I glance at Lake, waiting for her to speak. Instead, she raises a perfectly sculpted eyebrow and shrugs.
Since Lake isn't going to help, I steel myself for what’s next. "Do your worst, Siren," I challenge, knowing she isn't going to make this any easier for either of us.
"You have no idea, puck boy," a sinister look crosses her beautiful face. "Rule number one. No pet names."
three
Sea
I'm exactly where Iswore, I would never be again—at a pro hockey game in the wives and girlfriends' section of the arena, wearing a jersey of some guy who doesn't love me.
The first two years we were dating, Kyle made sure I attended every home game and most away games, always wearing hisjersey. However, the last year was filled with excuses and lies about why I didn't need to attend any of his hockey games, whether home or away.
Little did I realize he was hooking up with anyone who caught his eye. I'm so grateful he never pressured me into having sex with him this past year. I should have suspected something was wrong when I felt relieved that he no longer wanted a sexual relationship with me.
Preparing myself to be the perfect fake fiancée, I searched the internet for everything I could find about Milo, from his age—29—to his zodiac sign, Aries. I even checked out his impressive stats. He’s been one of the top goalies year after year. He won Goalie of the Year all four years of high school and college. Surprisingly, he stayed all four years of college and earned a degree in finance, when most people with his kind of talent would have only attended college for a couple of years or skipped it altogether.
The only flaws in his character seem to stem from a few women who claim he made promises but never followed through, including one who is the daughter of his former team’s coach. That must be why he was traded to the Hope Peak Panthers at the beginning of the season.
His extensive list of contributions to society includes sponsoring low-income pre-teens and teenagers, both boys and girls, who play hockey, and serving as the chair of his own charity, Frozen Memories, dedicated to dementia research.
On paper, he’s the ideal man, but on gossip sites, he’s a freak in the sheets—which isn’t necessarily a bad thing.
"I can't believe you talked me into this." I scan the ice, searching for my fake fiancé, and realize he's right in front of me, on the ice, stretching.
There's one thing I've missed about hockey games—watching the players warm up on the ice on their hands and knees, stretching their hips by thrusting back and forth in a way that should be illegal in public or only at a male strip club.
How many nights have I dreamed of being with a hockey player who wasn't Kyle, since he never wanted to be on top? He was always too tired from hockey, but in reality, he was just lazy. I dream of my lover hovering over me as his hips roll toward me and his large cock pounds into me.
"What?" Lake asks absently, drawing my attention away from the Magic Mike show on the ice. I follow her gaze, expecting her to be watching the same show I am, only to see her looking at the players' bench, where the head coach is talking with his assistant coaches. As if on cue, the head coach raises his eyes, his gaze landing on Lake with a warm smile.
A soft moan escapes from Lake, causing me to refocus on her. "What is exactly what I should be asking you. Is there something going on between you and Coach Halbur?"
"No!" Her face turns a dark shade of pink. "I mean, no. Nothing is going on with Coach Halbur and me."
Right, and I'm the Queen of England.
"Okay. If you say so, but you might want to wipe the drool off your chin and stop staring at him." At her gasp of shock at getting called out over her little crush on a man fifteen years older than her, I decide to take it easy on her and change the subject. "Where's Brooke? I thought she was meeting us here?" When I left my house, Brooke was wrapped up in one of her writing sessions. When that happens, we sometimes don't hear from her for days unless she's stuck on something she's writing.
“She said she'd be here," Lake shrugs as her eyes drift back to the bench and a head coach who's also stealing glances right back at her.
I turn away, letting them have their moment and scan the aisle. "There she is," I say, drawing Lake's attention back to me and our new arrival.
“Why are you wearing a trench coat instead of a regular winter coat?” Brooke is known for doing wild things to gather details for her romance novels, like going skydiving when the heroine meets the hero during a jump with her skydiving instructor. Or the time she started salsa dancing with her boyfriend because her main characters were professional dancers, but now, she looks more like a spy than a dancer. "Is this for one of your books?"
"Kind of,” she says as she takes the seat next to Lake. "So, you know how hockey romances are super popular right now." Lake and I both nod because, of course, we're into those kinds of stories. "Well, my agent wants me to write a hockey series, andI don't know anything about hockey. That's why I asked to come with you tonight."
“That still doesn't explain why you look like Carmen San Diego." Lake has a point.
"My first book is about a puck bunny who falls in love with a hockey player."
"Okay, but what does that have to do with the trench coat in the middle of winter?" Lake playfully tugs at the coat's belt. "Show us what's hiding under there." That's our big sister, always getting straight to the heart of things.
Brooke slaps Lake's hand, making her laugh. "I was planning to wait until after the game to hang out with the puck bunnies. My goal is to blend in and get the inside scoop on why they compete with other women for a chance with a hockey player who won't remember her name in the morning, if she even makes it until morning before he kicks her out of his bed.”
"You're such a hockey virgin," I tease. "Have you honestly never watched a hockey game before?"
Brooke's cheeks blush a light pink. "I watched a game on television the other night."
