By admin Fake Dating My Ex’s Favourite Hockey Player Novel CH 27
EMILIA
I get home earlier than usual, and the moment I step inside, I hear the unmistakable sounds of Tessa rummaging around. Shoes clatter. Cabinet doors slam. Something–probably a measuring cup–clatters to the floor.
I glance at the calendar. It’s her day off.
Usually, we spend her days off together, but with the wedding coming up so fast, she’s been pushing me to spend more time with Liam. If only she knew how that was going.
Well, she won’t exactly want to hear about it.
“I’m home!” I call out, kicking off my shoes and flopping onto the couch.
Fifteen minutes pass, and there’s still no sign of her. Not even a sarcastic remark. That’s weird.
Just as I’m about to get up and look for her, something hits me.
A smell. A truly awful smell.
It’s thick, heavy, and wrong. Like something is burning, but also… maybe rotting? My stomach churns, my eyes sting, and I slap a hand over my
nose.
Oh God.
I stand so fast that my head spins, and the moment I do, I regret
everything.
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Because there, in the kitchen, is Tessa.
And she’s cooking.
Oh, this is bad.
I can just make out her silhouette–dancing around the kitchen, earbuds in, completely oblivious. In one hand, she holds a chopping board piled way too high with spring onions.
Fifteen. At least.
I watch in horror as she opens the pot on the stove–the source of the ungodly smell. She pauses, sniffs the air, and definitely notices something is off. But instead of stopping, she shrugs and dumps the entire mound of spring onions in.
My jaw drops.
Then the smell hits me again, and I choke, coughing so hard I nearly double over.
“T–Tess?” I croak, my voice barely working. My stomach twists from the sheer toxicity in the air, and I can already feel a headache forming.
She doesn’t hear me. Doesn’t even sense my suffering. She’s too busy finishing off her pot of poison.
The stench is so strong, my knees go weak. I sway, just barely staying upright–right before she finally turns around.
The moment she sees me, she jumps, her eyes wide. Then, as if nothing is clearly wrong, she pulls out one earbud and grins.
“You’re home already? Why didn’t you come find me?” she says,
beaming. “You’re back so early! I was gonna surprise you with a meal.”
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I swallow, staring at the bubbling disaster behind her.
Yeah. A real surprise, all right.
“I-” The words die in my throat. My entire life flashes before my eyes.
Tessa tilts her head, concern shining in her bright blue eyes. I force myself to smile. Weakly. “W–What are you doing?”
Her own smile drops immediately. “What do you mean?” she asks, her voice small. “You’ve been working so hard, I just wanted to-” She stops, her face falling. Then, as if flipping a switch, she plasters on a fake smile so painful it actually makes my headache worse. “Never mind. I’ll throw it out.”
It’s so unfair.
Why does seeing her sad make me feel like I’m the bad guy here?
Dearest reader, in this moment, I embark on the greatest suicide mission of my life.
I drop the hand clutching my stomach and wave my arms like a lunatic, not even sure what I’m doing. “No, no, no! That’s not what I meant! I just meant–uh–you could’ve called me to help you out! You don’t have to do everything on your own…”
You know. Like we agreed.
We have an unspoken rule: If Tessa cooks, I supervise. If Tessa cooks alone, it’s basically attempted murder.
Her face lights up instantly, and a piece of my soul dies at the implication of what I’ve just signed up for.
“Nah! You’ve been a busy bee lately. Besides, I wanted us to talk over a
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meal.”
It couldn’t have been takeout?!
She claps her hands together. “And you came just in time–it’s already done!”
I nearly collapse to the floor.
D–Didn’t she just dump in those spring onions???
“Really?” I rasp. “What… what are we eating?”
“Pasta!” she chirps.
PASTA?!
I slowly turn my gaze to the bubbling monstrosity on the stove.
That… that is supposed to be PASTA?!
Oblivious to my inner suffering, Tessa happily shoos me over to the dinner table. Thank God. If I had to inhale that toxic cloud for even a second longer, I might actually pass away.
But my relief is short–lived.
Because moments later, Tessa reappears.
With two steaming bowls of…
Of…
I break into a cold sweat.
Wouldn’t it be cruel to call this pasta??
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Tessa beams as she sets the bowls down. “Dig in!”
Dig in?
I stare at the offensive pile of noodles in front of me. The sauce is a questionable shade of green. The spring onions float menacingly on top. like they’re plotting something. The smell? Unholy
Tessa twirls her fork into her bowl and takes a bite. She takes a bite. Voluntarily. With her whole chest. And she chews. And she swallows
“I think I outdid myself,” she sighs happily
Oh, God
I look at my own bowl. It looks back at me. I can feel the evil radiating off of it.
