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.”
Something aches inside my chest for several seconds. Maybe it’s the reality that she’s probably right about her brother. “It’s all good since it’s not like I’m going to real date anyone now,” I say as I spot a teal cardigan that looks perfect for my sister’s wedding picnic. “All my focus will be on faking it for the wedding. That means we need rules, a plan, and a story.”
Once I find an outfit, I do just that—focus. As Clementine returns to Cozy Valley, I return to my place. I may have messed up my last romance, but I’ve got a chance to do things right in this fake one. Better get my ducks in a row.
I head to the kitchen, and I send Lake a text.
Remy: Apparently we need to establish rules for fake dating. I’ve got some ideas. Do you want to hash them out here over text?
I yank open the refrigerator to grab a raspberry bubbly water from the neatly arranged shelf of bubbly waters when his reply lands.
