Fake Dating My Ex's Favourite Hockey Player novel Chapter 200

Chapter 200

A laugh slips out before I can stop it, though my voice comes softer than I mean. “As tempting as that sounds, I’ve barely saved enough for one plane ticket.”

He exhales dramatically, then dips his head into my hair, his nose skimming my temple. The contact makes my eyes flutter shut. My face ends up pressed to his chest, and all I can smell is him not soap, not cologne, just warm, clean skin and something that’s become home.

I fist the fabric of his shirt without meaning to, and he answers with a slow stroke of his hand up into my hair. His fingertips massage lightly at my scalp, sending goosebumps racing down my arms, before trailing down the back of my neck in a glide that makes my whole body hum.

“You’ve got a walking ATM right here, beautiful,” he murmurs, his lips grazing my hairline so faintly it feels like a secret. A shiver chases through me. “I’d buy you anything, take you anywhere, do anything to make you smile.” His forehead drops to mine, his thumb tracing the line of my jaw in slow, dizzying strokes. “But you’re too stubborn to let me.”

I open my mouth to argue, but the way he’s looking at me the only person in the room worth seeing out of my throat.

like I’m

snatches the words right

“Not stubborn,” I say finally, though my voice sounds suspiciously like a squeak. “It’s just… the stuff you want to do is extravagant. If it didn’t cost thousands, maybe I wouldn’t mind.”

His brows lift, the tiniest shift, and suddenly his grip tightens at my waist, dragging me that bit closer like I’m about to pay for my honesty with my life. “Do you mean that?”

My brain short–circuits for a second because of course his voice had to go all low and dangerous right now. “Uh… sure,” I manage, which is probably the stupidest answer of my life.

He hums. “Maybe I don’t need to buy you anything, then.” His thumb traces my jaw, soft but firm enough to make me shiver.

I arch a brow, trying for sarcasm but mostly sounding breathless. “Seriously?”

“Of course not.” His mouth curves. “What am I supposed to do when I see something and think of you? Leave it there? You’re asking the impossible, love.”

I poke his chest, because someone in this relationship has to cling to logic. “The problem is everything seems to remind you of me. Even that hideous, wall–sized stuffed animal you brought home last week.”

“You made me return that,” he reminds me smoothly, and before I can pull my hand back, he catches it and presses a warm kiss to my knuckles. Like I didn’t already lose this argument three minutes ago. “And you were so excited when you saw it, until you googled the price.”

Okay, fine. He got me there. I was excited. It was limited edition merch from one of my favorite romance novels, which basically means it came with a caution label: “Warning, financially devastating. Do not look directly at checkout total.”

But he can afford it, so naturally he decided to play Fairy Godmother and drop it into my lap like a casual Tuesday surprise. Which would be sweet–heart–attack–level sweet – if he didn’t seem to think my happiness lives exclusively in the “luxury goods” section of his brain.

Now I’m stuck mediating between letting him spoil me rotten and trying not to break into hives every time I look at a price tag. It’s a very delicate balance. Especially since, with his schedule games, practice, general world domination we don’t even go out as much as we want to. Which is tragic, considering we have a whole dream list of places to go together and can never agree on what comes first.

“And did you even learn anything from that, huh, Mr. Calloway?”

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