Tessa nudges me. “Go on. Em. Try it.”
I hesitate. “You know. I had a really big lunch”
She narrows her eyes. “Yesterday, you came home complaining about how exhausted you were. That means you never have enough time to eat. Now eat.”
Trapped. I’m trapped.
Slowly, painfully, I lift my fork. I scoop up the mystery noodles. I bring it to my mouth.
This is how I die.
The fork enters my mouth. The taste hits me.
And my soul leaves my body.
CHAPTER 27
My brain short–circuits. My taste buds riot. My stomach files a formal complaint.
I freeze. If I make one wrong move, my gag reflex will betray me.
Tessa watches me way too closely, her eyes sparkling with excitement. “Well? How is it?”
How is it?
How do I describe this? The texture is–wrong. The flavour is–an attack. It’s like someone took expired pesto, mixed it with toothpaste, and then set it on fife just for fun.
I force myself to swallow. My body fights me the whole way down.
Tessa leans in, eyes wide with anticipation.
I clear my throat. “It’s…unique.”
Her face glows. “Really?!”
Lying is a sin. But so is murder, and I swear this pasta is a crime against humanity.
“Yeah,” I croak. “So…uh, what exactly is in this?”
“Oh! So I tried using your recipe but I didn’t have all the ingredients, so I improvised! I used mint instead of basil, and we didn’t have cream, so I mashed up some avocado. And for extra protein, I cracked an egg straight into the sauce!”
My stomach lurches. I clutch my gut, praying for survival.
Tessa grins, completely oblivious to my suffering. “I can make it again sometime!”
FLAM
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No.
I slam my hands on the table. “You won’t.”
She blinks. “Huh?”
I take her hands in mine, staring deep into her eyes. “Tessa. Promise me you will never make this again.”
She pouts. “It’s that bad?”
My vision blurs. My body shakes. My ancestors whisper, “Spit it out, child.”
I shake my head. “No, no. It’s just that… this might not be for everyone. Maybe don’t try this again.”
Tessa’s face falls, and I panic. “But it’s… better than usual?”
It comes out like a question, but she immediately brightens. “Right? I thought so too!”
She happily digs into her food and urges me to eat mine. I, on the other hand, would rather do anything but that.
“So,” I say quickly, “you wanted to talk over a meal?”
“Oh! That’s right!” She pauses, then suddenly narrows her eyes. “Wait. Why are you home so soon?”
Well, crap.
I’d come home to sulk about Liam, but instead, Tessa almost killed me with her cooking. She won’t even let me be miserable in peace.
But I’m not stupid enough to say that. “Liam closed the bakery early.”
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She clicks her tongue. “Why is he deciding when the bakery’s open? He’s really taking this fake relationship thing seriously.”
I freeze. Tessa notices.
Like a bloodhound catching a scent, she pounces, dropping her fork and leaning in. “So why aren’t you out with Liam? Why the hell are you here?”
“Wow, Tess. Nice to know you love having me around.”
“Cut the crap, Em. What happened? Did he do something? Because I told him to stop-”
“He didn’t do anything,” I interrupt. “I sent him away. I just wanted some time to myself, okay? So can you, for once, drop it?”
Tessa stares at me for a second, then clicks her tongue again. “Whatever. I didn’t care anyway.”
She picks up her fork and keeps eating, but I know she’s not letting this
- go.
I try to change the subject. “So, what was it you wanted to talk about?”
She chews slowly, staring at me like she’s deciding whether to let me off the hook. Then, finally, she sighs. “Right. The wedding.”
I nearly sag in relief. Safe topic.
“I was thinking,” Tessa says, twirling a limp noodle around her fork, “the cruise is literally a week away. You’re going to have to face Zane soon, and…” She takes a breath. “For all my talk about how having Liam with you will help, I’m really worried. Are you sure this is okay? Forget the contract–just be real with me. If this isn’t what you want, tell me. I’ll get you out of that cruise faster than you can say-”
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“I’m good,” I cut her off, my voice tight.
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Guilt sits heavy in my stomach. All week, I’ve wanted to tell her about Zane, but there was never a good time.
Not when she asked about the scratches and cuts.
Not when she wondered why I sounded so off that day.
Not when she noticed I was avoiding her.
Yeah. Never a good time, Emilia.
But now? Now is as good a time as any.
“Actually,” I say slowly, “I already saw Zane.”
Tessa’s face freezes, all the concern locked in place.
“You know that day I called to ask for Liam’s number? When I came home with scratches and a cut on my hand?”
I meet her eyes.
“Yeah. Zane came to my bakery.”
Snap.
The plastic fork in Tessa’s hand breaks clean in two.
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