Page 4

Chapter 4

I’m Gonna Be Sick

Gabe

A lobotomy sounds good right about now.

I squint through the eye that burns slightly less, which isn’t saying much, and groan at the source of incessant knocking on my hotel room door. The hallway light creates bright halos around my unexpected and unwelcome guests.

“Put some pants on, Finch.” Mel, my producer, circles a hand around my arm and pushes through the entryway. Jordan, the station’s PR rep, follows behind, shaking her head. “You’re a mess.”

Shit.

Goosebumps wake over my bare legs, an oversized tee barely covering my underwear. I swear I put on pants. Where did they go?

I seek them out while Mel pores through my suitcase.

“Looking for these?” Jordan points to a desk chair. It’s wearing my sweatpants.

Oops.

“What’re you waiting for?” Mel claps. “Let’s go.”

My head splits as I struggle to balance and push my legs through the appropriate holes in the joggers. “Ouch. You’re being too loud.”

“Come on, come on. We gotta put this fire out ASAP.”

“What? There’s a fire?” The ringing in my ears continues as we enter the elevator. “Are we allowed to be in here? Shouldn’t we be taking the stairs or something?”

“It’s not a fire -fire.” Jordan gives me a once over and frowns, retracting her hand from the half of my hair that resembles a rat’s nest. “But otherwise, it’s real and will grow unless we take control.”

I clench my eyes shut. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Reopening them is a serious wake-up call. They’ve led me into a conference space on the lobby level of the hotel.

Wade Boehner, flanked by Jules Tryon— the Regents’ GM —and the team’s PR guy, Elliott-something, waits at the far end of a long table.

The four staffers huddle upon meeting, leaving Boehner and I to fend for ourselves. My vision isn’t blurry enough to ignore how the sleeves of his black tee hug his bulky, defined arms.

Oof. Something in my belly twists.

Stop it, Finch. Get yourself together.

“What are you doing here?” I say under my breath.

“No idea. Why do you smell like you crawled out of a whiskey barrel?” he whispers back.

“Shut up.”

“Ladies first.”

“You two,” Tryon commands. “Sit.”

We do as we’re told and drop our asses into the empty chairs.

My head throbs harder as Jules flips through a carousel of pictures from the night before on his tablet. The Daily Times site is one tab of fifty on the open browser.

Double shit.

It’s all there. Wade and Kurt’s near-fight in the club. His arm around my waist. Me practically hanging from his neck while leaving. And why was I snuggled close and smiling all googly-eyed like that?

More photographs show us getting in a cab together. A few zoom in on our interlaced hands while entering the Fairmont.

Oh, ew . I held his hand?

I have never been so embarrassed in my life. It’s never a good time to be in the tabloids, but at least the last time was bearable, with them vilifying Kurt while I hid away. But this? After throwing myself at the NHL’s resident playboy in a drunk, desperate stupor? Humiliating.

And the hangover is making everything worse.

“Anything to say for yourselves?” Jules raises an eyebrow. “The paps are having the time of their lives.”

Boehner sniffs and chews at a nail.

“From him, this is expected.” My boss points to the unbothered dope to my right.

“ Hey ,” Wade whines out his defense.

“But you? I’m shocked. You don’t do this sort of thing.”

“You’re right. I didn’t do anything because nothing happened.”

Wade’s eyebrows bounce as he clears his throat. I threaten him with a side-eyed glare.

The staff murmurs.

“It’s not what you think,” I explain. “Okay, I…wasn’t sober. I’ll admit it. But Vaughn was being inappropriate and?—”

“We’re lucky I stepped in and got her outta there before she tried to beat the living hell?—”

“What! I wasn’t gonna?—”

Wade gazes ahead, as blank and unfeeling as I’ve ever seen him, and lets out a barely audible mutter. “He would’ve deserved it.”

Before I get a chance to question why any of this matters to him, Mel holds up a hand for us to stop.

“You realize what this looks like, though, right?” She moves her hair so it drapes over one shoulder.

“We didn’t sleep together!”

A rebellious smirk stretches the corner of Wade’s lips. “Not last night, anyway.”

Jules groans.

I kick Wade’s shin.

“Are you an actual idiot, or do you really not know when to shut up?” I say through my teeth.

“No, no. This is good, guys.” Jules nods and motions for us to calm down with his hands. “The more we know, the better we can manage… this .”

Mel and Jordan agree. So does Elliott what’s-his-face.

“Boehner, this couldn’t have come at a better time. The press catches you with a different girl every night.”

Excellent. Now, I’m one of the many.

My stomach lurches. Wade slides over a mini water bottle. I scowl but accept.

“So?” He shrugs.

