Page 22

TWENTY-TWO

“Logan,” Coach shouts from the bench, “pay attention, you’re up!”

Focusing on neutral zone drills this morning is harder than normal. I run through the exercise with Fox and Helm, but my thoughts are elsewhere.

Every time my mind wanders, it drifts back to Hannah on that date last night. It took all my self-control not to protest when she initially told me her plan. I avoided both our place and her in the days that followed. Still, I couldn’t stop myself from checking in with her when she was with him . It was only to make sure she was okay. That the guy picked a nice place. That he had good intentions—the impossibility of determining that while circling the block in my car is not lost on me.

Lie. Lie. Lie.

We skate back to the bench, making way for the next group to hit the ice.

When she told me about her reason for the date—some kind of revenge on Knolls—I couldn’t help but offer to be what she wanted: a fake boyfriend. Now, I can’t decide if that was the right move or a decision I’ll come to regret. On one hand, it gives me an excuse to show her a glimpse of my real feelings and the affection I’ve been holding back. But on the other hand, it feels a little deceptive. Am I taking advantage if she thinks it’s all an act? She agreed to practice, though, right? So, we’re on the same page.

Fox squirts water into his mouth and eyes me skeptically from his spot next to me on the bench. “What’s up with you?”

“Hannah and I are dating, but it’s fake .”

“What’re we talking about, boys?” Helm asks, leaning forward and inserting himself into the conversation.

Fox shoves him back. “Oh, that’s always a fun trope. I’d say your chances of scoring for real are pretty good… although now that I think about it, all romance books end in a happy ending…” He shakes his head as if to clear it. “Anyway, your last plan wasn’t working, so things can only get better, right?”

“Well, considering she went on a date last night, I’d say so. The whole do’s and don’ts thing? Yeah, not working out like I thought. And honestly, sticking to them is impossible. It goes against my every instinct to pretend I’m laid-back and not completely into her.”

“Yeah, I gotta say, you’re fooling absolutely no one. So, what’re you thinking?”

“I think you were right. I’m hesitating. If I keep being too scared to make a move and screw it all up, I’m going to miss my chance.”

“So you’re starting Project Romance?” he asks, raising a brow. Where does he come up with these names? Although, I have to admit, at least it’s better than Saints’ Sinners.

“Is that what we’re calling it?” We shuffle down the bench, waiting for our line’s next shift.

“I think it has a good ring to it.” He grins, nudging my shoulder.

Volk skates up to the boards, breaking for water. “What are you fools jabbing about?”

“Logan’s love life, duh,” Fox tells him, waggling his brows.

I roll my eyes. “How do I implement Project Romance…” I pause, cringing at the name. “She’s just going to think it’s all fake?”

“Show her how great the real thing is under the guise of it not meaning anything.” Fox shrugs.

I sigh. “What about the morality of it?”

“Morality,” Volk scoffs.

Fox grins. “Dude, you’re overthinking this. How can being nice to her, and showing her your real feelings, be a bad thing? What’s she gonna say? Oh, Ryan, you’re just such a dreamboat, what an asshole? I don’t think so.”

“Fuck, what it must be like to be in your head, Logan,” Helm adds, unhelpfully. His head peeking over Fox’s shoulder this time.

“Butt out, Rook,” Fox says as I shove his helmet-clad head away, all of us sliding a little further down the bench.

“Dreamboat?” I raise a brow at Fox.

“You know what I mean.” He waves me off. “Just be yourself, show her who you are. That’s all you need to do.”

“But—” I start, but I’m cut off by Coach’s booming voice. “Move it, Volk! Logan, Helm, Fox, you’re up!”

I stand, grabbing my helmet, and hop over the boards. Guess I’m left to figure this out on my own. Not that Fox or Volk would’ve been much help. When it comes to relationships, they’re as useful as a screen door on a submarine.

