Fake Dating My Ex's Favourite Hockey Player novel Chapter 149

–

Okay. I’m torn half of me feels genuinely bad for Theo

because I know how much he likes this girl. The other half? Fully spiralling at the phrase ‘readily available dick pics‘.

Truly, you only hear some stuff once in a lifetime.

Me: And you know this because…?

Theo: We were taking group photos. I went to his gallery to pick the nice ones. The man had a whole album. Named.

Me: Jesus Christ. I’m sorry, Theo. You know, it’s not too late to move on…

Theo: You don’t want to know how impossible that is.

Me: Try me.

Theo: Are you sure? My thoughts aren’t completely pure.

Me: Come on, Theo.

No response.

I take my time finishing my makeup, smoothing down the curls I just spent twenty minutes forcing into my naturally straight hair. I got bored of it. Wanted something with more chaos to match. my evening.

I’ve barely booked the cab when my mother calls right on cue, ready to ruin my day.

“You say you have a boyfriend,” she begins, skipping hello entirely, “but it’s never wise to keep all your eggs in one basket. Not when it comes to marriage and my grandchildren.”

“Mama,” I sigh. “You seem a lot more invested in my wedding than I am.”

“Someone has to be! You’ll have breakfast with Dimitri in an hour at the hotel. And no buts. Either that, or you convince your so–called boyfriend to pop the question.”

Well, that’s… impossible.

After we hang up, I wonder for a second if I should’ve just told her the truth.

I learned how to stitch my own wounds because there wasn’t anyone else. Because one night, after I told my father to go fuck himself for asking for the last of my savings,; my mother goaded him into slamming my head into the TV.

I’m not them. I’ll never be them. But they succeeded in one thing — they made damn sure I never want to be a parent either. And nothing’s going to change that.

The cab finally pulls up. I climb in, phone buzzing. I take a minute to pull myself together, to lock away the memories and convince myself I’m not in Russia anymore. I’m only Orlova by name. My association with my family starts and ends with credit alerts.

When I’m done with my mantra, I pull out my phone, then suck in a breath at the sight.

Fucking hell.

Theo: I know how she walks. How she always looks at the ground like she’s thinking about ten things at once. How her laugh is quieter when she thinks no one’s listening. How she always forgets to eat and always craves Italian.

—

Theo: I know the exact second her smile starts like the sun warming your skin before you even realise it’s there. She tucks her hair behind her ear when she’s nervous. Taps her pen when she’s mad. Covers her tattoos even when it’s hot and doodles hearts in the margins of her notes.

Theo: She’s in my head all the time. Like muscle memory. Like oxygen. I see her in every room. I know the way she tugs her sleeves over her hands when she’s cold. The way she mouths the lyrics to songs no one else notices are playing. I know she has a faint scar on her forehead and bites the inside of her cheek when she’s trying not to laugh.