Page 19

Chapter 19

Fake Boyfriend

Miles

T he puck slid across the ice like mercury, fast and unpredictable. I tracked it with laser focus, my peripheral vision catching Dominic cutting across the blue line with deadly precision. Perfect. Everything slowed down in that beautiful way it sometimes does, where the crowd noise fades and all you can hear is the scrape of blades on ice and your own heartbeat.

I faked left, drawing the defenseman with me, then sent a no-look backhand pass exactly where I knew Dominic would be.

He wasn’t looking at me, but he didn’t need to. Six years of playing together meant he caught the pass without breaking stride, dangling it between a defender’s legs before firing a bullet back to me as I crashed the net.

One touch. Top shelf. The goal horn blared.

I pumped my fist as Dominic crashed into me, our momentum carrying us into the boards. “Fucking beautiful, Collins!” he shouted over the roar of the crowd, thumping my helmet with his glove.

The rest of the guys piled on, a tangle of hockey limbs and exhilaration. When we finally untangled ourselves, I glanced up at the scoreboard: four to two with three minutes left in the third. Even with my brain half-filled with thoughts of Nora, I was playing some of my best hockey.

We closed out the game with an empty-netter courtesy of Jenkins and skated off with our fourth straight win. The locker room vibrated with energy. Someone had already hijacked the speaker system and was blasting our victory song while a dozen sweaty hockey players belted the lyrics at top volume.

I peeled off my gear, wincing as I pulled my shoulder pads over my head. A lovely bruise was already forming on my ribs from blocking a slap shot in the second period.

“Solid fucking game, Cap.” Hensley slapped my bare back with his wet towel. “That goal was nasty.”

“Thanks.” I rolled my shoulders, trying to work out the kink that had settled between my shoulder blades. “Dom made it easy.”

The man in question was hunched over his phone across the room, still half in his gear. His profile was tense, jaw working like he was grinding his teeth, which could only mean one thing: a text from his father. Garrett Wilson never missed an opportunity to tell his son how he could have been better, even after a win.

“So,” Jenkins shouted over the music, “Finnegan’s in an hour? First round on me since you losers made me look good tonight.”

A chorus of approval echoed around the room. I nodded, already thinking about the glorious plate of nachos I’d demolish.

“Bring your lady, Jen,” someone called out. “I need to make sure she still exists and isn’t just a really sophisticated sex doll!”

“Fuck off, Porter!” Jenkins threw a balled-up sock in the general direction of the voice. “Just because your hand is your only companion doesn’t mean the rest of us are that pathetic.”

“Me and my hand make a very happy couple, thank you very much,” Porter shot back.

The room erupted in laughter and towel snaps.

“What about you, Collins?” Porter turned his attention to me, waggling his eyebrows suggestively. “When are you going to bring someone? Or are you secretly married to the game?”

I rolled my eyes, but something sharp and impulsive flickered through me. “I’ll be there. With my girl.”

The room went silent. Even the music seemed to lower itself automatically.

Porter’s jaw slackened. “No shit?”

“Holy fuck, the captain’s got game off the ice too!” Hensley whistled long and low. “Who is she? Do we know her?”

I kept my expression carefully neutral even as panic started climbing up my throat. What the hell was I thinking? “Guess you’ll find out tonight.”

Next to me, Dominic’s head had snapped up from his phone, his eyes boring into me with an intensity that was a bit alarming since it was rarely directed at me. “You’re bringing her?”

“Yeah,” I said a bit too defensively. “That a problem?”

Dominic shoved his shoulder pads into his bag with unnecessary force. “Nope.” The p popped with explosive finality.

An awkward beat passed before Jenkins clapped his hands. “All right, assholes, shower up!”

The tension between us dissolved as everyone scattered to the showers, but I didn’t miss the way Dominic deliberately avoided looking at me again.

Thirty minutes later, freshly showered and suited up, I jogged down the corridor toward the video room where I was pretty sure I’d find Nora. My heart hammered against my ribs, and not just from the quick pace. What the hell had I been thinking saying I’d bring my girl?

Nora and I had barely talked over the past week about a fake dating plan. With games, practices, and other obligations, we hadn’t had the time. Navigating around each other at practices and meetings was already awkward, especially under Coach’s watchful eye, and now we were going straight to the Titans’ den? A social setting with a bunch of unruly hockey players with loose lips after drinking alcohol was going to be so much fun.

I found her exactly where I’d expected, hunched over her tablet, headphones in, completely absorbed in frame-by-frame analysis of something on the screen. Her hair was pulled back in a loose ponytail, wisps escaping around her face. She looked tired but focused, her bottom lip caught between her teeth in concentration.

For a moment, I just watched her, this incredible woman who had somehow become the center of the strangest situation of my life. A situation I’d put myself in. I still didn’t know what I’d been thinking.

I knocked on the doorframe, and Nora startled, looking up with wide eyes before pulling her headphones out.

“Collins.” She smiled, but I could see the careful way she held herself. We were both still tiptoeing around this whole situation. “Great game tonight. That chemistry with Wilson was a thing of beauty.”

