Page 27 of Playing the Player

I open the article and the first thing I see is a photo of Conor and I at the restaurant last night. It’s a sloppy photo taken from someone’s phone. Conor’s hand is across the table, mine resting in his. I’m smiling up at him and he’s watching me with a look that could only be described as admiration. It’s funny. We actually look like we’re in love.

The headline makes me roll my eyes. Florida Flames star, Conor Matthews, trades endless flings for a real first date. Where do these people get off making assumptions about strangers? I mean, yeah it’s true, but they don’t know that.

I skim the entire article, not really wanting to see what they say but needing to know at the same time.

Meaningless hookups.

First girlfriend.

Changed man.

Who is the mystery woman?

And then I reach that final line.

Will it last or is this just another notch on Matthews’ belt?

My stomach rolls with nausea. I shouldn’t care. We’re not actually dating. We’re not sleeping together. I can never become another notch on his belt because this isn’t even real.

I just need to keep reminding myself of that.

Have I thought about it? Obviously. I mean, hello… He’s hot as hell and I bet he knows how to make a woman feel good, but we can’t go there. It’ll complicate things between us and that’s why we have these rules. I can’t let another man hurt me like Max did. If that happened to me again, I don’t think I’d survive that.

So for now, Conor and I are friends who are pretending to date, and when this deal is over, we’ll just be friends.

“I have a gift for you.” Conor's voice fills my ear through the phone the second I leave work. I'ts almost as if he was watching the clock until 5pm hit so he could call me.

“Oh?” I smile to myself as I walk down the sidewalk. “And what is it?”

“Well, I can't tell you that, Angel. It’s a surprise.” I chuckle, heat rushing to my cheeks from the nickname he’s given me. It doesn't matter how many times he says it but when he does, in that husky voice, I can't help but blush. It's a weakness. “When will you be home?”

“Five minutes or so. Why?”

“Because I’m here waiting for you.”

I stop walking. “What? Why?”

“Because I want to see your face when you open my gift.”

“How long have you been there?”

A quiet chuckle meets my ears. “That doesn't matter.” Which in other words means he’s been there for a while. I shake my head, unable to stop myself from smiling. I can't believe he has actually waited for me to finish work. What a man. “How was your day?”

I start walking again in the direction of my apartment. “It was fine.” I release a heavy sigh. “People keep staring at me. It’s weird.” People aren't just staring though. They're talking about me. The amount of times I heard my name pass peoples lips in the office today was probably more than I've heard my whole life. And now, I'm walking down the street and people keep turning their heads to look at me. I hate this. But what did I expect? Dating a professional hockey player will have people turning their heads. Especially a hockey player who has never dated before.

“Why were they staring?”

“Because of the article about us. Did you see it?”

“Nope.” He replies, popping the ‘p’. “I don't follow all that sports gossip shit.”

That surprises me. If the internet spent its time dissecting my every move, I’d probably read every single article.

“I’m here.” I say, walking through the doors of my apartment building.

“See you soon, beautiful.” Oh fuck. Be still my racing heart.

I climb the two flights of stairs to my apartment to find Conor standing by my door with a gift bag dangling from his hand.