Page 31 of Trick Shot (Bainbridge Hockey #4)

Claire

I ’ve been sitting at this table for over an hour when I see Pete walk into the diner. I scowl in his direction, and he beams a smile back at me. I’m not mad at him, not exactly. He’s not late. In fact, he’s ten minutes early. He hasn’t done anything wrong this morning, and that is infuriating.

He takes a seat across from me, his hulking frame filling up every inch of available space on his side of the red vinyl booth. “Are you always this grumpy or do you save it just for me?”

Showing off my incredible range, my face switches from annoyance to confusion. “I’m sorry, have we met? I’m Claire Elizabeth Fowler.”

“Haha. Peter Frederick Santos,” he says, his large hand engulfing mine. “Nice to meet you.”

I drop the joke because there’s no way he said what I thought he did. “Woah. What’s your middle name?”

“Frederick,” he repeats. “It’s my mom’s maiden name.”

“Unbelievable,” I say, barely able to contain the laugh that’s threatening to break free. “You’re Peter F. Santos? ”

He looks at me like I’ve lost my mind. “That’s literally what I just said, so yeah.”

He’s wearing a gray t-shirt and flannel, his brown curly locks somewhat tamed by his ever-present backwards ballcap, and he looks equal parts serious and seriously fuckable. I can’t help it. I laugh.

“I don’t get it,” he says, picking up a laminated menu and scanning the first side. “What’s so funny?”

“That’s what I’ve been calling you for years,” I confess.

His brown eyes narrow. “You’ve been calling me Peter Frederick Santos for years?” he asks. “That’s a little creepy, to be honest.”

“Not exactly. More like Pete Fucking Santos. But it’s kinda the same.”

He looks at me for a beat before he starts to chuckle. “Yeah, I can believe that. So…you’re not in a pissy mood, despite the scowl on your face?”

“Oh, no. I am,” I assure him as our server tops off my coffee and pours Pete a cup.

“Well, it can’t be my fault,” he says with a mix of confidence and relief. “I just got here.”

When I don’t immediately reassure him that he’s in the clear, he cocks his head to the side and asks, “What the hell did I do this time?”

“Nothing,” I sigh in frustration. “Well, nothing on purpose at least. I’ve been here a while because I’m trying to finish up my column for next week, and I like writing at this diner because the light is good, and the coffee is decent.

I can’t get my cookies-and-crème-ucino here, like I can at Drip, but there are far fewer distractions.

At least, there were. I’ve been accosted by half a dozen people so far.

Two girls from my Psych class freshman year strolled over to ask me if the rumors were true.

” I take a sip of coffee and wrap my hands around the mug.

“To which I nodded. I told them we’ve been dating for a few weeks now. ”

“Okay, what’s the problem? That’s pretty much what we agreed on last night, right? I know the mere idea of being my girlfriend sends you into hysterics, but we decided that until things die down, it makes the most sense to say that we’re together.”

Tapping my freshly-painted pale-pink fingernails on the tabletop, I give him my very favorite scowl, the one reserved just for him.

“For the record, I’ve never gone into hysterics in my life, not even as an infant.

And that wasn’t the rumor they were referring to,” I explain.

“They asked me if your dick is really as big as your forearm, and they were damn near salivating with excitement to hear my verdict.”

“My forearm ?” he says, choking around a mouthful of coffee.

“Damn. That’s a lotta pressure.” He looks down at his arm and I do the same.

It’s free of tattoos, covered in cuffed, worn plaid flannel, and roughly the size of someone’s thigh.

Ouch. Just picturing that appendage inside me has my eyes going wide.

Pete smiles broadly, his teeth a bright white contrast to the dark hair of his beard. “What was your answer?”

My own smile is wicked. “I said I’d never tell, but then I walked to the restroom like I was carrying a watermelon between my legs, so when the whole campus is buzzing about what you’re packing, you’ll know why.”

Pete guffaws, but I’m not done. “Five minutes after they left, another girl stopped by. Her nails were like talons, and I was a little nervous that she was going to reach out and steal my salted caramel muffin with her sharp claws, but she didn’t.

Instead, she asked me if I could put in a good word for her when things between the two of us fizzled. ”

“Woah,” Pete says, holding up his hands. “How does she know this thing between us isn’t gonna last forever?”

“That’s exactly what I said! Ok, my actual words might have been, ‘You can back off because he’s about to put a ring on this finger.’ And then I held up my middle finger, but the meaning is just about the same.”

