Fake Dating My Ex's Favourite Hockey Player novel Chapter 215

Chapter 215

The bell over the door jingles as we step inside. The place smells like waffle cones and happiness, which is exactly what I need. I head for the counter, but Liam doesn’t move he’s still leaning against me like I’m the only thing keeping him upright.

“You’re heavy,” I mutter, trying to shove him off.

He doesn’t budge. “Girlfriend privilege. You’re required to hold me up.”

I roll my eyes but secretly… yeah, I don’t hate it.

“What do you want?” I ask, scanning the flavours.

“You.”

I turn and stare at him. He’s got that lazy smirk plastered across his pale face, eyes tired but annoyingly smug.

“I was talking about the flavours. Keep up, Mr. Calloway,” I say, fighting a smile. “Do you want chocolate or vanilla?”

He leans down, lips brushing my temple. “Whichever one you’ll feed me so I don’t have to lift a spoon.”

I groan. “What am I going to do with you? I thought you didn’t even have a sweet tooth.”

“I don’t. I just like the idea of a charming sick prince and a fussy princess on an ice cream date. Should we pitch it to Disney?”

I don’t even bother anymore. I just pat him on the head.

We end up in a corner booth, Liam collapsed against the vinyl like the world’s most dramatic patient. I set down our cups – mint chip for me, plain chocolate for him because apparently his taste buds stopped maturing at age eight.

“Open,” I command, holding up a spoonful.

He obeys, mouth parting without a word, and I can’t help laughing at how unashamed he looks like this is a perfectly normal date ritual.

“Good?” I ask.

He chews with exaggerated seriousness, then swallows. “Best chocolate ice cream I’ve ever had.”

Who even chews ice cream? What a weirdo, but I say nothing because he looks miserable enough. “It’s literally the same as every other place.”

He shakes his head. “Nope. This one tastes different. Special.”

I narrow my eyes. “Because I bought it?”

“With my card?” He grins, sticky and smug. “But yes. Exactly. Everything’s better when it’s from you.”

I try to play it off, but heat creeps up my neck. “You’re unbearable.”

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