Fake Dating My Ex's Favourite Hockey Player novel Chapter 220

Chapter 220

This time, he doesn’t follow. Doesn’t beg. Doesn’t throw one last line over his shoulder. He just stays there, shrinking into the background of my morning like stale perfume–cloying, sour, impossible to wash out fast enough.

By the time I slide into my chair, my phone buzzes. Aaron. Don’t forget. I’ll be waiting out front.

The smile that takes over my face feels like sunlight cracking through storm clouds. A whole new weather system.

Goodbye, Lyle. For real this time.

Work crawls by like it’s punishing me for daring to smile this morning. Numbers blur on my screen, emails stack up, and Debbie keeps shoving post–its on my desk with the kind of urgency only someone in middle management can muster.

Finally–finally–the clock drags its little hand over to quitting time. I shove my laptop into my bag like it personally offended me and make a beeline for the elevators, Debbie scurries up beside me, her scarf already tied like she’s late for a French film set.

“You’re practically glowing, Tess,” she says, squinting at me.

“Am not.” I jab the elevator button. “This is just my face.”

“Please. Last time I saw you look this happy, someone had just brought cake into the break room.”

I shrug, tug my blazer tighter, and pretend not to hear her humming under her breath.

The doors slide open and the city greets us with its evening rush- honking horns, muflled conversations, the sweet relief of escape. I’m still laughing at one of Debbie’s rants about upper management when I see him.

Aaron.

Leaning against his car like he was carved there, hands in his pockets, hair a little messed up from the wind. He straightens when he spots me, and my stomach does this traitorous flip like I’m sixteen again.

“Ohhh,” Debbie whispers, elbowing me. “So that’s why you’ve been smiling at spreadsheets all day.”

“Shut up,” I hiss, but my ears are already hot.

She waves goodbye, muttering something about fairytales, and I’m left walking straight into Aaron’s orbit.

His gaze finds mine the second I step out into the evening air, like he hadn’t looked anywhere else since he got here.

“You’re early,” I say, fighting a smile.

“You’re late.” His voice is low, even, but it sends a ridiculous shiver down my spine.

“Excuse you,” I scoff, falling into step beside him as he opens the passenger door for me. “Some of us actually work for a living.”

A twitch of his lips–his version of a smile. I grin wide enough for both of us

Inside the car, I keep talking because silence with him feels too loaded, too electric. “So, a ballet recital, huh? This is a big deal. I don’t even know if I own appropriate ballet–auntic attire.”

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