Chapter 3

~Liv~

I thought the hard part would be pretending to like Rowan in front of people.

Turns out the hard part was pretending in front of Rowan himself when he was standing in my bedroom doorway at eight in the morning.

“Jesus Christ,” I croaked, yanking the blanket up to my chin. My hair looked like a real mess. “Ever heard of knocking?”

“I did knock. You snore-laughed in your sleep and told me to come in.” He stepped inside anyway, kicked the door shut with his heel, and handed me a coffee. “Two sugars, splash of oat milk. Zoe ratted out your order.”

I took it because I’m not an animal, but I glared the whole time. “We have rules to discuss, Parker.”

“Yeah, I know. Rule one: you honestly need to stop looking at me like you’re planning my murder. Makes the photos look weird.” He dropped into the beanbag Zoe insisted looks cute and somehow made a six-foot-four of pure muscle look relaxed. “Rule two: we need a backstory before tonight.”

“Tonight?”

“Yurp there's a team charity event. Everyone’s gonna ask how we happened.” He sipped his coffee, eyes on me over the rim. “So. How’d we fall madly in love, babe?”

The babe made me want to throw the coffee at his head. I didn't. Yet.

“We didn’t,” I said. “We’re keeping it simple. You saw me at the party, asked Zoe for my number, texted me lines for two weeks, then asked me out. Done.”

He tilted his head. “Boring.”

“Realistic.”

“People love a good hate-to-love story.”

“I do hate you.”

“Perfect. We’ll use that.” He grinned, all teeth, and I swore the scar on his eyebrow lifted with it. “We’ll say I annoyed you until you agreed to one date just to shut me up. Then I wore you down with my charm.”

“Your charm?” I snorted so hard coffee almost comes out my nose. “You once told a reporter your favorite movie is the back of your eyelids.”

“Accurate.” He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “Come on, Liv. Give me something juicy. I tripped over your dog and face-planted into your lap? You cried during a game and I handed you my jersey to blow your nose?”

“I don’t have a dog and I don’t cry at hockey games.”

“You cried last night watching Bluey with Zoe.”

“That was allergies.”

He raises both eyebrows this time. “To cartoons?”

“Shut up.” I threw a pillow at him. He cought it one-handed without blinking. “Fine. We say you slid into my DMs with the worst pickup line in history and I roasted you so hard you fell in love.”

“Close enough.” He stood, tossef the pillow back. “Get dressed. We’re doing content.”

“Content?”

“Zoe says we need cute couple pics before the event or no one will buy it.” He was already walking out. “Twenty minutes. Wear something that shows your legs. The internet likes legs, you've seen your sister fk content right? ”

“Fuck you, don't ever talk about her with me, and I’m not a piece of meat, Rowan!”

“Eighteen minutes now!”

I screamed into my pillow again.

An hour later we were at the park by the arena because apparently that’s “neutral territory.” Rowan was in gray sweats and a black hoodie, hood up, trying to look mysterious. I was in jeans and the red leather jacket Zoe forced on me. It was freezing. My nose was red. He kept laughing at me.

“Stop moving,” he said, phone out. “You look like you’re posing for a mugshot.”

“I feel like I’m about to be sick.”

“Romantic.” He stepped closer, threw an arm around my shoulders, pulled me into his side. He was warm. Stupidly warm. Like a human furnace. “Smile, Carter.”

“I don’t smile on command.”

He dug his fingers into my ribs. I yelped, jerked , and ended up laughing against his chest by accident. The shutter clicked a dozen times.

“Perfect,” he muttered, thumb scrolling through the shots. His arm was still around me. I didn’t move away fast enough.

He showed me the screen. In the photo I was mid-laugh, eyes squinted, mouth open, and he was looking down at me like like he’s proud he made me do it. His cheek was pressed to my hair. We look so real.

I swallow. “Delete that.”

“No way. That’s going on the feed.” He’s already typing. “Caption: ‘She only laughs when I’m annoying her. Worth it.’”

“Don’t you dare…”

Posted.

My phone exploded immediately. Zoe texts seventeen heart-eyes emojis. Then Caleb’s name popped up in my notifications; he liked it. He never liked anything I posted when we were together.

Rowan watched my face. “You okay?”

“Fine,” I lied.

He pocketed his phone, shoved his hands in his hoodie. “Come on. Ice cream. My treat. Fake dates include dessert.”

“I hate ice cream when it’s cold out.”

“Tough shit.”

He bought me mint chocolate chip anyway. I ate it just to spite him.

We were sitting on a bench, me trying not to shiver, him scrolling through comments on the post like it was the morning paper.

“‘They look so happy’,” he read aloud, smirking. “‘Captain finally bagged a baddie.’ ‘He’s way out of her eague.’ That one actually was not my favorite.

I rolled my eyes. “You’re enjoying this too much.”

“It’s kinda fun.” He bumps my shoulder. “Admit it. You’re having fun too.”

“I’m freezing my nipples off. And people think you're out of my league”

He glanced down, raising an eyebrow. “Want my hoodie?”

“No.”

He pulled it off anyway, yanked it over my head before I could fight. It smelled like him cedar and something sharp and clean. It’s huge. The sleeves swallowed my hands.

I glared up at him. “I said no.”

