FIVE

We sat at a picnic table just outside the food truck, the delicious smell of street food filling the air. The place had a laid-back vibe, and even though a few people gave Edward a knowing nod or a wave, no one was swarming him for autographs. It was clear this was a regular spot for him, somewhere he could relax without the pressure of being in the spotlight.

The hot dog lived up to his hype—juicy, loaded with toppings, and way better than I expected. I couldn't help but smile at him as he took a huge bite, looking more like a regular guy than the hockey captain everyone seemed to idolise.

"You've got some sauce on your face," I said, smirking as I watched him chew.

Edward looked at me with mock panic. "Where?"

"Right there," I said, leaning forward and smudging some more sauce onto my finger before playfully dabbing it on his cheek.

Edward's laughter echoed through the quiet of the night, his eyes twinkling with mischief. Before I could pull my hand away, he grabbed my wrist gently and brought my finger to his lips, sucking it into his mouth. His teeth closed lightly around it, giving a playful bite before letting go.

I felt a flush spread up my neck and into my cheeks, but I forced a grin, determined not to let him see how much he'd flustered me. "Is that your defence strategy on the ice?" I asked, arching an eyebrow. "Sucking the competition into submission?"

He let out a low chuckle, shaking his head as he wiped the rest of the sauce from his cheek. "Trust me," he said with a wink, "if I used that move on the ice, we'd win every game by default."

I couldn't help but laugh, feeling the easy warmth of the moment settle around us. It was strange how natural it felt, sitting there with Edward like this, sharing jokes over street food as if we'd known each other for ages.

As we sat there, the night growing cooler, I couldn't help my curiosity. I'd never really thought about hockey before meeting Edward, but now that I was here with him, it seemed like the perfect opportunity to learn. Even if I risked sounding completely clueless.

"So," I said, trying to act casual, "do you guys just, like, fight each other on the ice? Or is that a last resort thing?"

Edward's laugh was immediate, but it wasn't mocking. It was warm, genuine. "It's not exactly the goal of the game," he said, his eyes twinkling. "But yeah, fights do happen."

I nodded, pretending to be thoughtful. "And, uh, what's the deal with the puck? Is it just about hitting it into the net or are there rules that make it more complicated?"

He grinned at me, clearly amused. "Well, that's the basic idea, but there's a lot more to it—like icing, offsides, penalties. You know, stuff to keep the game challenging."

I furrowed my brow. "Icing? Isn't that what you put on a cake?"

Edward laughed again, this time a little louder, drawing a few glances from nearby tables. "Not quite," he said, shaking his head, still grinning. "Icing is when a player shoots the puck from their side of the rink all the way to the other end without it being touched. It's considered a minor offence unless they're on a penalty kill."

I blinked at him, my head spinning with terms I didn't understand. "Penalty kill? So, you mean, like… killing people with penalties?"

Edward's eyes sparkled with amusement as he reached across the table, touching my hand lightly. "No, beautiful. A penalty kill is when one team is down a player because of a penalty, and they have to defend against the other team that has a one-player advantage."

"Oh," I said, nodding slowly as if I'd grasped any of that. "So… don't kill people. Got it."

He chuckled, shaking his head fondly at me. "You know, for someone who's never watched a game, you're asking all the right questions," he said, his tone softening. "I like that you're interested."

I felt a warmth spread through my chest, and I found myself smiling back at him. "Well, I might not understand the game, but I'm starting to see why people love it," I admitted. "And maybe it has something to do with the company I'm keeping."

Edward's smile grew, something softer and more genuine crossing his face as he squeezed my hand lightly. "You know," he said quietly, "I think I'm really going to enjoy explaining the game to you."

And the way he was looking at me in that moment—like I was the only person in the world—made me think that maybe I was starting to enjoy it, too.

I squinted at Edward, trying to piece together everything I'd learned so far. "Okay, so let me get this straight," I said, holding back a grin. "Are you like the Travis Kelce of the hockey world?"

Edward's laugh was loud and infectious, his eyes crinkling at the edges as he shook his head. "Only if you'll be my Taylor Swift," he said, still chuckling as he looked at me with that playful glint in his eyes.

I felt my cheeks flush as I laughed, shaking my head in disbelief.

I couldn't help but raise an eyebrow at Edward's cheesy grin. "So, you're a Swiftie?" I asked, genuinely curious but also a little amused.

"Who isn't?" he replied with a shrug, looking at me like I'd just asked the most obvious question in the world.

I laughed, shaking my head. "Fair point. I'm a big fan of Folklore myself."

Without missing a beat, Edward started to sway side to side, his voice dropping to a ridiculous pitch as he softly sang, "I don't know about you, but I'm feeling twenty-twooo…"

I burst out laughing, doubling over in my seat at his terrible attempt at the song. "Oh my god, please, don't ever quit hockey for a singing career," I managed to say between laughs.

Edward pretended to look hurt, clutching his chest dramatically like I'd just wounded him. "Wow, that's harsh," he said, shaking his head at me in mock disbelief. Then, with a quick movement, he reached out and swiped a finger full of sauce right across my cheek.

I let out a squeal of surprise and laughter, instinctively swatting his hand away. "Edward!" I gasped, trying to wipe my face clean while he grinned like he'd just won the Stanley Cup.

