Page 7 of Pucked Into Position

She straightens in her chair, and sets down her fork.

“Okay?” Her eyes are wide, like a rabbit ready to flee.

“It’s nothing you’ve done,” I reassure her. I take a bite of the bacon to try and keep the conversation casual, and end up letting out a moan. It’s perfect, crunchy around the edges but still a little chewy at the center. I always end up overcooking it.

Lana’s brows shoot up behind her bangs, and she shifts in her chair.

Shit, I made her uncomfortable.

“Sorry.” I swallow and take a drink of my juice. “It’s just really good.”

Her cheeks turn red and she looks back at her plate.

“I’m glad.” She picks up her fork again. “What did you want to tell me?”

I catch myself watching her lift a forkful of eggs to her mouth. Watching her eat shouldn’t be as attractive as it is.

“Like I said, you haven’t done anything wrong. I’m the one who did something incredibly stupid.”

Her delicate brows furrow. “What do you mean?”

I take another bite of eggs and run through the details while I chew, trying to figure out how to describe yesterday’s nightmare. “I was in a PR meeting yesterday, and the team is fed up with my apparently stand-offish public image.”

“You? Stand-offish?” Lana tilts her head, and I swear to god it’s the cutest thing I’ve ever seen.

“Yeah.” I rub the back of my neck and lean back. “I’m the all-star grump of the Houston Lone Stars.”

She nods, obviously holding back a giggle. I’ve always been private, and a bit of a grump. But not around Tucker, and apparently not around Lana. She clearly remembers me very differently than the man I’ve become.

“Well, because of that, my PR team decided they want to force me into a fake, arranged relationship with some celebrity influencer for media attention. Before I could stop myself, I blurted out that I have a girlfriend.”

Lana chews her lower lip, obviously sensing where this is going.

“And…” I swallow hard. “When they pressed me for a name, I said it was you, and that you’d just moved in with me.”

I hold my breath, bracing for her to be angry or call Tucker and tell me off.

The rest spills out in a rush. “I’m so sorry, Lana. I tried telling them it needed to stay private, but they wouldn’t listen. They expect me to make a public appearance with you this week, or they’ll set me up with a fake relationship anyways. I’ll straighten it out today and tell them we broke up when I told you or that I’d lied. I don’t want to drag you into my mess.”

Lana watches me with a curious expression, then shrugs. “I don’t mind.”

I blink, stunned. I anticipated anger, not agreement. “You’re sure you’re okay with this? I don’t want this to screw things up for you with school or anything.”

“Yes, I’m okay with it. You’re allowing me to live here, in your private space, rent-free. If pretending to be your girlfriend helps your image and keeps the team from setting you up with some random pushy influencer…” Her nose crinkles. “I can do that. When do we need to make a public appearance?”

“Sooner than later, if you’re absolutely sure you’re okay with it,” I add, relief and shock washing over me. “Dinner would probably be a good start.”

“Okay.” She gives me a small smile, then looks off to the side. “I might have to get something to wear...”

“I’ll send you some money to get something after class.” I return the smile.

We plan to go out tonight since she says it’s better to just rip the band-aid off. I make reservations at a restaurant downtown, we finish breakfast, and go our separate ways.

As I pull into the arena parking lot, I can’t help but feel protective of Lana. I don’t want to share her with anyone, especially the media.

***

That evening, I feel my protectiveness spike even further when the waiter’s eyes linger a little too long on Lana.