“You’re welcome.” He’s only in a T-shirt now, goosebumps on his arms, but he didn’t seem to care. “Better?”

I hate that it is.

He took another photo; me swimming in his hoodie, hair messy from the static, mint ice cream on my lip. Posted it immediately. Caption: “She steals my clothes now. Send help.”

I groan. “You’re the worst fake boyfriend ever.”

“You love it?”

I didn’t answer. But then again I did.

“Fucking no!” I hate it.

***

Finally the event night.

I was in a black dress that hugged everything I usually hid under my hoodies. Zoe did my makeup so good I almost cried when I saw the mirror. Rowan picked me up actually knockwd this time; and when I opened the door he just stared. No smirk. No sarcasm. Just stared like I hit him with a puck.

“What?” I snapped, nervous.

“Nothing,” he says, voice rougher than usual. “You look…” He stops, rubbed the back of his neck. “You look good.”

I rolled my eyes to hide the way my stomach flips. “Let’s get this over with.”

In the car he’s quiet. Too quiet. I messed with the radio. He slapped my hand away.

“Ouch that hurts you know.”

“Driver picks.”

“You have the music taste of a 40-year-old dad.”

“Rihanna is timeless.”

I snort. “You would defend her.”

He glanced over. “You nervous?”

“No.”

“Liar. Your leg’s bouncing.”

I still it. “My ex never took me to such, so of course I am.”

“You’ll be fine. Just hold my hand and look bored. People love that.”

He parked, got out, came around to open my door like we rehearsed. Cameras flash the second we stepped out. His hand found mine instantly, fingers sliding between mine like they belonged there. I squeezed too hard on purpose. He squeezed back harder.

“Easy, killer,” he mutteref through a smile.

Reporters shout questions.

“Rowan! Who’s your date?”

“Is this the girl from the park photos?”

He stopped, turned us toward them, arm sliding around my waist. His thumb brushed the bare skin where my dress dipped in the back. My breath stopped for a second.

“This,” he said, loud and clear, “is Liv. Try to keep up.”

Then he looked down at me, right in front of everyone, and said, soft enough only I can hear, “You’re doing great. Breathe.”

Inside, the event was all fairy lights and champagne and people pretending. Rowan never left my side. His hand stayed on my lower back like it was glued there. Every time someone asked how we met he gave a different ridiculous story.

“We met when she threw a shoe at my head.”

“She rescued me from a swarm of rabid fans.”

“She’s actually my stalker. I’m scared to say no.”

I elbowed him every time. He laughed every time.

Then I saw them.

Caleb and Ava across the room. She was in gold, obviously. He’s staring at us like he just got punched in the throat.

Rowan follows my gaze. His grip tightens.

“Want me to kiss you right now?” he askee quietly.

“What?”

“Full tongue. Really sell it.”

I choked on my champagne. “No!”

“Your loss.” He smirked, but his eyes flick back to Caleb. “He looks like he’s living his best life.”

“Good, lucky him.”

Ava spotted us. Started walking over, hips swaying like she was on a runway. Caleb trailed behind.

Rowan leaned down, lips brushing my ear. “Incoming. You want me to be an asshole or a gentleman?”

“Asshole,” I whispered.

He grinned like Christmas came early.

Ava stops in front of us, perfect smile in place. “Livie! Oh my God, you look amazing.” Fake hug. Her perfume made me want to sneeze.

“Thanks,” I said flatly.

Caleb’s eyes were on Rowan’s hand on my waist.

Rowan pulled me closer. “Hey, Hartley. You two enjoy the open bar yet?”

Caleb’s jaw ticked. “Didn’t know you were bringing a date, Parker.”

“Didn’t know I needed your permission.”

Ava laughed, too loud. “We’re all friends here. Right, Livie?”

I smiled with all my teeth. “So friendly.”

Rowan leaned down again, stage-whispers, “Should I tell them you’re wearing my boxers under this dress?”

I choked. “Rowan!”

He shrugged. “Just trying to help.”

Later, when they finally left us alone, Rowan dragged me onto the dance floor even though I swear I couldn’t dance. He didn't care. Just pulled me in, hands on my hips, swaying off-beat.

“You okay?” he asked.

I rest my forehead against his chest because I was tired and his shirt was soft and I could’t look at him right now. “I hate them.”

“I know.”

“I hate that I still care.”

His hand slid up my back, fingers spreading between my shoulder blades. “You won’t forever.”

I laugh, wet and embarrassing. “How do you know?”

“Because you’re already laughing again. And you only do that when you’re with me.”

I pull back, glare up at him. “Don’t get cocky.”

“Too late.”

He spinned me, clumsy and perfect, and for three minutes I forgot everything except the way his thumb keeps rubbing small circles on my spine.

When the song ends he doesn’t let go right away.

“Hey,” he says quietly.

“What?”

He looked at me for a long second, eyes doing that thing where they go soft around the edges. “I’m not sorry I posted those pictures.”

I swallow. “Why?”

“Because you looked happy in them. And I liked being the reason.”

I open my mouth. Nothing comes out.

He smirks, but it’s gentler this time. “Don’t worry. Still just fake.”

Then he let go and walked away to get us more drinks, leaving me standing there wondering when exactly the line started blurring.

I’m so, so done for.