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“The posters didn’t do you justice, darlin’.” Tuck’s words are dripping in southern charm; or, at least, that’s sure his intention.
But by the way Olivia’s mouth and eyes narrow when she looks at Tuck, she seems to think they’re dripping with something else, of the BS variety. “Excuse me?” she asks, nonplussed.
“The play you were in last semester. Posters for it all over campus. You looked good on them, but you look a lot better in person.” Tuck’s talking with all the confidence in the world, like a man who knows he’s on the verge of sealing the deal.
Olivia’s frosty demeanor, however, would inform any man less full of himself that he’s way off the mark. “Uh huh,” Olivia barely acknowledges his words.
“You know, I always thought I’d make a good actor,” Tuck muses.
Olivia barks a dismissive laugh. “Every cocky guy with a pretty face thinks he can become an actor. News flash, it actually takes talent and hard work.”
Tuck’s eyes flash, a grin carving on his mouth. “You think I have a pretty face?”
“Oh, brother,” Olivia huffs. She takes a long sip of her drink and then sets it back down on the table. “Well, I think I’ve had enough hockey-related anything for one night. Summer, you stay as long as you want, I’m going to head home and get some rest.”
Summer tries to talk her into staying, but Olivia says she really should get back home because she has an essay she’s been putting off. When Tuck offers to walk her home, he gets a glare that could make a guy’s balls shrivel in return.
Tuck’s eyes follow her as she walks out of the bar. He takes a drag of his drink. “Yep. Just a matter of time.”
Summer laughs. “Save yourself the heartbreak, Tuck. Olivia’s sworn off hockey players. It was a struggle just to get her to come to the game tonight.”
“She said I had a pretty face. Ran outta here because she couldn’t trust herself around me for even a minute longer. She wants the Tuck McCoy experience, and soon enough she won’t be able to lie to herself anymore.”
Summer snorts. “Dig your own grave, then.”
A shut-out win during my first game as a Brumehill Black Bear. I’m looking forward to getting through with the preseason and actually playing games that really matter. But there’s something else I’m finding I’m looking forward to just as much.
Getting more congratulations kisses from my fake girlfriend.
20
SUMMER
Clearly, I underestimated Sean. Hudson was right: seeing us kiss just once never would have been enough to make him give up.
On the plus side, he’s been keeping his distance in person. He hasn’t approached me on campus and tried to talk with me since that day Hudson and I started faking it. But for the last week, he’s been blowing up my phone with texts.
He’s been sending me sappy recollections of memories from when we were a couple. Pictures of things that used to mean something to me—concert tickets, something I gave him for his birthday, a book we read together when we first started dating, that kind of thing.
I guess he thinks all that is supposed to tug at my heartstrings. But it doesn’t.
I cried out all my feelings about Sean and our year and a half long relationship over the summer, while he was in Europe living like Don freaking Juan without a care in the world, assuming that I’d be dutifully waiting for him the moment he got back.
I roll my eyes as his most recent text pops up on my phone. He just had to let me know that he just heard Angel Olsen’s Shut Up Kiss Me, the first song we ever danced together to.
Again, not the slightest tug on a single heartstring. I’m over him, over us, and I don’t have any bit of inclination to look backwards.
I’m not a callous person, and sure, there’s still a part of me that values what I experienced with Sean when things were good. Despite how it ended up. But he’s totally out of my system.
If Sean’s expecting me to respond, he’s going to be disappointed.
I drop my phone face down on my mattress and head downstairs. I could use a cup of tea.
“Sean’s not here, you know.” Olivia’s strange words stop me in my tracks as I round the banister at the bottom of the stairs to head to the kitchen.
“Huh?” I turn to her questioningly. She’s lounging on our loveseat.
“Your ex. He’s not here.”
