Page 9

CHAPTER NINE

arden

“Hello?”

“Arden. Hey.”

I rub my eyes, leaning back further on the couch. I don’t recognize the number or the smooth voice on the other end of the line.

“Who is this?”

“Oh, right,” the deep, silky voice responds. Hot voice, to be honest. “It’s Carter. Carter Forkerro…from…the other night?”

My eyes snap open. I jolt upward on the couch, my stomach flipping. I take it back about the hot voice. It’s a crazy voice. The voice of an absolute jerk who will also defend your honour to a terrifying point. It’s a man who lies on national television.

About me.

“Are you using me as your one call? Because I’ll warn you now, that was a waste.”

Surprisingly, he laughs. The sound makes my stomach feel all twisty again and I don’t like it. He’s hot. Terribly so. But he’s also a professional hockey player with a bad reputation. He’s a guy who used one of my most embarrassing stories against me when he didn’t get his way.

He’s a jerk.

“No. I got your number from Declan,” he explains.

I perk up a bit. I’m shocked that Declan kept it at all.

I’ll say this about Declan Lowes—he’s a good guy.

Very nice, smooth-talking, attentive in the few moments that we were locked on each other.

Magnificent kisser, but I’m glad it ended there.

He was clearly working through some things when our lives crossed paths.

I could taste his broken heart in his mouth, feel his yearning for whoever she was in the way he touched me.

But he was kind. Respectful. I didn’t expect a call back, and I hope that whatever he was going through worked out in the end. I might hate him a tad now, though, because he gave my number to the man who hit on me and then insulted me in the next breath.

“Arden?”

“Mhm?”

“Oh, okay,” he murmurs. He sounds nervous. Is he nervous? What the hell for? “Look. I don’t know if you keep up with hockey, or if you’ve seen anything in the news lately.”

There it is. This call is about what he said in that stupid press conference.

“Of course I do,” I lie. I don’t care about hockey and I definitely do not keep up with it, but my best friend does. “I have to be a supportive girlfriend now, don’t I? Just finished stitching number forty-two onto the back of all my jackets.”

I hear his wince. “I’m number sixty-one.”

“Sorry, honey. I’ll remember that for next time, maybe when I’m walking down the aisle toward you in a white dress.”

“Alright, so you’ve seen it,” he mutters .

I sit up, clutching my phone. He is unbelievable. “ Yes, I’ve seen it , Carter. What is wrong with you?”

A long sigh slips through the receiver. “Clearly, a lot.”

“Yeah. Understatement of the century,” I glower.

“I didn’t say your name.”

“Because you didn’t know it.”

“Fine,” he grumbles. “This isn’t going the way I was hoping it would. Look, my first priority in this phone call is to ask if you’re okay. I tried to look for you after the fight and you were gone. I didn’t…You didn’t get hurt in the crossfire, did you?”

It’s scary that he doesn’t know the answer to that question.

I cross my free arm in front of my chest, glaring at my television like it’s the one pissing me off.

“No. My friends got me out of there the moment you decided to defend my honour like you knew me.”

“Well, you are my girlfriend.” I can practically hear the grin through the phone.

I swear, this man needs his head checked. He’s completely deranged. But still…

“Are you okay?” I ask, despite my best judgement, because my inability to stop stalking him online proves I’m worried about how this ends for him.

It was very hard for me to leave that scene.

People were bleeding. People were hurt. It’s my job to tend to people when that happens.

I don’t want to feel bad for the guy who felt me up, but Carter got in a few strong hits.

The size difference alone was scary. The force Carter had in his punches was a different level of frightening.

I took an oath. I am a medical professional.

“Yeah, yeah,” he says casually. “You should see the other guy.”

I did. I’m not sure the other guy can see anyone right now.

I scoff, shaking my head. “That’s not funny. ”

“Sorry,” he mutters, but I’m not sure if I believe him. “Look, I’m basically on my knees here.”

“Excuse me?”

“Metaphorically, Red. Get your head out of the gutter. I’m sure the image of me on my knees in front of you is going straight into your wank bank.”

“ Wank bank? ” I sputter. What is he, a fourteen-year-old boy?

Sadly, I do conjure up the image of Carter Forkerro on his knees before me. That arrogant smirk on his mouth, my pride in the palm of his hands. It’s a nice image. Sue me.

“I’m trying to put my ego aside and ask you for a favour.”

I fall back into a much worse reality. He’s not on his knees, he’s in my ear. Annoying me. A favour? Don’t like the sound of that.

“I don’t do favours.”

“Humour me.”

“No,” I grumble.

