Caught
1109 Words
We didn't speak on the drive to the photoshoot.
Cole drove with one hand, jaw locked, beanie low. His other hand stayed fisted on the console, not where mine usually was for show. The air in the truck was freezing because he refused to turn on the heat, or maybe because we both were.
His phone glowed on the dash.
DIANE: COUPLES SHOOT 10 AM. MATCHING WHITE. BE IN LOVE OR BE FIRED.
Matching white. Be in love. We'd just had our first real fight on his porch after I kissed Jax on our lake.
The studio was all white — white backdrop, white couch, fake snow falling from the ceiling. The photographer, Mira, had pink hair and clapped when we walked in holding hands that didn't want to hold.
"There they are! Hockey's hottest couple! You look... tense! Let's fix that with love!"
Cole's hand landed on my lower back, cold. "Hey. Traffic."
"Okay! Concept is 'Home for the Holidays.' Cozy, domestic, like you actually live together! Which you do! First pose: couch, her in his lap, forehead to forehead!"
I sank into the soft white couch. Cole sat beside me, not touching.
"Closer!" Mira pushed us. "You live together! You share a toothbrush, right?"
"We don't share a toothbrush," Cole muttered.
I ended up in his lap. His sweats, my white skirt. His arms around my waist because Mira put them there. His chest warm behind my back, even though he was angry.
"Forehead to forehead! Look at each other like you're in love!"
Our foreheads touched. His eyes were inches from mine — dark, tired, angry. His stitched lip from the fight almost healed.
"Smile!" Flash.
Mira frowned. "You look like you're at a funeral. Let's add passion! Cole, kiss her neck! Like at home!"
"She doesn't like neck kisses," Cole said instantly.
I stared at him. I never told him that. I told Jax that, years ago.
"I don't," I whispered.
"Okay, cheek then!"
Cole leaned in and kissed my cheek, just under my eye. Soft. His lips lingered half a second too long. His hand squeezed my waist. I closed my eyes without meaning to.
"YES! That's love! Ella, now you! Kiss his jaw! He has a kissable jaw!"
I turned in his lap. My hands landed on his chest. His heart hammered fast against my palms — not slow, not fake.
I kissed his jaw near the stitch, light, supposed to be fake. He inhaled sharply. His hand slid into my hair, holding me there longer than the pose needed.
"Oh my god, you two are SO good at this fake dating thing," Mira said, then covered her mouth.
We froze.
"What did you say?" Cole's voice went deadly quiet.
"I said... real dating! Real! Obviously real!"
Someone told her. The wives. The team. Everyone knew.
Cole stood, setting me off his lap gently. "We need a minute. Five minutes, Mira."
She scurried out. Fake snow kept falling.
"She knows," I said.
"Yeah. Because you told Jax and Jax tells his GM and his GM tells Diane." He turned on me. "Did you tell him the contract? The money?"
"No! I only said it was fake!"
"Because you were cold so you kissed him? You have my house, my clothes, my name on your back on national TV, and you went to your secret lake at dawn like a Nicholas Sparks movie!"
"It IS our lake! It was ours before you knew I existed!"
"I know! You have history with him! What do I have? A contract and a jersey you wear for PR!"
The white room felt too bright.
"Is that what you think? That this is just PR for me?"
"Isn't it? I'm convenient. Bad boy fixes image. Good girl fixes bank account. We both win."
"That's not fair. You scored for me. You said that was for me. Was that PR?"
He opened his mouth. Closed it. Ran a hand through his hair.
"No. That wasn't PR. That was... f**k, Ella, I don't know what that was."
"What was this morning? Following me?"
"I followed you because you left a note that said 'run' and you don't run! You said running is 'internalized capitalism!' I thought you were hurt! And I found you kissing him, wearing that f*****g hair tie—"
He stared at my wrist. The faded black hair tie. Jax's. From high school.
I pulled it off fast and shoved it in my pocket. "It's just a hair tie."
"Yeah. And it's just a kiss. And it's just a hoodie. It's all just things, right?" He laughed, humorless. "Sarah said I'm falling for you. I told her she was crazy. That you were just my fake girlfriend. Enforcers don't fall, we hit."
My chest tightened.
"I'm sorry," I whispered. "I shouldn't have gone. I shouldn't have kissed him. I was confused. Because you make me confused too."
"How?"
"Because you pretend you don't care, but you make me pasta with too much garlic and leave the hallway light on and you scored for me and you followed me because you thought I was hurt. And you hate shirts but you put one on when I'm uncomfortable. That's not fake, Cole. That's not in the contract."
He looked up, eyes wet, blinking fast.
"Don't say s**t like that when we're supposed to be breaking up," he muttered.
"We're not breaking up."
"We should. Fake couples who fight get bad press."
Mira knocked. "Guys? Mistletoe shot!"
Cole looked at me. "One more shot. Then we're done. Can you pretend you're in love with me for five more minutes?"
I nodded.
He yelled, "Come in!"
Mira held plastic mistletoe over us. "He holds it over her, she kisses him! Real kiss! For love!"
Cole took the mistletoe. His hand shook a little.
"Rule five," he whispered, only for me. "No kissing unless cameras."
"There are cameras," I whispered back.
"I know."
He leaned down and kissed me. Not cheek. Not forehead. Real kiss. On the mouth. Soft, warm, coffee and mint, his stitched lip careful. His hand in my hair, holding me.
Click. Click. Click.
Mira screamed, "YES! THAT'S THE MONEY SHOT!"
I kissed him back. My hands fisted in his shirt, pulling him closer, and for five seconds there was no contract, no Jax, no lake. Just us in a white room with fake snow, kissing under fake mistletoe that felt real.
We pulled apart, breathing hard.
Mira was crying. "Beautiful. Real love. I can tell."
Cole's eyes never left mine.
"Yeah," he said, hoarse. "Real."
And for the first time, I didn't know if we were still pretending.
- Writer
