, irritation flaring like I’ve just asked the dumbest question imaginable. “What the hell? You don’t know who Julie is?”
I blink. “No? Is she a friend? Like Jessica?” Even saying the name ‘Jessica’ feels like licking rust.
For some reason, that sets Lacey off. She snorts — actually snorts — and then dissolves into messy laughter. “Julie? Like Jessica?” She nearly slides off the stool. “God, Liam, she really doesn’t know anything about Jess, huh?”
“Drop it.” Liam doesn’t raise his voice, but it’s enough to slice through the room. Lacey’s laugh dies on her lips.
“Wait, she doesn’t?” Her gaze swings back to me, slower this time. There’s something different behind her eyes now — curiosity, maybe pity. I can’t tell which is worse.
“I’m not getting involved in that shit,” she mutters, standing with a wobble. “He’s already thrown out my wine, so it’s time for me to leave.” She leans in, drops a sloppy kiss on my cheek, then stumbles toward Liam. Her hand slaps against his shoulder, a little harder than necessary.
Liam doesn’t react. Not visibly, anyway.
“Céline’s perfume, huh?” he murmurs, so low I almost miss it.
We both watch Lacey leave.
The silence that follows feels heavier than it should.
“Emilia, I think we should stay away from Céline. At least for a while.” He says it absently, like he’s talking about the weather, spooning sauce onto a plate and grabbing a few slices of bread like nothing happened.
But my mind is elsewhere. “Who’s Julie?”
He slides the plate toward me, then takes the stool beside mine, like he’s only just registering the edge in my voice. “She’s my sister. The older one I keep talking about. She and Céline are friends.”
It makes enough sense that I let it go. For now.
“Thank you,” I say stiffly, eyeing the plate.
“You’re welcome. Use the sauce like a spread. It’s better that way.”
I do what he says. He’s right — it’s good. Too good, actually. I’m halfway through my third bite, relishing the hot burn on my tongue, when I realise he’s not eating. Just sitting there, head resting on his hand, watching me like he can’t quite figure me out.
“You’re not eating?”
He shakes his head, eyes fixed on me, something unreadable flickering there. “I don’t eat spicy food.”
The déjà vu hits hard, like a slap. We’re back at the amusement park — me with sticky fingers and spun sugar on my tongue, him watching me eat cotton candy with that same quiet disinterest. Like he’s watching, but not part of it. Like now.
My stomach twists when he finally speaks.
“Why do you keep treating me like him?”
I pause, bread halfway to my mouth, then set it down slowly. “What do you mean?”
“You don’t even realise you do it, huh?” He exhales through his nose, but it’s not a laugh. “It’s like you’re waiting for me to mess up. Like you’re holding your breath, waiting for the moment I prove I’m lying about how I feel.”
His words sting, mostly because they’re true.
I try to brush it off, but my voice comes out sharper than I mean it to. “And how do you feel, then? Huh?” I look him dead in the eyes. “You went from swearing off relationships to suddenly caring so much. Forgive me for not trusting that right away.”
He’s quiet for a second, like he’s actually thinking about what to say. Then he lets out a shaky sigh, like he’s holding something back.
“You have no idea how annoying you are,” he mutters.
I blink. “Excuse me— what?”
“You’re annoying,” he repeats like maybe I missed it the first time, leaning just a little closer. “You’re beautiful. And brilliant. And funny without even trying. You walk into a room and suddenly it’s hard to focus on anything else.”
I freeze. My chest feels oddly warm.
“You make me want things I didn’t even think I could have,” he goes on, voice softer now. “You make me want to stay, to try, to be better. And it’s annoying because I wasn’t looking for that. I wasn’t looking for you.”
My throat tightens, but I stay quiet. Because if I talk, I might ruin it.
“But now you’re here,” he says quietly. “And it’s like… my heart already made its choice. I care about you. I’m not just saying it, Em. I feel it. Every single time I look at you.”
He reaches out and takes my hand — only then do I realise it’s shaking.
My voice is barely a whisper. “What about Jessica?”
His brows pull together in confusion. “What about her?”
I swallow hard. “Do you love her?”
He doesn’t answer right away, and it makes my chest squeeze. So I keep going, because I have to.
“Everything I’ve heard about her… it makes it seem like she means more to you than I ever can.” I look away, down at the tiles like they might save me from my embarrassment. “And those two weeks you disappeared… that was because of her, wasn’t it?”
He doesn’t speak right away, but his fingers tighten around mine.
“Yes,” he finally says.
I nod slowly. I already knew, but it still hurts. “Okay. That’s fi—”
“I don’t love her, Emilia.”
His voice cuts through my words, firm and certain.
“I never have.” He leans in just slightly, like he needs me to really hear him. “I’m not sure where you got that idea, but I’m sorry I ever made you think that at all,” He shifts on the stool, clearly uncomfortable, but keeps on going. “If you ever want to know more about her — about what happened — you can ask me. I won’t lie to you.”
I shake my head quickly. “No. I don’t. I don’t want you to say anything that makes you uncomfortable.”
He narrows his eyes a little, studying me like he can to see straight through my load of crap. Then, almost amused, he says, “You know you can’t look me in the eye when you lie, right?”
I blink.
“I’m not lying,” I mumble, but my voice wavers just enough to betray me.
He smiles — barely — but it’s there. “You are. But it’s okay. I just wish you’d trust me enough to ask.”
I open my mouth, but he doesn’t let me speak.
“Every time we get close, you pull back. Five steps, maybe ten. Like you’re afraid I’m going to turn into Zane.”
“I’m not—”
“I’m not him, Emilia.” His voice softens, but every word lands. “Caring about you doesn’t mean I want to control you. Worrying about you doesn’t mean I want to trap you. I’m not here to cage you — I’m here to stand beside you. To hold your hand while you become exactly who you want to be.”
He looks at me like he’s waiting for something to click. “You don’t have to shut me out just to stay in control.”
“Zane—”
“No.” His jaw tightens. “Don’t give him that much power.”
“I—”
“I’m not him,” he says again. Then, slower. “I’m. Not. Him.”
He stands, closing the space between us like gravity pulled him forward. One hand wraps around my arm — not rough, just grounding. And suddenly we’re chest to chest, the air between us gone. My heart stutters.
“When you look at me,” he murmurs, “it’s like you’re still using him as a yardstick. Like he set the rules and now I’m being measured by the damage he left behind.”
His hand grazes my cheek, a featherlight touch that makes me forget how to breathe. “But I’m not him. I’ll never be him. Not even if you begged me to.”
It takes everything in me not to run. But I don’t. I stay rooted, heart pounding. “You don’t know that,” I say quietly.
His lips twitch, and suddenly his whole face softens. The dimple on his left cheek appears, and his blue eyes somehow look even brighter — like I just said something that mattered to him.
“I do.”
Something within me shifts. Breaks. Mends.
I don’t even think. I just lean in and press my lips against his.