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Slab Of Man-god

Auteur: Ms. Anonymous
last update Dernière mise à jour: 2025-07-10 23:02:07

DIANA

I have no one to blame but myself.

This is what happens when you overestimate people. Emilia really is as pitiful as I remembered — not even interesting enough to provoke. Just exhausting.

I’m already heading for the elevator when I text Amanda.

> You have three minutes to get a car and prep the jet. Miss that window, and start rewriting your CV.

I don’t care how impossible it is — that’s what she gets for spying on me and not having the brains to do it right. No job that involves me is easy.

As I near the elevator, the doors slide open and someone steps out — tall, broad, hoodie up, arms full. A bouquet of slightly wilted flowers in one hand, greasy paper bag in the other. It smells like overpriced pasta.

I pause, tilt my head.

So this is the idiot who’s been pacing outside like a lost mutt.

I should ignore him. I almost do. But then I feel it — that tight coil behind my ribs. Not curiosity. Not interest. Just pure, sharp irritation.

And I act on it.

He doesn’t see me until I r
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Commentaires (7)
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Debbie
This story is really good. Addicted
goodnovel comment avatar
Carlin Hart
This book is like a mini tv show. Just keep up. Every time I’m confused, it eventually comes together and ends up loving it!
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Dee
Started out great but now the updates are taking sooooo long I would rather go to a completed story. Its sad when the author is not focused on the story rather than dragging it out to the point of ruining it for the readers.Shame on you Traci Hyndman Steele,I wont be reading any more of your fodder
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  • Fake Dating My Ex's Favourite Hockey Player   Life-Or-Death Urgent

    TESSAIt’s another bad day and it’s only 9 AM.The office coffee machine decided to die on me — again — so now I’m stomping down the block in heels I already regret, searching for caffeine before I commit a workplace homicide. There’s nothing noble about survival; it’s just espresso with extra shots and maybe a croissant I’ll tell myself I deserve.Of course, the café closest to the office has a line that wraps around like half of New York also woke up on the wrong side of the bed. I join it anyway, muttering curses under my breath and trying not to look like the unhinged intern who can’t function without her fix.When I finally shuffle to the counter, the barista flashes me a smile far too chipper for someone surrounded by this much suffering. “What can I get started for you?”“Large latte. Three shots. Make it life-or-death urgent,” I deadpan.“Rough morning?” he asks, fingers flying over the register.“Understatement of the century,” I reply, and he laughs like I’m joking. I’m not.

  • Fake Dating My Ex's Favourite Hockey Player   Capiche?

    DIANAI hate being right. Especially when I’m practically begging the world to prove me wrong.The article on my tablet — Stone grinning at reporters like he’s just won the lottery — elicits nothing from me. No surprise. No disappointment. Just inevitability. I drop the tablet onto my desk and tilt my head at the man across from me.“You let this charade drag on longer than I expected.”Morgan Whitney, my fiancé on the days he isn’t busy poisoning me for sport, only smiles. “You have to let people feel safe before you pull the rug out from under them, don’t you think, my dear?”I can’t help but nod. He’s infuriatingly clever when he isn’t insufferable.Turning my chair, I glance at Vixi. My darling. A red milk snake with bright yellow bands, coiled elegantly in her glass tank. Harmless, yet she makes people uneasy without even trying. I guess that makes us opposites.I stand, retrieve a white mouse from the supply, and lower it into her tank. She strikes instantly. Morgan grimaces at

  • Fake Dating My Ex's Favourite Hockey Player   Stone

    EMILIA“That’s not what I said.”“Good. That means this is the part where you come thank your amazing boyfriend with a kiss, mhm?”I’d only ever offhandedly thought about how cute flowers out front would be when we were at the farmers market. Now they’re actually here. And I’m so happy I can barely breathe, except also completely panicking because— “Wait. Did I say that out loud? Are you some kind of mind reader? Should I be concerned?”Liam just sighs and steals the kiss for himself, like he doesn’t trust me not to combust. When he’s satisfied, he finally laughs at me. “You’re really easy to read when you want something. It was kind of obvious, Em.”“Really?” I narrow my eyes. “That can’t be right. If it was, Tessa wouldn’t have kicked me off her Netflix.”I push open the bakery door, and Liam strolls in like it’s his second apartment. I shake my head. “Don’t you have practice?”“Kind of.”“Kind of?” I blink at him. “What does that even mean?”It’s already been a week since Owen’s ba

  • Fake Dating My Ex's Favourite Hockey Player   Irony

    LACEYI don’t go in for my appointment with any hope, but somehow even that manages to disappoint.Dr. Halprin sits across from me, kind eyes hidden behind those square glasses that have delivered the same verdict a hundred times over. She doesn’t even open my chart right away — just folds her hands on the desk like she already knows the weight of what she’s about to repeat.“Your bloodwork came back,” she starts gently, voice soft like she’s afraid a louder tone might shatter me. “And it’s the same as last month. Your FSH levels are still very high. Your ovarian reserve is… extremely low.”I bite down on the inside of my cheek. The words have worn grooves into me by now, hollowing me out, but they still find fresh places to hurt.“So that means…?” I force out, though I already know.“It means the chances of retrieving a viable egg of your own are almost nonexistent.” She pauses, giving me a chance to absorb it, but I don’t want her silence. Silence lets the hope creep back in, and ho

  • Fake Dating My Ex's Favourite Hockey Player   Hockey Players Who Totally Don’t Die After One Kale Juice

    TESSAHis mouth is on mine. Not careful. Not gentle. Just hungry.I gasp, and he takes advantage, deepening it, tasting me like he’s been starving. The plate slips from my lap to the coffee table with a clatter, and suddenly we’re kissing like we might actually die if we stop. His hands are everywhere — firm at my waist, sliding up my spine, anchoring me.I clutch his shirt, dragging him closer, and he makes this low sound in his throat that just about undoes me.“You taste—” he breaks off, lips brushing mine as he catches his breath, “—better than the food.”I laugh against his mouth, breathless, before he swallows it with another kiss, deeper this time, his tongue sliding against mine, slow and devastating. It’s dizzying, like being caught in a storm we both secretly wanted.“I thought you liked the food,” I murmur when I finally tear back half an inch, lips tingling, swollen.“I did,” he counters, kissing me again, the word ruined by how desperate he sounds.We’re smiling into it n

  • Fake Dating My Ex's Favourite Hockey Player   Professional Disaster

    TESSAI don’t bother putting two and two together. He’s friends with Cam, the blabbermouth, and Liam, whose girlfriend has recently turned into a blabbermouth herself. Apparently, even my crimes against cuisine are public knowledge now.Emilia Janice Carter, you better sleep with one eye open. I will have my revenge.“Great. I’ll whip something up,” I say, pushing off the couch with far more confidence than I actually own.Aaron trails me into the kitchen, and I can feel him watching me — like he’s waiting to witness a disaster unfold in real time. When I grab a pan, he settles against the counter, arms folded, all broad shoulders and unfairly good jawline.“You don’t cook,” he says, so calm it almost sounds like a fact carved into law.Well, thanks for the vote of confidence, sir. Really warms the heart.“I can cook,” I shoot back, chin lifted. “I just… don’t cook well.”“That’s one way to put it,” he mutters, quiet, but not nearly quiet enough.I whip around with a wooden spoon like

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