Page 152 of Faking the Goal

"Clearly."

"You just told me I'd be the complete boyfriend package if I fixed my personality." His eyes flick over my face, amusement still sitting there. "I'm taking the criticism under consideration."

"That was mostly an insult."

"Still sounded like advice."

I roll my eyes, but he continues before I can say anything else.

"Besides, if we want people to believe I'm crazy about you, walking around looking pissed off every time you come near me probably isn't going to help."

Oh. right. Of course.

It's part of the act.

What the hell else did I think it was?

I lower my gaze toward my ramen, suddenly far too interested in separating my noodles. "I see."

The disappointment that settles somewhere in my chest is so faint I almost miss it, but it's there, which makes absolutely no sense.

I clear my throat. "Well, maybe ease into it. The personality change is a little abrupt. People might get whiplash. Maybe dial it down a notch."

"Nah. If anyone asks, I'll just say it's the Taylor effect." His eyes gleam with amusement. "Even a grouchy asshole like me isn't immune to your charms. You said it yourself, Trouble, you're easy to fall for."

I nearly choke on absolutely nothing.

This is crazy.

He is crazy.

Give me the scowling Kentaro who looked at me like I personally ruined his morning. I knew how to handle that asshole. But this version of him—the one with the teasing eyes, the stupid little smirk, and a mouth that keeps saying things my heart takes way too seriously—is a whole different problem.

I shove another mouthful of noodles between my lips.

Maybe if I keep eating, he'll stop talking.

Thankfully, before he can say anything else and send my already malfunctioning heart into another episode, voices carry in from somewhere behind us.

Multiple voices. Loud, overlapping, male, and distinctly hockey-bro adjacent.

Oh, thank God.

I've never been so relieved to hear a bunch of obnoxious men in my life.

Footsteps thud down the staircase, followed by the kind of arguing that suggests none of them have been awake long enough to possess an indoor voice. Then everything suddenly goes quiet.

Kentaro and I both turn.

Standing in the wide opening between the living room and kitchen are three very large, very sleepy, very amused-looking hockey players.

The Archer twins and Cody.

All three look like they rolled out of bed approximately thirty seconds ago. Cody and Luke are shirtless, wearing nothing but gray sweats slung low on their hips, while Liam is marginally more civilized in a wrinkled white T-shirt and black sweatpants.

Good morning to me.

Nothing like two sets of obscenely defined abs to give my hungover eyes a much-needed dose of vitamin E.