“ So ?” Jules parrots in a mocking whine. “Hockey is a family sport, buddy. I get you’re young, the team’s young, but there’s a reason Radek and Jaeger are the most popular in the franchise.” He taps the gold band on his left ring finger.

“Being popular isn’t everything,” Wade retorts.

“Fine. But it took us two years to recover sales after Radek’s scandal—” Elliott adds on, his voice warbling and trailing off as the ringing in my ears flares.

Boehner looks bored. For once, he’s right. Elliott is a bore.

“Can’t we deny it? Tell the truth and move on?”

“You could, but they’d turn it against you,” Mel argues.

“Exactly, Langley. Might as well lean into it.” Jules posts both hands onto the tabletop on Wade’s side. “Being with Ms. Finch will be good for your image. Your redemption story. The beautiful, successful journalist who’s caught the playboy’s attention. Fans are already eating up the possibility of your relationship. When we confirm it?—”

I choke on a sip, causing the water to dribble from my mouth and down my chin. “ Excuse me? ”

Jordan snaps. “Yes! That’s perfect.”

“It’s not perfect!” My tone rises an octave. “How is that perfect ?” I switch glances between her, Mel, and Jules. “You can’t be serious!”

“Wait.” Wade’s brow wrinkles as he rubs a hand across his chin. “What are you saying?”

“You two,” Jules waves a finger between us, “are dating.”

I guffaw, tossing my head back and whisking my brain into scrambled egg consistency.

Ouch.

“We are doing nothing of the sort.”

“The fuck we are,” Wade says over me.

“You’re exclusively dating each other,” Mel adds, to the delight of Jordan, who claps and gasps.

“No,” I protest with a vigorous shaking of my head. The rattling worsens the ache.

“It doesn’t have to last forever ,” Jordan intones. “A few months, max .”

“A few months ?” I scoff. “No one would believe it! Me? Dating this…this pubescent ?”

“You’d be so lucky,” Wade finally pipes up. “And I think you know I’m fully grown.” His pecs bounce as he flexes his arms and chest.

Jules runs a hand down his face and groans again. Mel and Jordan widen their eyes at my grimace.

“Yuck. Not in your wildest dreams, Boehner. Come on, guys.” I turn to the schemers and plead to their sense of reality. “He’s way too…young for me.”

Jordan beams with a sinister smile. “Age is just a number when you’re in love .”

“ Love ? Please stop.” Elbows resting on the table, my fingers massage circles into each temple. “This can’t happen.”

“Oh, it’s happening. We gotta get this out properly, and everyone wins. The Regents fan base and ticket sales will see some growth, and we get a boost of views when you cover the games. So here’s the story.” Mel twines her fingers together. “You’ve worked together for the past four seasons and have kept a friendly rapport.”

“Friendly?” I sob out a series of laughs, remembering how unprofessional he was at my first press conference with the league.

“Gabe, you’ve been single since your breakup with Kurt Vaughn, but Wade’s…youthful enthusiasm has been a breath of fresh air.”

“More like I need a breath of fresh air.” I curl against the table. “I’m gonna be sick.”

Wade’s shadow hovers over me but retreats when I snarl.

“And getting to know you better has changed Boehner’s bed-hopping ways,” Jordan finishes.

Wade slow-claps and lazily chuckles. “ Ha. Ha. Ha. This is hilarious.”

“It’s not funny, Boehner!” My head pops up. “You may not have a reputation, but?—”

“Hey, I have a reputation!” On his feet now, Wade towers over my seated position. “I don’t date. Dating someone means I can’t?—”

He doesn’t scare me. I’m not scared of a manbaby.

I get up, too, bracing myself on the edge of the table. “You can’t…what, huh? Sleep with whoever you like, whenever you like? Please , don’t let me stop you.”

“Alright!” Jules barks. “That’s enough.” He sighs and comes to stand between us. “All you have to do is pretend to date through the end of the year. Go places, do things together whenever you’re in the same city. Take pictures to feed the vultures. Make it believable, and they’ll get bored and go away. Once the spotlight is off you, you can go back to your old lives.”

Wade exhales, defeated. “How long?”

Jules looks to Mel, who confirms with a silent nod.

“‘Til New Year.”

My mouth gapes. I don’t even want to be near this clown. And I’m supposed to fake-date him for the next four months?

“I’m not thrilled about it either, Freckles.”

I bare my teeth to him. “I told you not to call me that.”

“ Aw , see?” Jordan juts her lip out in a sardonic pout. “You already have cute nicknames and everything.”

Blood burns the tips of my ears.

I’m not beneath tackling another woman.

“Here.” Sheets of paper hiss over the table surface as Mel glides them in front of Wade and me. “Sign at the bottom.”

“What is it?”

