Page 11 of Scoring a Sweet Thing

“Why would I want you to hide your tattoos?”

“Sometimes people make snap judgments based on my appearance.”

Anger bubbles inside of me at the thought of anyone being negative toward Bailey. I might have only known him for less than an hour, but I can tell he’s a good guy. “I’ll fight them with my hockey stick if they do.”

His soft smile hits me right in the gut.

“But I don’t want you to come if you’ll be uncomfortable. I wouldn’t ask that of you,” I say reassuringly.

“You’ve got a good soul, Remington.”

“You can call me Remi. Remington makes me feel like I’ve been a bad boy.”

He snorts, then nods his head a few times. His tongue darts out to lick over his lips, and then he says my name in a whisper, like he’s testing it out. “Remi.”

“Remi and Bailey!” I smack my hand on the table. “So stinkin’ cute!”

He laughs again. That sweet-as-fuck sound that I want to bottle up and put in my fanny pack so I can listen to it all the time.

“So, how did we meet?” he asks.

“In this diner. It was love at first sight over a grilled cheese.”

“And sharing marshmallows.”

I grin.

Yeah, I think we’re gonna crush this fake boyfriend thing.

CHAPTER FIVE

Bailey

There’s a ride share picking me up in ten minutes to take me to the hotel downtown where the gala is being held, and I feel… awkward. It’s like I’m cosplaying as someone who has their shit together. I’m so unrecognizable I’ve given myself a jump scare every time I’ve caught my reflection because I’m not the kind of guy who wears a shirt and tie. I don’t even own a tie or a button-down shirt. I ended up renting this suit as I didn’t want to spend money on something that I am 99.9 percent sure I’ll never wear again. But then I was hit with a wave of guilt because I didn’t want Remi to think I wasn’t putting in the effort to at least look like his plus-one.

What does a plus-one of a professional athlete look like anyway?

Probably nothing like me, that’s for sure.

The main issue is I don’t belong in places where you have to wear a shirt and tie. I wasn’t kidding when I told Remi that people make snap judgments based on how I look. They see the tattoos and the piercings and ignore the fact that I’m just an introvert who likes peace and quiet.

Plus, I’m worried that my being there might put him in an awkward situation. Yeah, he said he’d fight them for me, but this is also his job. His livelihood. He’s not going to want to upset his employers, or hell, the sponsors who probably have more money than I’ll ever have in my lifetime, for a guy he’s known for a few days.

I wouldn’t want him to do that for me either.

We ended up talking for hours in the diner about anything and everything. He spoke about his job, his wildly hectic schedule that sounds like a nightmare to me, and how he grew up in a small coastal town in New Hampshire before heading off to college. And I told him about how I’m a resident artist at the tattoo studio and showed him some photos of my work. I told him about Lian, and then he proceeded to send him a selfie of him with an adorable wide grin and the message, “Don’t worry! I’m gonna look after your bestie! Have fun cruising! Don’t get too wet!”

Lian’s already smitten with him, but maybe not as much as he’s smitten with Foster. From what he’s been saying, the cruise is going very well.

But it was how Remi texted me this morning to double-check I was still comfortable going tonight that made my heart go all weird and flippy in my chest. Even though he’s only known me for less than seventy-two hours, his level of care is the only thing that’s stopping me from ripping off this tie—which I’m pretty sure is choking me—and bailing out.

I’ve never met anyone like him. He’s so fucking pure and bright. Like he could light up a dark room just with his aura alone. He reminds me of a golden retriever puppy who’s eaten too much sugar, and his thing with the marshmallows? Fucking adorable. You might as well send out my obituary because I’m dead over how fucking cute he is, with his messy, dark hair, kind brown eyes, and magnetic personality.

And I’m certain he was hiding one hell of a body beneath his jeans and hoodie. I bet he will look damn good in his suit because he’s really fucking hot.

Straightening my tie for the hundredth time, I snap a photo in the mirror and send it to Lian. It’s nothing special. Just a simple black button-down shirt and tie, with a black jacket and dress pants. I’ve tried to tame my hair so it looks less of a mop, and I even stole some of Lian’s fancy cologne that his grandma sends him for Christmas.

But despite feeling like a complete fraud, I guess I don’t scrub up half bad. I’m… presentable.