All Rémy Miller has ever known are lies until someone is able to give him the life changing truth. When studying at Harvard University, his path unexpectedly collides with feisty freshman Céline Martin. Their meeting is not the ideal way to meet som...
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Lies:
Tequila crushed you last night
I have a headache, capital letter H-headache.
"Mmhhh!" I grunt loudly while I roll onto my side and feel for any possible damage. I'm talking a naked hockey player sleeping soundly on the empty side of the bed. But it's still empty.
Good.
So, I do remember everything that happened last night, no gaps to apologize for. Because if I were to sleep with Rémy I would want to have full recollection of every detail. That's probably why he still refused to kiss me, because of our girlie... tequila.
I hate her.
Maybe even more than Heather.
I'm still half asleep while I drag my feet out of bed and shuffle into the bathroom and I rinse my face with lukewarm water to try to get rid of the worst case of racoon eyes.
After my little chat with Rémy in the booth, Brooks told us Rhett was not going to sober up. He was past that point so putting him in bed was a smart decision. I fell asleep in the cab, and I guess either Rémy or Brooks caried me upstairs and tucked me into bed too.
I'm taking a wild guess on Rémy.
As I get ready for the day, I find my phone in my bag with toiletries and I remember looking for it in the club last night. You know how it goes, you're in a hurry and instead of putting your blush away you tuck your phone in there instead.
It happens.
My smile grows wide while I watch there's a few unread messages from that hockey rat.
Rémy:
I'm really sorry
I care about you Céline
That's all you need to know right now
I care about you
My lips are pressed together as I look at the timestamp and it's from even before he apologized to me at the club. I keep reading the words over and over and each time they do something to my heart.
I care about you too Rémy.
More than you probably notice.
Walking downstairs with a thudding headache I find Rémy by himself in the kitchen, making himself some breakfast, a kitchen towel draped over his shoulder like a true chef. My mom would love to see it, a guy who knows how to cook. She would even challenge him to a cook-off. All I can say is good luck to him. You don't easily beat Canada's most famous Tv chef Clair Martin.
That's my mom.
Impossible shoes to fill too.
I playfully smile as soon as my entrance makes him look up. Apart from the towel he's wearing sweats and a hoodie, a cap twisted backwards on his head, and it has every corner of my body flutter. "Well, that's a sight."
