Fake Dating My Ex's Favourite Hockey Player - Chapter 78: Chapter 78

LIAM
Emilia snorts against my shoulder but pulls away gently, nudging me with a quiet smile before moving to sit next to Lacey. She doesn’t say anything — neither of them do — but they fall into a kind of easy silence, the kind that doesn’t need permission or apology.
They drink. Slowly. Quietly. Shoulder to shoulder, not facing each other, but not alone either.
By 3:47 PM, I’ve got two women sunk into their own exhaustion, tipsy on cheap beer and heavier thoughts. Lacey’s cup is on the ground, empty. Emilia’s head rests lightly on her friend’s shoulder. Neither of them is crying, but it’s the kind of silence that comes after you’ve felt everything all at once.
I sit with them. I don’t speak. Just stay close and keep an eye out, in case either of them needs a refill — or a reason to keep going.
It’s peaceful. For maybe five minutes.
Then Emilia hiccups.
“But… but…” she starts, blinking slowly at Lacey like her brain’s buffering. “If whales are mammals… does that mean they have belly buttons?”
Lacey gasps, fully scandalised. “Wait. Do they?”
Emilia turns to me. “Liam, do whales have belly buttons?”
“I’m not doing this,” I mutter, already regretting not cutting them off earlier. They’ve been at this for a while. First it was Santa, then some legend of some belly dancer, now it’s whales, apparently.
“Wait, no, I’m serious,” Emilia insists, pointing at me with the grace of a falling tree. It’s adorable. I pinch her cheeks and she tries biting my hand, but fails. “This is important, Liam. Listen to me.”
“They do,” I sigh. “All mammals have navels.”
Lacey throws her arms up in triumph. “I knew I felt a spiritual connection to dolphins.”
“Because of their belly buttons?” I ask.
She ignores me.
Emilia sways slightly and tugs on Lacey’s sleeve. “Do you think… if I became a whale, I could just float forever and not deal with taxes?”
“I don’t pay taxes!” Lacey declares proudly.
I stare at her. “The punishment for tax evasion is literally prison.”
She blinks. Shrugs. “Well, yeah. I mean… not on purpose.”
Emilia snorts so hard she nearly spills her drink. “She thinks TurboTax is a dating app.”
Lacey flips her off without looking. “At least I’m not trying to marry a dolphin again.”
“I was seven!”
“Age is not an excuse for aquatic infidelity.”
At that, Emilia bursts into laughter so loud it startles the couple across the pool. I press my palms into my eyes, counting backward from ten. It doesn’t help.
“Okay,” I say, standing. “Time to wrap this up.”
“Nooo,” they groan in unison, Emilia dramatically collapsing onto Lacey’s lap and Lacey stroking her hair then bursting into giggles when her fingers get tangled in the curls.
“We’re having a moment,” Lacey mumbles. “You can’t rush a moment.”
“You’ve been having this moment for forty-three minutes.”
“But it’s peaking now,” Emilia argues. “We were just getting to the good part. I was going to tell Lacey about the time Zane thought my hair removal cream was shampoo—”
I take their empty cups and toss them, then return with water bottles. Neither of them wants it, of course.
“I want beer,” Lacey whines.
“I want chocolate milk,” Emilia adds.
“You’re getting water. That’s what’s happening.”
Getting them moving is a slow, chaotic mess. Emilia keeps pausing to stare at her feet like they’ve just sprouted overnight. “Why are they so far away?” she asks, genuinely baffled. Lacey demands a piggyback ride on the grounds of “emotional injury and general cuteness,” arms already outstretched like she’s expecting a ride at a theme park.
I somehow wrangle them down the hallway, one under each arm. Emilia hums the Friends theme, barely hitting the notes. Lacey tries to chime in and ends up coughing like she’s been poisoned.
We reach Lacey’s suite first. I make sure she actually brushes her teeth like she swore she would — standing outside the bathroom door and threatening to make her drink tap water if she lies. Once she’s faceplanted onto her bed, I shut the door behind her and take a breath.
Emilia’s leaning against the wall, watching me with a crooked smile. “You’re bossy,” she murmurs.
“You’re lucky I’m not charging for this,” I say, sliding an arm around her waist.
She leans into me with no resistance. Her steps are small and uneven as we make our way to our suite. “This is nice,” she says, half-drifting. “Being taken care of.”
“You picked the right person,” I mutter, guiding her through the door.
Inside, the room is dim and quiet. I help her sit on the edge of the bed, her fingers still curled around mine. She looks up at me with eyes that are tired but soft, the kind of gaze that tugs something loose in your chest.
“You always show up,” she says.
I kneel to pull off her shoes. “So do you. You just don’t notice it.”
Her lips twitch like she’s trying to smile, but sleep’s already pulling her under. “You know what I like most about you?” she murmurs.
“What’s that?”
“You don’t leave.”
I huff a quiet laugh. “This is starting to sound like I’m being taken advantage of.”
She leans in slowly until her forehead rests against mine. “If I exploit you more… will you go?”
My hand finds the small of her back. “Nah, love. Use me all you want. I’ll stay.”
She smiles at that — really smiles this time, like the truth settled somewhere safe inside her. “You can exploit me too. I’m good at cooking. And baking. And eating, if that helps. I’m not talented in much else, but…” she yawns, snuggling just slightly closer, “Tess says it’s the heart that counts.”
The closeness is heady, her breath warm and sweet from the last drink she didn’t need. For a second, everything feels suspended — like if I said something, anything, it would tilt us both over the edge.
But I don’t.
I touch her cheek, brushing a thumb along her skin like it’s instinct. Her eyes are half-closed, lashes brushing the shadows under them. “You’ve got enough heart for both of us,” I say quietly. “And you’re more than adorable.”
She hums, content. “That sounds like cute privilege. I give Tessa that sometimes. She’s really, really cute. Did you know she never gets drunk? Ever? I think she might be a little bit cursed.”
“Mhm,” I say again, but I’m not really listening anymore. Not to her words, at least — just her voice, the rhythm of it, the way her breath slows in my arms like she finally let herself be tired.
She presses her lips to my cheek, a kiss so light it feels imagined. I suck in a sharp breath. Then she pulls back, mumbles something that might’ve been “goodnight,” then she frowns a little, eyes fluttering like she’s fighting to stay awake. “Are you gonna sleep too?”
“In a minute.”
“You’re warm,” she mumbles.
“You’re drunk.”
“Do you still like me when I’m drunk?”
“I like you always.”
That’s the last thing she hears before she drifts off, completely relaxed against me, her breathing soft and even. I stay there for a while, holding her like the moment might disappear if I move too fast.
And when I finally lay her down, tucking the blanket over her and brushing her hair away from her face, I kiss her forehead and whisper something I’m not brave enough to say when she’s awake.
Then I lie down beside her. And I stay.