By admin Fake Dating My Ex’s Favourite Hockey Player Novel CH 25
EMILIA
I miss when rush hour only happens at noon.
Ever since Liam decided my bakery was his new favourite playground, business has been nonstop. He waltzed in one day, threw on an apron, and announced he was going to learn how to bake. And just like that, rush hour became every hour.
Apparently, no one on earth can resist the sight of Liam Calloway covered in flour. And honestly? I get it.
I won’t lie–the extra attention has been great for business. I’ve made more money in the past few weeks than I have in my entire life and I’m not even exaggerating. But it also means I’m constantly on my feet, barely catching a break.
And Liam? He’s loving every second of it.
Especially since it also means I barely have a second to breathe. I’ve come to realise Liam relishes in my suffering.
Right now, the line stretches out the door, and I’m pretty sure half these people don’t even care about the pastries. They just want to snap a picture of Liam rolling dough or pretend to be interested so they can flirt with him.
Not that he minds. He eats it up, flashing that stupidly perfect smile, throwing out charming one–liners like he was born to do this. And the worst part? He’s actually good at baking.
Like, unfairly good.
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The first time he tried, I thought he’d make a disaster of it–flour
everywhere, dough sticking to the ceiling, maybe even a minor fire. But no. He followed instructions perfectly, asked the right questions, and by the end of the day, he was piping cream onto pastries like he’d been doing it his whole life.
Of course, that only made people love him more.
I wipe the sweat off my forehead with the back of my hand and glance at the clock. Only two more hours until closing.
I can do this. Probably.
Just when I start to delude myself, I hear chaos start to erupt outside and Cam’s voice rings through my little bakery. I’m about to curve into a little ball when Liam pops his head into the kitchen with a wide grin on his
face.
He’s still wearing his apron, but the flour on his arms from before is gone. I’m about to question if one of his fangirls licked it off him, because the possibility is more than likely, when he claps his hands together. “Guess what?”
I narrow my eyes. “No.”
J
Liam laughs. “You didn’t even let me say it.”
“Because I know it’s bad news.” I gesture toward the front. “What’s happening out there?”
“Nothing more than the usual,” he excitedly quips, but when he starts taking off the apron, the only feeling in my bones is dread.
I groan. “Liam.”
He holds up his hands. “Hey, don’t blame me! You’re the one who let me
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bake in the first place.”
“I let you bake, not turn my bakery into a tourist attraction, then leave when the rush hour is at its peak!” I screech and Liam actually laughs.
He’s completely unfazed and it only gets on my nerves even more. “Relax, I’m not abandoning the ship. Just taking a strategic break.”
I cross my arms. “A what?”
“A strategic break,” he repeats, untying the apron with zero urgency. “You know, so I don’t overwork myself.”
I stare at him, deadpan. “Oh, how tragic. The poor professional athlete, exhausted from mixing dough.”
Liam gasps dramatically. “Wow. No sympathy. After all I’ve done for this bakery.”
I gesture toward the chaos outside. “Yeah, all you’ve done is turn it into a Liam Calloway fan convention.”
He smirks. “You’re welcome.”
Before I can throw a bag of flour at him, Cam bursts into the kitchen, looking half panicked, half annoyed. “Hate to break up whatever this is, but we’ve got a problem.”
Truth be told, I had no idea when Cam became my employee, second to Liam, of course. His sudden appearance had something to do with Liam backing out of conditioning drills and getting away with it because their coach thought building his image was great as long as he got his ass back on ice for at least two hours a day.
In fact, it seemed my bakery was some kind of New York Titans gathering spot. It wasn’t just Cam and Liam anymore. Yesterday, three of their
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teammates also came along and one of them brought his wife too.
She didn’t seem to be let on the whole fake dating thing–or maybe she just didn’t care–and had actually tried to haze me. Apparently if I was going to prepare for the long game with Liam, and there was no better support than WAGs.
After all, they were women who would be facing the same thing as me, Liam and I were actually dating. The constant road trips, demanding schedules and attention from the media.
if
I don’t know whether to laugh or cry. Although I was technically a part of the WAGS in Chicago, it never felt like it. Sure, I was Zane’s long–term girlfriend, but he never liked when I was around anyone else. So, I made sure to keep the rest of the girls an arms length away at all times.
Besides, I could never really relate to them. Most of them were successful business women or housewives or celebrities themselves. I was just Zane‘ s pocket girlfriend who didn’t have a life of her own and followed him everywhere during the regular season.
I groan. “Let me guess–someone tried to climb over the counter again?”
“Worse,” Cam says. “We just ran out of croissants.”
Liam and I freeze.
And then, at the exact same time, we both turn to the cooling rack.
Empty.
Liam lets out a low whistle. “Well. That’s unfortunate.”
I glare at him. “You made the last batch. How did we run out?”
He shrugs. “What can I say? I’m a natural.”
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I pinch the bridge of my nose, inhaling deeply. “Fine. I’ll make more.”
Cam glances between us. “Uh, yeah, about that… They’re already demanding the Liam Special.”
I blink. “The what?”
“The Liam Special,” Liam repeats, looking way too pleased. “It’s my own twist on your croissants. Extra flaky, just the right amount of butter, and a hint of vanilla.”
I gape at him. “You remade my croissants?”
Liam grins. “I upgraded them.”
I don’t even know where to start. The audacity. The nerve.
But the impatient murmuring from the front reminds me I don’t have time to strangle him.
I take a deep breath, then point at Liam. “Congratulations, chef. Since they want your croissants, you’re making them.”
His smirk falters. “Wait, what?”
I slap an apron into his hands. “You heard me. You’re on croissant duty.”
Liam stares at me like he just realized I’m actually evil. Cam looks two seconds away from cackling.
And me? I just smile sweetly.
“Better get started,” I say, already walking out the back door. “Rush hour’s not over yet.”
I step outside for some fresh air, tuning out Liam’s nonstop complaining.
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No matter how much he whines, making croissants for his fangirls is definitely better than the alternative.
According to his teammates–who, by the way, showed up yesterday begging me to hire them too–this week is basically hell. The drills are brutal, the training is relentless, and their coach isn’t cutting anyone slack. Apparently, the only difference is that Liam’s hours are shorter, but his sessions are so intense they might as well be torture.
I sink onto the bench by the door, barely stopping myself from collapsing. I went from never working a day in my life to being on my feet constantly.
It’ll take time to adjust. But I’ll survive. Probably.
Not even an hour later, I’m still stretching out my sore legs when the back door swings open. Liam steps out, holding two bottles of juice.
I don’t bother asking where he got them. He sits next to me, hands me the strawberry one and keeps the pineapple for himself.
I twist off the cap. “You like pineapples?”
“Not even a little,” he says, scrunching up his nose. It makes him look younger. Softer. “But you like strawberries, so.