Page 54 of Faking it with the Billionaire

“And wearing a jersey for the Bruisers is?” he snaps.

“I’m not wearing anything underneath.” That’s not a complete truth. I am wearing a bra, but I don’t think everyone would appreciate me removing the jersey, and quite frankly, it’s a bit chilly only to be wearing a bra and leggings.

He shoots a look at Lia. “Go buy my girlfriend something else during intermission.”

“That isn’t necessary,” I say.

“Daddy, I told her to wear it.” Bristol beams, giving her thousand-watt smile at her father.

He laughs. “You, little devil, are the reason that the guys are giving me hell?”

“Always,” she says and blows her daddy a kiss. “And another dollar in the swear jar!”

We both groan in unison.

Kyler glances behind him at the guys and the game. “This isn’t over. Go put that jersey on inside out.”

“Not happening. Take your jersey off, and I’ll wear that one.” I’m joking, but if he wouldn’t get in trouble, he’d probably take it off and toss it to me over the glass partition.

“You’re trouble, Ryan.”

“I know, and you love it.”

There’s commotion on the ice, and Kyler shuffles around to watch the action. Hopefully, the coach won’t give him too hard of a time for talking to us in the stands.

Several minutes pass before he’s back on the ice, scoring goal after goal. He’s on fire tonight until he gets into it with another player on the Island Bruisers’ team. I can’t see what’s happening, with the guys standing up in front of us shouting animatedly.

Kyler is tossed into the penalty box along with the other player he was fighting. I glance at Lia.

“What’s happening?” I ask her.

She shrugs. “It’s a hockey game. Fights break out. It’s common.”

I hope she’s right, but I don’t like seeing Kyler fight with anyone. It makes me sick to my stomach.

The Ice Dragons are down, and the buzzer sounds. The teams retreat to the locker rooms, and the guys on the bench head out.

“Is the game over?”

Bristol grins. “No, silly. It’s intermission time.”

“Oh. Like half-time.”

“More like thirds.”

Apparently, the kid knows her fractions. I try to play it cool, like the six-year-old beside me didn’t just point out that she knows more about the game than I do. But for the record, her father is a professional hockey player. I’m sure this isn’t her first game.

“Lia, will you take me to the bathroom?” Bristol asks.

“Of course. We’ll be right back,” Lia says and stands. Taking Bristol’s hand, they walk down the aisle and up the stairs to the restrooms.

There’s a lot of hustle and bustle. The Zamboni comes out and repairs the ice for the next period.

Standing, I stretch my legs as I catch sight of the coach heading back toward the benches. He’s carrying something in his hands and grumbling under his breath.

“Ryan,” he says, nodding at me.

“Yes, sir?” I’m not sure why I’m addressing him quite so formally, but it comes out before I can say anything else.