“Thanks.” I shifted my weight, suddenly feeling gangly and awkward in a way I hadn’t since puberty. “So, hey, funny story...”

“Why do I already feel nervous?” She set her tablet down.

I rubbed the back of my neck. “I might have told everyone I’m dating someone and that I was bringing you out tonight.”

Nora blinked slowly. “You told them about us?”

“Not exactly? I mean, kind of?” I winced at how uncertain I sounded. “The guys were giving me shit about never bringing anyone out, and I said I would bring my girl tonight.” I ran a hand through my still-damp hair. “I didn’t think it through.”

To my surprise, a small laugh escaped her. “Well, I guess this was bound to happen eventually, right? We need to make it believable if we’re going to pull this off.”

“Believable, yeah.” I didn’t know what that entailed, but I would leave it up to her to decide. “We’re keeping the pregnancy a secret for now, right?”

“Right.” She stood up, smoothing down her black slacks. “Will Dom be there?”

“I’m not sure, but he wasn’t exactly thrilled when I announced I was bringing you as my date.” Dominic’s reaction made me really wonder if we jumped the gun too soon on this solution.

A complicated expression somewhere between concern and guilt flashed across her face. “I need to check in with Coach Lovell. Do you want to meet there or…?”

“I can wait?” I offered, then immediately wondered if that was too boyfriend-like or not boyfriend-like enough. This whole charade was a minefield.

She checked her watch. “This should take ten minutes. I’ll meet you in the players’ lounge?”

“Sounds good.”

As I turned to leave, Nora called out, “Miles?”

I looked back.

“Is this really a good idea?” The vulnerability in her voice made something twist in my chest.

I wanted to say no. I wanted to say that nothing about this situation was a good idea. Not the fake dating, not my feelings for her, and not the fact that my best friend was the actual father of her child.

Instead, I gave her what I hoped was a reassuring smile. “It’ll be fine. We’ve got this.”

The smile she returned was wobbly at best, but it was something.

* * *

Finnegan’s was already pulsing with noise when our little parade—me, Nora, and, somehow, Carter—pushed through the door. The bar had that perfect sports dive ambiance: worn wooden booths, championship pennants, and enough TVs that you could watch three different games simultaneously without straining your neck.

I still wasn’t sure how Carter had ended up joining us. One minute I’d been waiting in the players’ lounge for Nora, and the next she’d appeared with Carter in tow, explaining how they’d literally collided in the hallway outside Lovell’s office.

“I couldn’t exactly tell him no when he asked what we were up to,” she’d whispered when Carter had stepped away to take a call. “He’s technically an owner now.”

Right. An owner who’d dropped millions to protect Nora’s job. That wasn’t nothing, even if I wasn’t entirely sure how to feel about the guy.

“Collins!” Porter bellowed across the bar the moment we walked in. “You actually brought someone!”

A collective heads-up happened like a wave through the team, and suddenly we were the center of attention. Nora stiffened beside me. Without thinking, I slid my hand around her waist, pulling her slightly closer as we walked toward the tables.

About half the normal crew was already there, a few of them flanked by their significant others. I spotted Atwater’s wife, Smith’s boyfriend, and Hensley’s girlfriend who, as usual, looked like she’d stepped out of a fashion campaign.

“Guys,” I said as we approached the cluster of tables they’d pushed together, “this is Nora.”

“We know who Nora is.” Hensley grinned, raising his beer in our direction. “What we didn’t know is that you were tapping that?—”

“Hensley!” I barked, my cheeks heating as several players snickered.

Hensley’s girlfriend elbowed him in the ribs, and the sudden urge I had to punch him dissipated.

“Sorry.” Hensley held his side, a slight pout forming on his lips.

“Why is he like this?” Nora murmured beside me, but I was relieved to feel her relax slightly against me.

“You’ve been holding out on us, Cap!” Jenkins slid over on the bench, making room. “How long have you two been sneaking around?”

“We weren’t sneaking.” I guided Nora toward the open spot. She slid in first, and I followed, hyper-aware of how our thighs pressed together in the cramped space. “Just keeping things professional.”

“That’s one word for it,” Porter said suggestively.

“I think it’s sweet.” Stevens, bless him, leaned forward to look at me and Nora with a reassuring smile. He was our youngest defenseman and still had that Iowa farm boy vibe. “Coach Hastings is always watching you during practice, Cap. Not sure what she sees, honestly.”

I take back my previous statement. He was the devil.

Nora choked on nothing. “I do not! I watch everyone. That’s my job.”

“Sure, sure.” Hensley winked exaggeratedly. “And I’m being thorough when I stare at my girlfriend’s ass.”

Hensley’s girlfriend gave him a death glare, and I wondered how long this one would last for him. He always seemed to have a girlfriend, but he went through them about as frequently as socks.

The table erupted in laughter and high-fives. I caught Nora’s eye and gave what I hoped was an apologetic grimace. She responded by sliding her hand onto my knee under the table, which sent a jolt through my system before I realized it was part of our act.