She hands us each a pen. “HR statement. Saying you won’t let your personal relationship affect your professional one. Unbiased reporting stands. No partiality in coverage, interviews, etc. And there’s an NDA for all of us. This agreement doesn’t go beyond the room. No PAs, no friends, no teammates. The less they know, the better. It’s too risky otherwise.”

I peer up from the documents and blink rapidly at my producer, who has clearly lost her mind. “It’s a fake relationship.”

Looking to Wade for help is useless. He’s already signing.

God help me. What is wrong with him? Never mind, there’s too much to unpack there. But why is he agreeing to this so quickly? A second ago, he was up in arms about not being able to stick his giant prick anywhere he likes.

“To you .” The unpolished nail of her index finger taps on the signature line. “To everyone else, it’s as real as you can get. We can’t have any loose ends. Go on. Sign.” She nudges the pen closer. “You’ve made your bed; now lie in it.”

Boehner’s mouth twitches, visibly fighting back the urge to smile. I don’t know what he’s so happy about. He’s about to live a celibate life until New Year.

What other option do I have?

So I sign.

Mel and Jules collect their copies and shake hands, exchanging smug expressions.

I need an Advil.

It’s the first thing I search for when returning to my room, but instead, I find a phone full of manic messages and voicemails.

“Christ,” I huff, scrolling through the multiple concerned texts on the girls’ group chat.

Indi

UMM HELLO??

Bea

GO OFF SISTAH

Indi

WHAT

Sheena

IN

Bea

TARNATION

Indi

GABE FINCH

Bea

Aw, man. I wanted you to use her full government name!

Indi

THERE’S TIME YET FOR THAT, BEHRAZ

Sheena

The baby’s up from his nap, catch me up later

Indi

Which one? Akhil or the actual baby?

Sheena

Actual

Indi

Aw give him a big kiss for me!!

Indi

Back to business

Bea

If you were wondering, and I know you were, I’m now singing “Business Time” by Flight of the Conchords, and it’s gonna be stuck in my head for at least a week

Indi

ANSWER ME, FINCH

I’ll deal with that later. Dad’s voicemail awaits. The speakerphone icon lights up white when I press it.

“Hi, bala…”

My nose crinkles at the nickname.

“It’s me. So, uh…I was at the grocery store and saw your picture in one of those magazines they have out by the cashier. Looks like you had a good night.” A nervous laugh sounds on the line. “A hockey player, eh? I had no idea you were dating anyone. Thought you were done with athletes. Maybe you told me, and I forgot. Sorry about that.” He sighs. “Anyway, I’d love to meet the guy sometime. Bring him home some?—”

I tilt the phone away to pause his message and roll my eyes.

“Meet him?” I say to the air, turning towards the washroom for the much-needed Advil. “He’s fake, Dad.”

“I’m as real as it gets, Freckles.”

At the deep tone of his voice, my heart plummets to my ass, and I trip while rounding the mattress corner.

Wade Boehner catches me in the broad, square surface of his chest. Those rounded biceps strain under my palms, warm and firm, the skin smooth and taut and… no.

“Do you usually talk to yourself?”

“God damn it.” I escape his grip. “The hell? You followed me in here?”

Like a lost puppy.

Are you there, God? This is not the kinda puppy I asked for.

“I’m your boyfriend , remember?”

I harrumph while pushing past him. Where’s that Advil?

“ Fake boyfriend.”

“Uh-huh. Anyway, we have a situation on our hands.”

“No shit, Captain Obvious. My friends are losing it. And my dad?—”

“The team, too.” Wade waves his phone at me. “Jaeg called an emergency meeting.” The sugar coating of the twin pills melts on my tongue, dissolving down my throat as I down the rest of the bottled water. “I said we’d be there soon.”

Second spit-take of the morning. “ We? ”

“Yes.” The cool, calm finality of his reply sends a shiver down my spine. “And you’re not the only one getting confused phone calls from family.” He taps on his screen.

A woman chatters in French without pausing for breath. I should have paid more attention in school because I can’t tell if she’s angry as hell or super excited.

It fades out, and so do I. The combination of a hangover and shaken nerves draws a fog over my mind, but when I close my eyes and take a long breath to calm down, I’ve somehow navigated through the haze. There’s no racing pulse, no panic.

There’s only Wade Boehner and me facing an unfamiliar door.

My glance shoots over to him. He’s as serious as I’ve ever seen him, but the line of his mouth softens. Something strokes my palm.

It’s the pad of his thumb. I gasp softly at our hands, woven inexplicably between us.

How did we even get here?

“Ready?” The browns of Wade’s eyes melt as his hand squeezes mine. A roguish smile pops a dimple in his cheek, and my heartrate plops to the pit of my stomach. “It’s showtime .”