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CHAPTER 13

DECK

YOU WANT ME TO SIGN… WHAT?

As soon as the suggestion was out, I’d known it was a mistake of gigantic proportions. I couldn’t date Lizzy—there was the obvious no fraternization policy I’d have to deal with now. The coach would not be understanding…

I did feel somewhat smug knowing that no one else on the team would bother now, thanks to my little plan, but there was another thing I wasn’t as eager to admit.

I liked her.

I barely knew her, but I liked her. She reminded me of someone—of home in some way. Not in the “do your duty” kind of way I’d run away from, but of the really amazing things I’d loved about my home country. Or at least the things I’d loved as a kid—the warm salt-washed days on the beach, the crystal blue water of the ocean, the sweeping grandeur of the sky above us… I’d had my brother and my best friend Eliza back in those days.

But those days were long gone. Lizzy was her own person. And she was a person I was having trouble not thinking about.

I found myself distracted even when she wasn’t around, pondering the way her strong legs created incredible curves in the pencil skirts she sometimes favored, the way her calf muscles popped when she wore those high heels. I thought about how she’d looked at me across the table that first night, like she knew something, like she could see something I’d kept hidden from the world.

It was impossible, of course. She couldn’t know me any better than anyone else had since I was a kid. Part of the agreement I’d made in coming to play hockey involved hiding my real identity. Sure, there were plenty of psychobabble gurus who would probably point out that stuffing down an entire part of your identity and refusing to acknowledge it was unhealthy for the psyche… But if that was what it took to earn my freedom, it was okay.

Mostly.

I missed my family. The monthly calls I had with Mom and Dad were full of small talk and false politeness. I barely knew them anymore. And Dad had sounded odd last time we’d spoken. Tired.

My brother was a whole other story. Lambert had pushed the limits of his position for years. Since the time I’d left, really. He’d begun toying with drugs—not a great option for anyone, let alone an eighteen-year-old. He’d been to rehab several times since then, and my parents were exhausted by his reputation as the Playboy Prince. I had always figured he would settle down once he was king.

I sighed. In a weird way, I missed Lambert. My big brother had been my best friend. He’d understood why I wanted to leave, though. He’d encouraged me to go. But then he’d… well, I didn’t like to think about it. The timing could lead one to feel guilty about everything. He’d been fine until I’d fled to America.

But we were individuals. His choices were just that. His own. Not that he had the option to walk away. I guess that was the real difference. And there was a certain amount of guilt inherent in my understanding of that fact. A whole buttload of guilt, really.

And my choice to let the team think that Lizzy and I were dating?

Mine.

I guessed both princes were poor decision makers sometimes.

At four-thirty the next day, I pulled on my nicest board shorts and my favorite T-shirt, grabbed a Wilcox Wombats ball cap and put on my sunglasses. I had a date to pick up.

Lizzy had given me her address—she lived in a tall condo building I was surprised she could afford on a PR salary, but then again, I knew very little about her family situation or her past. Maybe she came from royalty too.

Ha.

As she’d directed, I let the doorman know who I was, and he called up for me.

“She’ll be right down,” the guy told me, giving me a wide smile.

“Thanks,” I said.

There was an awkward pause while I waited for Lizzy, and the man kept smiling at me. I glanced his way again, feeling incredibly uncomfortable since it was just the two of us in the small lobby and his attention was so completely focused on me.

“I’m a fan,” he said after another long beat of staring and smiling.

“Thanks, man,” I said, hoping that would be it.

More staring. More smiling.

“Did you want me to like, sign anything?” I asked. It wasn’t my usual interaction with fans, but I wasn’t usually in such a confined space with someone refusing to look away.

“Oh, that would be amazing,” he said, and to my horror, he peeled up the top half of his uniform and presented me with a very broad, very pale gut.

“You want me to sign your… stomach?”

The man grinned harder and nodded, his eyes sparkling as if this was the best day of his life.

I took the Sharpie sitting on the counter and knelt to get myself into position.

And then the elevator door dinged, and I heard someone step into the lobby, catching me on my knees in front of a partially clad doorman.

Lizzy’s gasp came immediately. “Declan?”

This was not exactly the impression I’d hoped to give Lizzy on our first official fake date.