As practice winds down, I feel Hannah’s presence before I spot her in the stands. She’s bundled up in an oversized sweatshirt under her winter coat, her blonde hair peeking out from a tan beanie with our Saints logo on it. The perfect little fan. The only thing missing is a jersey with my last name across her back. My lips pull up in a grin.

I skate up to the boards, and she meets me at the divide with a hug that’s far too quick.

“I’ll be out in a few,” I tell her before skating off the ice to shower and change.

There’s one thing I want to check off my old list before tossing it: adopting a dog. The way Hannah’s face lit up when I suggested it this morning confirmed that at least this line item should be crossed off. She practically squealed, insisting we head to Paws Chicago as soon as possible, which is why she’s here post-practice.

Hannah’s excitement only grows on our way to the shelter, and by the time we meet Ada at the front desk, it’s at an all-time high. Seeing her so happy makes a warm feeling spread in my chest.

“I’ve heard a lot about you, Mr. Logan,” Ada says with a playful smile as she leads us to the kennels to meet the dogs. “It’s nice to finally meet you.”

“Likewise.” I dip my head and return a friendly smile.

I’m glad Hannah’s settling into the city and already making friends. Ada seems great, but I’d be lying if I said her role in orchestrating that date doesn’t play in my mind. I just hope I can win her over enough to put her matchmaking skills to better use—preferably by pairing Hannah with me.

Our plan was to check out all the dogs before getting some one-on-one time to see if we connect with the best fits, but I’m not surprised when Hannah wants time with the first dog we see… and then every dog after that. We end up spending most of our time in the meet-and-greet room, where she, unsurprisingly, falls in love with every single dog.

“Ryan, this one is perfect!” This one is small and looks a bit like a bulldog, but she said the same thing about the last ten dogs, too.

“More perfect than the last one?” I ask, failing to keep the sarcasm out of my voice, which earns me a scowl.

“Are you sure you don’t want to get two dogs? Maybe three? Having just one might be lonely.” She smiles up at me, and that smile alone has the power to sway my better judgment.

“Won’t he or she have company once you transport dogs up here? I’m sure you’ll want to foster alongside your volunteers, right?”

“You’d let me have fosters in the house?” Her tone holds disbelief.

“He’s a keeper, Hannah,” Ada adds.

My chest swells with pride, knowing I’m earning the approval of her new friend. “It’s your place too, Sunshine.”

She stares at me. The only sounds in the small room are the clicking of the dog’s nails and the rhythmic thumping of its tail against the concrete floor. “You’re the best, you know that?”

“I try,” I say, brushing the invisible dust off my shoulder.

Hannah shakes her head, but her smile returns. She pulls out her phone and snaps a few pictures of the dog she’s playing with. When she sets it down and returns her attention to the dog, I can’t help but notice her phone chirping and buzzing.

“Someone’s popular.” I tip my chin toward her phone.

“Oh, yeah… I posted the picture you took of us last night on my feed. It’s really blowing up.” I can’t help but smirk, picturing Knolls seeing the photo of Hannah and me together. The idea of him losing it brings a sense of satisfaction that I probably shouldn’t enjoy as much as I do.

“What about your new rescue account? Is it gaining any traction? I know you’re not doing the influencing stuff anymore, but you should at least use the online presence to help get the word out about your launch,” Ada says.

“Not yet, but it’ll take time for it to grow. I’m posting all these good boys and girls today.” She scratches the chin of the mutt cuddled up against her side. “They may not spark as much gossip as a hockey star and his girlfriend, but they’re definitely more adorable.”

“I don’t know. Have you seen you? You’re pretty adorable,” I say.

She laughs, brushing off the compliment with a playful roll of her eyes, but a slight blush creeps up her still-sun-kissed cheeks.

“Wow, you guys are too cute together,” Ada chimes in. “Ryan, go pose with her. Here, let me take a picture. That’s sure to generate some buzz, right?”

