The Hockey Star's Runaway Fake Girlfriend

Christian Carlisle POV:

The deafening music pounded against my eardrums, the air thick with the smell of stale beer and cheap perfume. I swirled the red solo cup in my hand. The beer inside was warm from my body heat.

Tristan Sinclair nudged me with his elbow, jerking his chin in one direction. "Look, your number one fan is here."

I followed his gaze. A blonde girl I didn't recognize was staring at me, her eyes shining. A classic Puck Bunny. They were a fixture in the life of any Briar hockey player, groupies who chased after us hoping for a hookup.

I pulled my lips into something that might have been a smile, then immediately turned back to Tristan. "Shut up."

He laughed, taking another swig of his beer. "Seriously, where's your girlfriend? Isla didn't come to pick you up? Didn't you just get back today?"

My throat tightened at the mention of her name. I pictured her in the apartment, maybe... waiting for me. The thought made the plastic cup in my hand creak under the pressure.

Why did I come to this damn party?

Because I was afraid to go home. Afraid to see her clean, honest eyes. They would make me feel like the asshole everyone already thought I was.

"She's busy," I mumbled to Tristan.

He raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying it. "Busy? Or is there trouble with your 'contract'? I told you, fake dating is the worst idea."

I chugged a large mouthful of beer. The cold liquid did nothing to cool the irritation burning in my gut. "Our business is none of your business."

My tone was harsh. Tristan flinched, then held up his hands in surrender. "Alright, alright, Captain. My bad."

I raked a hand through my hair, a habit whenever I felt anxious. The noise of the party was giving me a headache. Every smiling face looked fake.

I saw Carrie Kelley making her way through the crowd toward me, a perfect smile plastered on her face. I instinctively frowned.

I didn't want to deal with her. I didn't want to deal with anyone.

"I'm out," I told Tristan, and before he could respond, I pushed my way out of the crowd.

The cool night air hit me as I stepped out of the frat house, clearing my head slightly.

I got into my car but didn't start it right away. I leaned back against the headrest, staring in the direction of the apartment.

I pulled out my phone. No missed calls or texts from Isla. A strange wave of disappointment washed over me, followed by a sliver of relief.

She hadn't contacted me. Did that mean she didn't care if I came home or not? Was she texting Logan right now? The thought was like a venomous snake, gnawing at my sanity. My older brother, Logan Carlisle, was the one I was convinced she truly wanted.

Finally, I started the engine. Better to see for myself than to sit here driving myself crazy.

I pulled into my designated spot. The apartment was mostly dark. Only a single floor lamp was on in the living room. A faint light glowed from her bedroom.

I unlocked the door. The air inside was filled with the lingering scent of cooled food, mixed with something that smelled like disappointment.

My eyes landed on the trash can. I could see the bones of a roast chicken inside, on top of a pile of what looked like a full meal. My heart felt like it was being squeezed by a giant hand.

She had made dinner. She had waited for me. And I was at a party, chugging beer like an idiot.

I stood in the middle of the living room, listening. I could hear the faint, even sound of her breathing from her bedroom. She was asleep.

On impulse, I walked to her bedroom door. It was slightly ajar.

I peered through the crack. She was lying on her side, and curled up in her arms was... a cat? A fluffy, orange cat.

I froze. One of the rules of our cohabitation was no pets. Especially not for me. I hated cats.

Did she get a cat on purpose just so I wouldn't come back?

I backed away silently and retreated to my own room. I needed to cool down.

I shut the door and threw myself onto my bed, my mind a tangled mess. Her face, the cold dinner, and that damn cat. They wouldn't leave my head.

The next morning, I woke to sounds in the living room. I walked out of my room and saw Isla feeding the cat.

She was in her pajamas, her hair loosely tied up. The morning sun streamed in, making the scene look unrealistically beautiful.

She heard me and turned. Our eyes met. The air froze.