Fake Dating My Ex's Favourite Hockey Player novel Chapter 150

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Theo: And I think about her — really think about her. About what her skin would taste like. How she’d sound saying my name, gasping it. I think about pushing her up against a wall just to see if she’d kiss me back like she means it. I want to know what

she looks like under all that soft.

Theo: And then I think about him. The guy who gets to touch her. Kiss her. Hear the things I’d burn to deserve. And I hate him. I hate that he gets pieces of her that I don’t even have the right to want.

Theo: But I want them anyway. I want all of her.

Theo: I’ve only heard her say my name once. But I think about her more than I think about anything else. She doesn’t even care that I exist – and I’m already hers.

Theo: Tell me how the hell I move on from that.

The air in the cab turns thick. My throat tightens. I blink hard, willing the tears not to smudge the eyeliner I spent minutes perfecting.

God.

Somewhere out there, a girl walks around completely unaware that someone loves her like this.

And all I can think is how lucky.

–

My lips pull into something that’s supposed to be a smile but tastes more like ash. I think of Lyle. Of all the nights I prayed he‘ d look at me the way I look at him.

Then I laugh.

Short. Sad.

Stupid.

I dab beneath my eye with the edge of my sleeve and whisper, “Get it together, Tess. You don’t do emotional.”

But lately, it feels like I’ve been forgetting something important.

And I can never put my finger on what it is.

Me: You don’t move on. You swallow the nerves, stop overthinking, and make her yours before someone else does.

Theo: I have to remember how to breathe when she looks at me first.

I keep my face carefully blank. Not bored, not angry – just neutral enough not to raise suspicion or, God forbid, ‘embarrass my family‘ by sinking my fork into his thigh.

“Wow,” I say. “Your future wife will be very lucky.”

“Well… humility is beautiful too,” he says.

—

I’ve done my part. Showed up on time. Didn’t vomit at the sight of breakfast. Endured the conversation. Ignored every veiled insult and every thinly disguised attempt at groping disguised as flattery. Gave him just enough attention to be polite.

I won’t give him a minute more than what was required.

Now, all I want is to lock myself in my room, rip off this suffocating dress, drink until the world blurs, and call in sick tomorrow with a hangover and an “accidental” phone drop in the tub.

“Actually…” Dimitri starts, fumbling as I rise to leave, ready to toss a final goodbye over my shoulder. He practically springs out of his chair like I’ve threatened his inheritance.

“Did you know I own this hotel?” he blurts, scrambling for leverage. “I let Anastasia and Akim use it for their wedding events. A gift.”

I sling my purse over my shoulder and head for the exit without slowing. “How generous,” I say flatly. “Now if you’ll excuse me

He grabs my arm. Firm. Possessive. I spin around, snatching it free before he can tighten his grip, but he’s already reaching again.

“I want you to marry me.”

I stop – not because I’m flattered, but because I’m stunned enough to forget to slap him. “Is this supposed to move me? You’re not the first man to say that. You won’t be the last.”