I’m sure her idea has merit, but honestly, I’m more into it because it gives me an excuse to be close to Hannah. I crouch, wrapping my arms around her as she leans back into me, my chest pressed against her back while she cradles the dog in her lap. The pup wags its tail, loving the extra attention as its wet nose nudges against my fingers.

“Perfect!” Ada hands the phone back to Hannah, who gets to work posting it to her rescue page, while Ada turns her attention to me. “I hear you’ll be at the fundraiser tomorrow. You’re Hannah’s date?” She raises her brows.

I glance at Hannah, but she’s too focused on her phone to notice my questioning look. I decide to take the safe route. “Yeah, I’ll be there.”

Ada gives me a slow nod, looking pleased, before leading us back to the kennels. While we’ve met a lot of great pups, none felt like ours , so the search continues.

We stop at the cage of a shaggy dog. He’s the size and coloring of a German Shepherd, but with a much thicker, fluffier coat of fur. His mismatched eyes—one brown, one blue—make him the cutest mutt I’ve ever seen. He sits calmly, watching us with sad eyes that silently beg to be taken home.

Hannah and I share a look of silent agreement. He’s the one.

“Oh, that’s Fred. Isn’t he adorable? He’s been here longer than most. He has a shy disposition, so people overlook him,” Ada tells us.

“Can we see him?” Hannah asks.

We head back into the same small room, this time with Fred, and while I’ve loved watching Hannah’s excitement for all the dogs, this is the first time mine matches hers.

“I think he’s perfect. Do you see those sad eyes?” Hannah whispers, grabbing my forearm and pinning me with her hopeful gaze.

“Yeah, he got me with those eyes, too.”

Ada shuts the door behind us, and Fred immediately gravitates toward Hannah but is standoffish with me. I take a seat in one of the plastic chairs and hold out my hand, hoping to entice him to say hello.

“He’s not the biggest fan of men,” Ada explains, still standing by the door.

Despite his size, Fred tries to fit on Hannah’s lap as she sits cross-legged on the floor.

“I don’t blame you, buddy. But I promise he’s a good one,” Hannah tells the dog, but the offhand compliment goes straight to my chest.

Fred is relentless in his attempts to lick her face. She giggles, dodging slobbery dog kisses. He couldn’t care less about me, but he’s clearly taken with Hannah. I get it, bud.

“Go say hi to your dad.” She tries to nudge him toward me, but he protests, flopping over in her lap to show off his belly. “What do you think? Do you want to keep looking? I’m sure you want your own dog to like you.”

I place a hand over my heart. “I’m wounded that you think he won’t warm up to me. He likes you, so clearly, he’s an excellent judge of character. I’m sure he’ll come around.”

She bites her lip, trying to contain her excitement. “Does that mean we’re doing this?”

“I think we should.” My heart picks up speed, and I can’t help but smile as the decision settles between us.

As I stand, she leaps up from her spot on the floor and barrels toward me, jumping into my arms. Her legs wrap around me, and I secure her further with my hands under her thighs. She pulls back to meet my gaze, the biggest smile spreading across her face. We’re so close our breath mingles. And for a brief second, I think she might kiss me again, but then her attention shifts to Fred, who’s watching us curiously. “Welcome home, Fred.”

“You don’t think we should take him with us?” Hannah crouches down, holding Fred’s head in her palms, showing off his smushed face. His tongue lolls out of the side of his mouth, and his tail thumps against the floor in agreement.

“You’re the one who said happily homed dogs weren’t allowed. He looks pretty happy to me,” I remind her.

“I tried, Fredster,” she says, pouting.

I chuckle at the countless nicknames she’s given him in the twenty-four hours since we took him home. “At this rate, he’s going to end up with as many nicknames as you.”

She stands, brushing dog hair off her high-waisted black slacks. She’s paired them with a corset-style top that covers her arms but pushes her tits nearly to her chin. Is she trying to torture me?

She adds a blazer, partially hiding the curve of her waist and hips, but it does little to settle the semi I’m sporting. I take her in greedily, my eyes running down the length of her before traveling back up to her equally captivating face, only to find her eyes already on me.

