“Are you up for something that might sound a little crazy?”
I scoff. “Always.”
“Okay so I may or may not have told my whole family I have a date for my sister’s wedding when in actual fact I haven’t had a boyfriend in an embarrassing amount of time and now it’s too late to admit that I’ve been lying my butt off so," clearing her throat, and taking a deep breath, "will you be my fake boyfriend?” she says in a rush.
I crinkle my face, and her arms shoot out in panic. Her jaw drops open, leaving her momentarily speechless.
"No, I mean my fake plus one accompanying me to my sister's wedding. But, yes, you'd have to pretend to be my boyfriend... but only for like a coupla days."
I step closer to her, so we’re barely a breath apart. I watch her breath stutter and her throat bob with a swallow, but she holds my gaze, unblinking. There’s a strength to her, a sense of challenge in her eyes, that I’m insanely drawn to.
She’s asking me to be herfakeboyfriend, but the feelings she’s sparking in me are anything but fake.
And I’m determined to prove that we could have something real. It would probably make me sound insane if I said it out loud five minutes after meeting her, but I swear I justknow. This girl is meant to be mine.
“I would behonored,” I tell her, my grin widening as I add, “on one condition.”
The relief on Cara’s face morphs into suspicion. “And what’s that?” she asks, craning her neck to narrow her eyes at me.
“After the wedding’s over…you owe me a taste of what it would be like if you were really mine,” I propose, “Of what it would be like if this wasn’tfake.”
I watch her digest my offer, her lips parting as she thinks for a second.
It takes her much less time than I’d feared to decisively nod her head, stick her hand out, and say, “Deal.”
We shake on it, and as much as I want to stay here and revel in my new weekend plans, I’m already late as hell to training.
I grab a notebook off her desk, one she’s clearly just unpacked, and scrawl my number on the page. “Text me,” I tell her, “We should do lunch tomorrow, get to know each other. Can’t be a convincing boyfriend if I don’t even know your favorite color or your biggest traumas, can I?”
She laughs, shaking her head at me. “Good plan,” she says. “I’ll text you when you’re done with practice. As a reward.”
Is she flirting with me? I’m pretty damn sure she’s flirting with me.
I give her another grin and a wink for good measure, then drag myself away to actually do my job.
For perhaps thefirst time in my entire adult life, I’m early. I’m so unaccustomed to it that I think she’s stood me up until I realize there are still fifteen minutes until the time we agreed on. I choose a corner seat in a booth as out of sight as possible while still providing a decent view of the cafe so I can keep an eye out for her.
It’s the BlueHawks ‘ first year in the playoffs, and as a new team, we’ve earned a fair amount of media attention. And by a fairamount, I mean we’ve taken the hockey world by storm. And bywe, I mean mainly me. I’ve been the subject of more than a few gossip magazine headlines, and I can’t say it’s always been for good things.
I’ve earned myself a reputation as the Playboy of hockey, and with the title comes attention. Sometimes, I love it. Other times, I just want to be able to buy groceries in peace.
I hope that nobody interrupts our lunch for a photo or to try to give me their number. It used to thrill me, but now the idea just settles in my stomach like bad coffee.
Mercifully, this place has excellent coffee, and I order a black coffee while I wait and pretend to read the menu, though I can’t concentrate long enough to really take the options in.
I sit up straighter the second Cara walks in. Even if someone came up demanding a photo, I’m not sure I’d even notice their existence. Nobody else exists excepther. Everybody else can fuck right off.
I watch her look around for me and practically preen when she spots me and smiles wide as our eyes meet. My eyes are glued to her as she walks over, her hips sway, and the low heels of her boots click on the floor. She’s got her hair down today, pinned back from her face with two little clips. The tight pants she wears cling to her curves, and I find myself shifting in my seat as my cock perks up.
“Damn, I thought I was early. Is my watch running behind?” Cara asks as she draws closer, frowning at the watch on her wrist as though it’s betrayed her. I get the sense she prides herself on being put together, from her timeliness to her outfits, eventhe predicament she found herself in, not wanting to go to her sister’s wedding alone.
I’m far fromput together, and I can’t help but wonder what it would be like to make her a little…messy.
“You’ve got the right time. I just beat you at your own game, princess,” I tease.
“You, early? Damn, you must bereallyexcited to drink free wine and sway on a dancefloor,” she says, raising her brows.
I snort. “Something like that,” I murmur, pushing the menu across the table to her as she sits down.