Right. Fake boyfriend. Focus.

“What’s the suit doing here?” Porter jerked his chin toward Carter, who had come in from his call and was now hovering at the edge of our group. He looked a bit like a lost dog.

A nervous hush fell over the table.

Jenkins looked at his empty beer glass. “Should we, like, not be drinking in front of the boss?”

Carter laughed, dropping into a chair that someone hastily pulled up for him. “Please. I’m here as a friend.” He glanced at Nora with a look that made something twist in my gut. “And the next round is on me along with any food.”

A cheer went up, and just like that, Carter was accepted. Is that what money did? Made people instantly like you? Or was it his easy charisma, the way he leaned back in his chair like he’d known these guys for years?

“So, Campbell.” Stevens turned his attention to Carter after a waitress had taken our drink orders. “That was a hell of a game tonight, huh? That third-period play where Hensley caught the drop pass after Wilson faked the shot was a total beauty.”

“Absolutely.” Carter nodded enthusiastically. “Epic moment. And that hit in the second quarter? Was totally unnecessary roughness. Should’ve been a penalty.”

Nora covered her mouth to conceal a strangled laugh. I glanced over at her, and she had her attention on Carter, amusement in her eyes.

“Second quarter, you say?” Porter leaned forward, a shit-eating grin forming on his face. “When their defenseman nearly took Collins’s head off?”

“Yeah, really brutal,” Carter said without missing a beat. “That guy should have had a time-out.”

My eyes narrowed. Hockey 101: we don’t have “unnecessary roughness” penalties. That’s football. And we definitely didn’t call being sent to the penalty box a time-out.

Or have quarters.

Interesting. Very interesting.

I cleared my throat. “You played in college, right?”

Carter’s eyes flickered to me momentarily. “Yeah, for a bit. Club team, nothing serious.”

“Which position?”

A barely perceptible pause. “Forward. Wing, mainly.”

“Huh.” I nodded, filing this information away to use later. “What college again?”

“Columbia.”

“Columbia doesn’t have a club hockey team,” Stevens said innocently. They did, but clearly Carter didn’t know that.

Carter’s smile tightened at the corners. “It was... unofficial. More like a rec league, really.” He was lying out of his ass, and everyone at the table knew it now.

“Sure it was.” I smirked, already planning on giving him more shit about this. It was my job as team captain to call players out, and I was going to happily extend that to management as well.

Carter cleared his throat, reaching for his beer with the desperation of a man clinging to a life raft. “So, Nora, how’s the skating coaching going? Any of these guys giving you trouble?”

Smooth transition there, Campbell. Real subtle.

Nora took pity on him. “They’re not too bad.”

Her hand squeezed my knee under the table, and I nearly choked on my beer. Was that part of the act or an unconscious gesture? Either way, my body was fully on board, warmth spreading from that point of contact like wildfire.

“You should come to practice sometime,” Nora suggested to Carter, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “I’d love to see your hockey skills in action.”

Carter’s face went from tan to ghostly pale so quickly I thought he might pass out. He took a long gulp of his beer before answering.

“Me? On the ice with these guys?” He laughed nervously. “That would be like throwing a chihuahua into a wolf den. I’d rather keep all my teeth, thank you very much.”

“Don’t worry,” Porter chimed in. “We’d go easy on you.”

Carter clutched his chest dramatically. “My insurance policy specifically excludes death by hockey player. It’s in the fine print.”

“What if we bubble-wrapped you first?” Jensen suggested.

“Then I’d be a more cushioned target.” Carter’s expression turned thoughtful. “Although I did excel at being a human bowling pin in college...”

The table erupted into laughter, and I reluctantly joined in. The guy was annoyingly likable, even if he probably couldn’t tell a hockey stick from a pool cue.

The front door swung open, revealing Dominic’s imposing figure. He paused, scanning the room, his gaze skimming over our table before he headed straight for the bar.

Nora’s hand stiffened on my knee. I glanced at her profile, noting the way her eyes followed Dominic across the room, the slight furrow forming between her brows as he didn’t even glance our way. Each time she looked at him, something inside me twisted uncomfortably.

“—think so, Collins?”

I snapped back to attention. “Sorry, what?”

Porter rolled his eyes. “I said Carter should wear goalie pads and we could use him for target practice.”

“Extremely hard pass.” Carter laughed, though his attention had also shifted toward the bar.

I watched as Nora’s gaze drifted to Dominic for the third time. So what if I was counting? She was trying to be subtle, but was about as successful as a neon sign in a dark alley. Carter noticed too, his expression flickering briefly with something that looked almost like resignation.

“I’m going to grab a few more pitchers.” I slid out from the bench. Nora gave me a questioning look. “And convince our resident grump to be social.”

I made my way to the bar, weaving through the Saturday night crowd. Dominic sat hunched over a glass of what looked like straight whiskey, giving off leave-me-alone vibes that would deter most sane people.

Good thing I’d never claimed to be entirely sane.