“For fuck’s sake,” he whispers. Another long breath leaves his nose. “Look, I got myself in a bit of shit for what I did. Shit that is making people question my value.”

“Your sanity?”

“Sure, that too,” he says. “I can’t lose my spot on this team, Arden. I can’t risk it. I’m trying to do some damage control before this all snowballs and gets worse. That idiot is going to come forward and start talking. It’s only a matter of time.”

He will. He was a big Forkerro fan until he punched him in the mouth.

There is no chance in hell that he doesn’t run with this, especially if people are waving around their checkbooks for an exclusive.

It seems like a death sentence and a stupid move on his part, but there is no denying that it’s coming.

I cannot imagine running to talk to anyone if I got my ass handed to me by a famous hockey player for sexually harassing a woman.

How are you going to defend yourself, buddy?

He might try to lie, but there were too many witnesses for that, right? I was the one who got my ass touched. My friends saw enough and would back me and Carter up if necessary.

But… his friends could lie, too.

Oh, god. If this kid goes public, am I going to have to publicly defend Carter Forkerro?

“Do you need me to write a statement for you or something?”

Please say yes. I can’t be doing interviews or any of the other stuff that usually follows a scandal. I want to do my job, keep my head down, and live a quiet, private life out of the limelight.

Carter is the limelight.

“I’m hoping it won’t come to that.” I sit in silence, unsure what he means by that, but hating it all the same. “The favour I’m asking for is a bit bigger.”

My brows shoot up. “Bigger?”

“Like…monumentally bigger.”

I sigh, pinching the bridge of my nose. How can a man I don’t even know cause me such intense headaches two out of the three times I’ve interacted with him?

“Would you… I don’t know, go along with what I said in that press conference for a bit?”

I bark out a laugh. The man has got jokes.

Unfortunately, he doesn’t laugh with me. That sobers me up pretty quickly.

“Wait, you’re serious?”

“You think I would have called you up and done this as a joke?” he asks.

“Absolutely not.” Like, never in one billion years am I announcing I’m Carter Forkerro’s girlfriend to the public. I’m not playing the part of his arm-candy, even if it’s just for one moment, one photo, or one statement. Never. It’s not happening.

“Arden.”

“Nope.”

“Just for a few weeks. A few months, tops.” He’s begging, and as powerful as I feel having this man plead with me to help him, it isn’t enough to change my mind.

A few weeks? Months? He’s insane. I’m booking him in for a head CT.

“No.”

“You can come to my games. I will take you to all of the dinners and events that you want, if that’s what you like to do. The worst case scenario is you leave this with a new friend.”

Except that is not the worst case scenario here, and him thinking that shows he has absolutely no idea what he’s talking about. There are one million more worse scenarios than that worst case scenario.

“I hate hockey and I hate dinner.”

“You hate dinner?” he asks slowly.

Now I do. “Yep.”

“We’ll revisit the hockey thing later.”

“It’s not happening.”

“ Dinner?” he barks out.

“Plus, I don’t need any new friends.”

“How do you hate dinner ?”

“Carter,” I cut him off, letting out a frustrated breath. “If they need a statement, I’ll give them a statement, alright? I don’t think knocking that guy’s teeth out was the right way to handle that, but I don’t blame you for doing it. I’m grateful that you stepped in for me.”

All he does is grunt in response to that .

“But I’m not pretending to be your girlfriend.”

There’s a brief pause, and for a moment, I think I’ve won this little disagreement.

“Aren’t you a teensy bit interested to see what it would be like to date me?” he asks, a teasing tone in his voice.

I roll my eyes. “Not exactly.”

“I’m incredibly handsome. I don’t know if you missed that part.”

I run my hand over my face. “Carter.”

“Some people even call me the most eligible bachelor in the city.”

I groan, falling back against the couch with my hand still covering my eyes.

He lets out a sigh in my ear. “Fine. If you change your mind, give me a call. I’ll give you a seven-day grace period, because I am not about to go back on TV and announce that my ass got dumped that quickly after declaring my undying love for you.”

“You declared nothing.”

“I mean, I kind of did,” he presses.

I drop my arm. “Not really. You stated a fact.”

“You think Carter Forkerro settles down with just anyone? The whole city thinks I love you now.”

“Your mess, Bub. You clean it up.”

“Oh, look at that,” he says, and I hear the smirk in his voice. “Pet names already, and we’ve only been dating for five whole minutes.”

“Bye, Carter!” I sing into the receiver, desperate for this conversation to end.

“Put me out of my misery, Red. Please.”

“ Bye , Carter.”

“Bye, Bub .”