“What do you want, Aeris?” Hayes teases, stroking his hand up my stomach, lingering just below my tits. The bass of his voice throws accelerant on the fire of lust blazing through me.
“I—”
I’m interrupted by the blaring ring of Hayes’ phone.
He lets it go for a few rings, then picks it up with a soft groan, disengaging himself from our entanglement.
I fight off a frown, willing the warmth in my groin to subside.
Holy shit. Why did I let him kiss me? This is going to end badly, I just know it. My number one rule is to never let anyone in. And what’s the first thing I do? I let someone in.
Hayes looks agitated as he listens to the voice on the other side of the speaker, and his reply is brusque. “Okay, I’m on my way.”
Once he hangs up, regret simmers in his eyes. “I’m sorry. I have to get to pr—I have to go.”
I gnash my teeth together. “It’s okay. I appreciate you making breakfast,” I tell him.
“Do you have your phone on you?”
I slip the device from the back pocket of my sweatpants, unlocking it and handing it to him.
His fingers work at lightning speed, and when he hands it back to me, his contact information is broadcasted across the screen. “Call me, okay?”
The corners of my mouth hook up into a smile. “Okay.”
His lips make one last pass at my cheek, and then he’s out the door, headed to God knows where. I don’t know if I’ll see him again. When people leave, they usually don’t come back. That’s something I’ve come to accept—that people will leave no matter how hard you beg them to stay.
HOCKEY? I HARDLY KNOW HER
HAYES
I try my best to ignore the warning signs of a colossal headache, but pain has already claimed its home behind my eyes. Anger is a quick-acting agent inside of me, and it short-circuits every nerve inside of my body.
My game is off today, and Coach can tell. I hadn’t realized how much time had passed during breakfast. This was the first practice I’ve ever been late for.
“Hollings, what the hell is going on with you?” Coach barks, his tone laden with aggravation.
Coach takes pride in his hockey team. His real name is John Labanowski. He was a center for the Tennessee Chasers, but he had to retire after he suffered an injury to his ACL during his sixth season in the NHL. Coach was good, probably one of the best players the Tennessee Chasers had ever seen. He was a big inspiration for me when I got into hockey.
I take my mouthguard out, skating to a halt. “I’m sorry, Coach.”
He crooks a finger, beckoning me over. Fuck.
My thumb runs over the bitten stubs of my fingernails, my knuckles losing more and more color as frustration furrows my brow.
“Please tell me your late night consisted of you finding a way to solve this hiccup with Talavera’s daughter.”
“It actually did.”
Coach’s hands form a steeple underneath his whiskery chin. “I don’t need to know the details, son, but I’m assuming your agent has already debriefed you on what to do?”
“We had a…rather long conversation about it,” I admit sheepishly.
“Look, I’m glad the team will start getting some good press, but the game is tomorrow, and by the looks of it, you’re not playing anywhere near your full potential,” he carps, and his voice slices into me like the snap of a hundred violin strings in an empty auditorium. “I get you have a life outside of hockey, but hockey should be your main focus. You know that. I’ve been patient with you, lenient. This is a privilege.”
He’s right. This is a privilege. I’m lucky to be here, and I have to convince the hockey world that I belong on the Reapers. I worked my ass off to get here. I can’t let some bad press deter me. I need to think about my reputation. If I want a long-standing career in the NHL, I’m going have to rebrand my image, just like Bristol told me.
I need to convince Aeris to be in a relationship with me. She’s my ticket to keeping my spot on the Reapers. She’s my ticket to gaining back my respect. But if I’m going to keep hockey at the forefront of my mind, I can’t get wrapped up in some pesky feelings for her.
“You’ve got my focus. I promise.”
Coach has been like a father figure to me, and all I want to do is make him and my team proud. Everyone on the Reapers is taking a chance on me, despite the bad publicity I’ve brought them. This is my life. This is all that matters.
His eyes scrutinize me, and I feel like I’m a specimen under his microscope. “I’ll believe it when I see it. I have no problem demoting you to fourth line, do you hear me? Not second, not third, fourth. If you’re gonna play like an amateur, I’ll make sure your playing time gets cut in half.”
“Understood, Coach,” I reply, the cavorting of my heart the only medium keeping me alert.
Determination feeds every step when I skate back onto the ice. Coach has us go through a series of shooting, passing, and defensive drills before calling practice.
Bristol sidles up to me, bumping his hip against mine. “Dude, the fans are going crazy,” he tells me, his speech slightly impaired by the hindrance of his mouth guard.
I cant my head, confused. “About?”
Bristol’s lips gather into a proud grin, and he whacks my helmet with his glove. “The girl you were spotted with last night.”
My jelly-like joints feel like they’ve just experienced a ten-story drop. Not even my skates can keep my knees from buckling. “Pictures are already out?”
“Not just out—trending. And not just pictures. I’ve seen some pretty intricate fan cams. My Instagram feed is full of your annoyingly attractive face.”
I skate over to the sidelines, picking up my water bottle and squirting water into my mouth, then dousing the rest of it over my face. Cold liquid ribbons down my neck and over the shelf of my collarbone. I need to cool down.
“I guess that’s good. The plan working, I mean.”
“It’s better than good, H. You looked genuinely happy talking to her.” Bristol takes his helmet off and shakes his sweat-drenched locks. “Are you going to tell her?”
My tongue plays along the bottom of my lip. “Tell her?”
“That you need to fake date her?” Bristol follows up, an imperceptible tic to his jaw.
I prop my chin on the end of my stick, letting it take a bit of my weight. “I mean, yeah, that’s the plan,” I disclose, but his uncertainty sets a flutter in my gut, like a loose cannon of confetti has gone off inside me.
“I wouldn’t do that,” a voice pipes up from behind me. It’s Kit.
“Why not?” I ask.
“It won’t be believable. People can sniff out a fake relationship from miles away, especially hockey fans. If they find out you’re putting on a show to get in their good graces, they’re going to have even more of a reason to hate you,” he explains matter-of-factly, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “If she knows, it might influence how authentic her actions are.”
My confidence gutters. “Shit.”
I didn’t think I was gonna have to lie to her about it. I don’t know if I can. Aeris is a good person. She doesn’t deserve to be lied to. She’s already suffered through so much, and the last thing I’d want to do is add to her suffering. But then again, if I don’t switch this narrative around soon, I can say goodbye to my life with the Reapers when I get traded.