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Wife Me Up
Last Updated:
2025-09-10 23:53:40
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Fake Dating My Ex's Favourite Hockey Player Wife Me Up
TESSAThe second my apartment door clicks shut behind us, I’m slammed against it. His mouth on mine, one strong hand braced against the wood beside my head, the other at my waist like it’s been waiting years for this. I gasp into the kiss, half-laugh, half-hungry, tugging at the lapel of his jacket like I’m pulling him down into me.God, finally.The air between us has been nothing but teasing and almosts and interruptions, and now it’s just us. No little nieces, no Claire, no fluorescent office lights. Just heat and his lips on mine.“Wow,” I murmur against his mouth when we finally break apart, already breathless. “Is it insane if I say you kiss the way you talk?”Aaron’s lips tilt into the smallest smirk, that maddening, quiet little twist that somehow punches me straight in the chest. “You talk too much.”“Oh, don’t even start. You like it.” I shove off the door and back him into the living room, my blazer already abandoned somewhere on the floor. His laugh — soft, startled — buzz
Fake Dating My Ex's Favourite Hockey Player Home Alone
TESSAThe recital starts with a long-winded welcome speech from a woman in a sparkly shawl who takes her volunteer position very, very seriously. The parents clap like they’ve just been handed an Oscar, and then the lights dim until the stage glows.Tiny ballerinas file out in matching pink tutus, arms bent like crooked teapots. I spot Kenzie immediately because she’s the only one beaming like she owns the stage. Her bun is slightly off-center, and her tights have a smudge at the knee, but she does a perfect curtsy before the music even begins. My heart just about combusts.Beside me, Aaron leans forward a little, elbows on his knees, watching like nothing else in the world exists. The tough hockey player melts into a soft pile of uncle mush, and it’s devastatingly attractive.“She’s so good,” I whisper, my hand clutching the edge of my program like it’s my ticket to heaven.He turns his head, slow, just enough for his profile to catch the faint light from the stage. “She’s the star,”
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
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