He laughs again, and it’s entirely possible that I like being the cause. But that doesn’t mean anything. Who doesn’t love making people laugh?

“Alright, that’s three. Who else pissed you off on my behalf?”

I sigh, remembering. “Some guy stopped by to offer sage dating wisdom. He had a BU Baseball jacket on, and the name Toad was embroidered on the left breast. He told me not to get my hopes up because you’re way too nice of a guy to put up with my shit for very long.”

Pete’s friendly face turns lethal. “Toad said what?”

“It gets better,” I tell him. “He told me he’s not nearly as good a guy as you, and he gave me his number.”

“What a fucking asshole,” Pete mutters.

“Again, that’s the same thing I said to him. Great minds must think alike. As for the last two people who put me in a bad mood? They were friends of Toad, and they said the hockey team doesn’t have what it takes to win the national title this year. They said you guys would choke in the final.”

“What did you say to that?” Pete asks, genuinely curious.

Lifting my mug to my lips, I inhale deeply, breathing in the rich aroma.

“I told them the baseball team at BU hasn’t sniffed a national title since before we were all born, so they might want to spend a little more time on the field and a little less time heckling the team that’s brought notoriety to Bainbridge. Just sayin’. ”

Pete’s lips press together as he emits a low whistle. “You’re the best fake girlfriend a guy could ask for,” he says, keeping his voice low.

“You say the sweetest things,” I tease. Our server stops by our table long enough to replenish Pete’s drink and take our orders.

While I’m waiting for my veggie omelet, I flash an expectant look at my breakfast companion. “So, when should we call it quits?” I ask.

Pete winces and I realize that might have come off a bit harsh.

“We’ve got to stay together until the threat is gone,” he says, reaching for his laptop.

“And like Ollie said last night, we’ve gotta sell it.

He sent me a list of things to ask you, and he’s also got a whole bunch of stuff we can use to post on social media.

I compiled it all together.” Pete’s cued up a spreadsheet, but when he turns it around to face me, our server arrives with our breakfast. We start eating, and as I take my first bite, I read over the information on his screen.

“Like I said, there’s no set end date,” he says, stabbing a forkful of cheesy eggs. “But we should probably establish some ground rules. The first one is obviously the fake part. Ollie knows because his big mouth is what set all of this in motion. I’m guessing you told Holland?”

“She’s my best friend,” I say. “Of course, I did.”

“Same goes for Van and me, so it’s a given that Josie and Rosco also know by now, or they will later today. I trust them all implicitly, but that’s as big as the circle can get, in my opinion.”

“I agree. And we’re just saying that what started in Florida never really ended?”

My eyes find his, but there’s something unreadable there.

It looks like it might be regret and I wouldn’t be surprised to learn that he’s sorry he ever gave in to temptation in the first place.

What happened between us at the cabin was explosive, but I’m sure neither of us imagined we’d end up here.

“Yeah, that’s a believable story. Okay, what’s next?”

“Exclusivity,” I suggest.

“Yeah, that’s a given. I mean, who’s gonna believe we’re a couple if you’re talking to somebody else?”

“No worries there,” I say. “I threw away the napkin with Toad’s number on it.”

Pete’s brow furrows and I wonder if he’s genuinely upset that Toad was hitting on me, if that’s even what you’d call his awkward, borderline-creepy way of asking me out.

If I’m not mistaken, my former nemesis looks a little bashful before he starts talking again.

“Ollie said we need to be seen in public, and that we should look at each other’s class schedule to see if there’s any overlap.

He also thinks you should start coming to games and maybe even an open practice. ”

I nod. “I figured as much. Andy, my editor, already texted me this morning and said I’m covering your games for the rest of the season. It’s just his way of getting me to do an extra job without having to take anything off my plate, but like you said, it’ll sell this thing, so I’m fine with it.”

“You’re coming to all my games?” he asks, and I might be hallucinating, but he actually seems excited.

It’s funny. I’m not an overly friendly person.

I don’t make small talk unless I have to, and I’m perfectly content with my own company.

Holland wasn’t fazed by my prickly personality.

She regularly gifts me with cactus tchotchkes.

Pete seems just as unbothered by my blunt words and take-no-shit demeanor.

It’s almost like he’s charmed by my surliness.

And that can’t be true. It’s dangerous to even consider. He’s probably so damn sweet that he’s this freaking nice to everyone. Or maybe he sees me as a challenge. He’s a smart man, so maybe in his mind, I’m a puzzle he has to solve.

Fuck that.