She clears her throat and murmurs, “You look handsome,” before quickly turning away, reaching into the hall closet to grab her coat.

The flush on her cheeks doesn’t go unnoticed as I help her into her coat. Leaning down, I can’t resist skimming my lips over her ear as I whisper, “You look gorgeous.”

She shivers, and I rub my hands over her wool-covered arms, trying to warm her up but hoping her reaction isn’t just from the cold.

Stepping outside, we catch our rideshare to Metro Brewing, where the Paws Chicago fundraiser is being held. The night air is biting, and Hannah isn’t wearing gloves, so I hold her hands in mine. Just to keep them warm. Only letting them go once we pull up and enter the space.

The place has an industrial look, with tall ceilings littered with Edison bulbs, exposed ductwork, and floor-to-ceiling windows showcasing a view of the Chicago River. An outdoor patio stretches along the water, with small groups huddled around outdoor heaters. It’d be the perfect spot for drinks in the summer, but tonight, with temperatures in the twenties, I’ll pass.

Tonight is our first “practice” date. With less than two weeks until the Hockey Fights Cancer event, I’m not too worried about pulling off the act. Treating Hannah like my girlfriend comes naturally. What I am worried about is how she’ll react to me acting like her boyfriend, especially if our first kiss is anything to go by.

But my only concern tonight is making a good impression on her new rescue contacts.

A woman I’m guessing is Debbie, the shelter’s director, based on Hannah’s description and the way she’s effortlessly working the room, greets us. “I’m so glad you were able to make it.” She pulls Hannah into a hug and then turns to me. “And who is this?”

Hannah’s eyes dart to me, then to the floor, and finally back to Debbie. She steps closer to my side, resting a hand on my stomach, the muscles pulling taut at the unexpected contact. I glance down at her as she says, “This is my boyfriend, Ryan.”

My heart rate spikes at hearing her use that title. I knew the plan was to practice selling our “relationship,” but I didn’t anticipate the visceral reaction I’d have to hearing her claim me as hers. I adjust my collar before reaching out to shake her hand. “Nice to meet you. Thanks for having us. This place is great.”

My gut is tight with a mix of nerves and excitement. I remind myself it’s all pretend, but maybe I’ve had one too many concussions because my brain isn’t listening. It’s a peek at what I’ve been longing for, and I so desperately want it to be real.

As Debbie introduces Hannah to other guests, and Hannah introduces me as her boyfriend to each of them, I get better at keeping my cool. Or at least, I hope I do. Eventually, I can’t help but lean into our ruse: a hand on her lower back, a kiss on her temple, holding her hand as we navigate through the crowd, pulling her closer to my side. And each time I do, I can’t help but think how perfectly we fit.

Still, I only casually touch her half the times I feel the urge.

The first moment we have alone, standing at a bar top table, she asks me the last thing I want to talk about. “Any word on your contract extension?”

It’s a reminder of everything I have to lose if I’m traded. I haven’t heard from my agent since meeting with him after All-Star Weekend, and what started as a minor concern has grown into a full-blown panic. He assures me we still have time, and I know he’s right, but the uncertainty about my future with the Saints is starting to wear on me. I went into this season thinking my renewal was a sure thing, but as time drags on, more doubt creeps in.

“Not yet, but hopefully, I’ll hear something soon,” I say, keeping my tone light, not wanting to worry her.

I’m relieved when our conversation is interrupted by a man with a press lanyard. “Can I get a picture of you two?”

Hannah and I respond, “Sure,” in unison, locking eyes as we exchange smiles.

“Jinx,” she breathes, her lips tipping up further.

The flash of light draws our attention to the photographer, who snaps and reviews the photos until he’s satisfied, then moves on to other partygoers.

Once he’s out of sight, Hannah leans into my side, whispering, “That should help sell this, right?”

It’s an unwelcome reminder of what we’re doing here. Practicing.