Fake Dating My Ex's Favourite Hockey Player novel Chapter 157

Chapter 157

“I like you,” he says, quiet and certain. “More than I ever meant to. More than I thought I could.”

His voice drops, rough around the edges.

“And I’m not subtle about it either. Is it really so bad that I want to hear you say it back?”

Of course it isn’t.

—

But he’s so close, so calmly devastating, that my brain short–circuits. I can feel his breath on my mouth, his thumb still tracing my cheek like he’s memorising the shape of me. And it’s so typical of him — being soft and cocky – that it feels unfair. Like I’m being emotionally bullied into saying something he already knows.

Because he does know. And he’s enjoying this. Bastard.

Isn’t this too much of a contradiction? He was careful and hesitant a moment ago— respectful, sweet. Now he’s leaning in, whispering confessions, weaponising dimples.

When I don’t answer right away, he hums – low and amused – and leans in. Then-

He bites my car.

Not hard. Just enough.

I gasp, startled, and that’s when he pulls back slightly, grin gone, brows creased like he hadn’t meant to push that far.

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“Too much?” he asks, voice gentling again.

And God help me- it isn’t. Not even close.

I glare at him, mostly to cover how flustered I am. “Liam.”

His name sits heavy in the air between us. He studies me like he’s trying to read a sentence he doesn’t want to misunderstand. Like there‘ s something fragile between us now – something he wants, badly, but won’t grab without consent.

—

Then he drops his gaze, and just like that, the teasing fades from his expression. “He touched you,” he says, voice hollow. “I can’t stop thinking about that.”

My breath catches.

“He kissed you.”

He says it like it’s a crime. And maybe to him, it is.

“And then he hurt you. He broke into your room, and he hurt you.” His jaw clenches, shoulders tense. He isn’t pacing or shouting or being dramatic about it. That’s the scary part. Liam doesn’t have to raise his voice to let you know he’s seconds away from doing something irreversible.

“I’ve never hit him before,” he says after a pause, voice rough. “Not once. Not when he called me a mistake. Not when he threw things. Not even when he dragged our mother into his own mess just to make her pick sides.”

My throat tightens.

“But today?” Liam looks up. His eyes are distant, like he’s

remembering it all in slow motion. “The second I saw his hands on

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you, something in me snapped. I didn’t care that he was bleeding. I didn’t care who was watching. I just wanted him gone. Gone from you.”

I reach out then. Just my fingers brushing his. A wordless I know. A wordless I’m okay.

But Liam shakes his head, like that isn’t enough. “You’re not a thing people get to break and walk away from, Emilia. Not while I’m around.”

The room goes very still. My heart is stupidly loud.

“And if you hadn’t hit him with that mop, I might’ve killed him,” he adds grimly. “So thank you for that, by the way. For reminding me I still have a soul.”

The corner of my mouth twitches. “Well, it was a very clean hit.”

His laugh cracks through the tension, short and sharp.

“I just-” he exhales, shoulders sagging, like everything is finally catching up to him. “I can’t stop replaying it. How close I was to being too late. And how calm you were. Like you expected no one to show up for you.”

That one hits me. Hard.

I look away, eyes stinging, but Liam’s hand finds my cheek again, grounding me.

“You don’t have to expect that anymore,” he murmurs.

I breathe in, deep and shaky. “You’re making it really hard to keep pretending this is fake.”

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His smile returns, slow and crooked and devastating. “Good.”

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