As I tried to wipe the sauce off my cheek, Edward watched me with that same infuriating grin, his eyes sparkling like he was having way too much fun. I was about to say something snarky when he reached out again, this time more gently, his thumb brushing the last bit of sauce from my skin.

The touch of his thumb on my cheek sent a shiver down my spine, and I found myself holding my breath. Our eyes locked, and for a moment, the playful atmosphere shifted into something more charged, more intense.

Edward's hand lingered, his thumb tracing a soft line along my cheekbone. "You missed a spot," he murmured, his voice low and husky.

I swallowed hard, acutely aware of how close we were, of the warmth radiating from his hand. "Thanks," I managed to whisper, my voice sounding breathless even to my own ears.

He smiled softly, his eyes never leaving mine as he slowly withdrew his hand. "Anytime," he said, and I could swear I saw a faint blush creeping up his neck.

We sat there for a moment, the air between us thick with unspoken words and possibilities.

I swallowed, suddenly aware of how close we were, how the playful atmosphere had shifted into something heavier, more charged. The warmth in his gaze made my stomach flutter, and for a moment, I forgot how to breathe.

I cleared my throat, forcing a smile to break the intensity.

"So," I said, my voice a little shaky, "I'm guessing you don't usually take girls out for hot dogs and impromptu Taylor Swift concerts?"

Edward's smile softened, his eyes never leaving mine. "No," he said quietly. "This is definitely a first for me."

The honesty in his voice made my heart skip a beat. I found myself leaning in slightly, drawn by some invisible force.

"And how's it going so far?" I asked, surprised by my own boldness.

Edward's gaze flickered to my lips for a brief moment before meeting my eyes again. "Better than I could have imagined," he murmured.

I rolled my eyes, but my heart was still racing. "Don't let it go to your head," I said, shaking my head with a laugh. "It's big enough as it is."

He let out a laugh of his own, the sound low and genuine. "You're good for me, you know that?" he said, his voice softer now. "I don't think anyone's ever given me this much crap in my entire life."

I smirked, feeling a strange kind of pride at his words. "Well, someone's got to keep you in check, Mr. Hockey Superstar," I said, feeling the tension ease back into the playful banter.

Edward's eyes softened, his smile becoming more tender as he looked at me. "And I'm starting to think you might be the perfect person for the job," he said, almost too quietly, like he hadn't meant for me to hear.

I didn't know how to respond to that, so I just looked down at my hands, a little thrown by how serious he sounded. The thing was, he wasn't just saying it to be charming or to flirt. He actually meant it, and that scared me more than I cared to admit.

We were just heading back to the car when a group of women approached us, their eyes lighting up as soon as they recognised Edward. One of them stepped forward, her gaze glued to him like he was the best thing she'd ever seen.

"Oh my god, Edward Cullen!" she practically squealed. "I'm such a huge fan! Can I get an autograph?"

Edward gave her a polite smile, nodding slightly. "Of course," he said, taking the pen and paper she handed him. He signed it quickly, his tone respectful but distant.

The woman didn't seem to get the hint that he was trying to move on, though. She lingered closer, leaning in a little too much, her voice dropping into a flirtatious tone. "So, are you around here often? Maybe we could grab a drink sometime?"

I felt a strange twist in my stomach, not liking the way she was draped over him, even though he was clearly uncomfortable.

Edward cleared his throat, his eyes darting to me. Then, without missing a beat, he straightened up, a soft smile spreading on his lips. "Actually, I'm with my girlfriend," he said, turning to me. "She's waiting for me."

Before I could react, he moved toward me, taking my hand in his, the warmth of his touch sending a jolt through me. "Let's go, baby," he said, his voice smooth and casual, but the look in his eyes held a hint of something more.

I was too stunned to do anything but nod, letting him pull me away. He lifted my hand to his lips and pressed a kiss to my knuckles, his eyes never leaving mine. I could feel the women's eyes burning holes into me, their jealousy almost palpable.

As we walked away, I couldn't help but glance at him out of the corner of my eye, my heart still racing from the way he'd called me his girlfriend. "Nice save," I said, trying to keep my voice steady.

Edward's lips quirked into a half-smile as we walked, his hand still holding mine. "Sorry about that," he said softly. "I hope you don't mind me using you as a shield. It was the easiest way to get out of there without causing a scene."

I shrugged, trying to ignore the butterflies in my stomach. "No problem. I get it. Comes with the territory of being a big hockey star, right?"

He chuckled, but there was a hint of something else in his eyes - regret, maybe? "Yeah, I guess so. But it's not always fun, believe me."

We reached his car, and he opened the passenger door for me. As I slid in, I couldn't help but ask, "Does that happen a lot? The whole 'can I get your autograph and also maybe your number' thing?"

Edward sighed as he got into the driver's seat, his hands gripping the steering wheel. "More often than I'd like," he admitted, his voice tinged with frustration. "It's flattering, I guess, but sometimes... I just want to be a normal guy, you know?"

I turned to look at him, really look at him. For the first time, I saw beyond the confident hockey star to the person underneath - someone who just wanted a connection that wasn't based on his fame or talent.

"Hey," I said softly, reaching out to touch his arm. "For what it's worth, you seemed pretty normal to me tonight. Just a guy who can't sing Taylor Swift to save his life."

That got a laugh out of him, his shoulders relaxing as he glanced at me. "Thanks," he said, his smile genuine.