Total pages in book: 129
Estimated words: 125257 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 626(@200wpm)___ 501(@250wpm)___ 418(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 125257 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 626(@200wpm)___ 501(@250wpm)___ 418(@300wpm)
“He shoots, he scores,” I brag as I swagger over to my stall.
From in front of his stall, Corbin, our center, gives me the strangest look as he tugs on shoulder pads. “You were at my bakery today?”
“Maybe I was,” I say, keeping the cupcake secret as I rip off my tie. The cupcake she got me. Because she fucking asked me to be her plus-one.
“Is that part of your pregame ritual now?” Riggs posits, always inquisitive, always poking holes as he laces up his skates.
I wiggle my eyebrows. “I guess we’ll see if it becomes one when I get a hat trick tonight,” I say. Then I line up my equipment on the bench in the order I’ll put it on. It’s the arrangement I’ve been using lately, and it’s working this season, since we’ve been playing well. “Anyone wanna bet against me?”
“I don’t know—is that even allowed, dude? Hate to break it to you, but we’re on the same team,” Miller says, tugging on his leg pads.
“Everyone owes me dinner if I get a hat trick,” I say to the guys.
“How about you just get the fucking hat trick,” Corbin says.
“I would hope a hat trick is incentive enough,” comes the cool, even-keeled voice of our coach as he strides through the locker room.
I cut the trash talk as Coach Ahmed chats about strategy and how to beat the Boston Blizzards. I listen to every word with the thrill of a secret in my chest.
But soon, it won’t be a secret, once we’re pretending to be together. Yep, I’ll get to spend time with the woman I’ve had a seriously inconvenient crush on for a while.
I hit the ice for warmups, feeling like I’m flying, stopping only to tap my shoulder for my dad.
Then, it’s time to focus solely on the game.
I race down the ice, flanking Corbin as he snags the puck at the face-off. He sets the pace, slicing it to me, and I race around the back of the net, lasered in on the rink, hunting for an opening and slipping it back to Riggs.
He shoots, but their goalie blocks it.
It’s a tight game for the first period, but in the second period, I attack, attack, attack till I finally send that bad boy past the goalie’s legs.
The lamp lights, and I punch the air.
We cheer, and when I hop over the bench, I down a swig of water from my bottle, ready to hit the ice again soon with all this energy.
Maybe it’s the internal boost that comes from knowing I get to be Remy’s “new guy” for the next few weeks. Whatever it is, I feel unleashed.
When the line changes and I’m back out there, Riggs feeds me the puck in a routine pass. I’m already moving, and even with the Boston D-men bearing down on me, my skates eat up the ice. I blow past their defenseman, then line up for a wrist shot. But nope. The goalie will be expecting it. I deke to the right and send a backhand…right through the net.
Yes! Riggs skates over and we high-five—with gloves on.
I skate hard always, but especially tonight. My cells are buzzing. Maybe she’s watching. Maybe she’s working. Either way, I’m going to play the part of her temporary boyfriend as well as I’ve scored in tonight’s game.
I don’t even grumble when she texts me that night with the first set of instructions. The attire for a picnic.
It sounds like hell, and yet I can’t fucking wait.
7
UPPING THE ANTE
REMY
“So you’re really fake dating my brother? My complicated, owl-loving, superstitious brother?”
Who’s also unfairly hot. But I keep that to myself as Clementine and I hunt through sweaters at a stuffed-to-the-gills thrift shop. “Yes.” My voice pitches up as I explain how Project Plus-One became Project Fake Date. “It was his idea. I said plus-one, and he said fake dating is better for sticking it to my ex. Are you sure that’s okay?”
She meets my gaze across the vintage sweaters. “Like I said, it’s fine, but if there’s any fake kissing you need to tell me about, bring earmuffs.”
I smile, relieved she’s good with this escalation. “It’s a deal.”
“But,” Clementine adds, drawing out the one-syllable word as she peers around the shop, checking for eavesdroppers before she whispers, “what are you going to tell everyone else?”
I tilt my head. “About us dating?”
“Yes. You need a story.”
Shoot. She’s right. I think fast, cycling through options. “Should I say you suggested I go out with him?”
She cringes. “I’d never set you up with my brother. He’s far too…complicated.”
“You think I can’t handle a complicated man?”
She frowns, but her expression is full of both compassion and fondness. “No, Remy. I think you deserve a man who adores you. A man who cares. But I also think you deserve a man who isn’t so…shut down.”