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 temptationin 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.
“Okay…” he drawls. “I’ll take the look on your face as a no. You aren’t coming to all the team’s games because you have a list of people to murder, and your schedule is hectic as hell. Do I have that right?”
I brush imaginary crumbs from my fuzzy sweater before chewing, swallowing, and wiping my mouth. Damn him for being funny. Damn him for looking so good and smelling so yummy. “Aren’t hockey players notorious for smelling like the inside of a gym locker? Why don’t you stink?”
My abrupt subject change doesn’t make him flinch. Instead of playing the part of a sugary sweet, adoring girlfriend, I’m doubling down on the attitude. Dammit. He throws me off my game. It’s hard enough for me to be fake about anything, but it’s impossible around Pete Santos.
“Our hockey bags are pretty foul,” he admits. “But I like to go out in public, so I shower daily. Usually twice. I use soap every single time in every single place, and,” he says, his voice softening to a whisper like he’s telling me a secret, “I can’t take all the credit for smelling delicious. It’s mostly the beard oil.”
When he strokes his jaw and lets his fingers trail over his freshly trimmed beard, my inner thighs clench. Damn. This. Man. He is the burly, cinnamon-roll woodsman in every holiday romance I’ve ever binged, and he’s right in front of me. Practically mine for the taking. I mean, none of it would be real, but for the sake of the lie we’re telling, he’d probably let me feel him up.
“Anytime you want, Claire,” he says taking a sip of hiscoffee as I process the fact that I spoke those words out loud.
His smile is hungry, wolfish, and that makes the situation between my legs worse. He might be a flannel-covered golden retriever hero, but he’s not so sweet underneath. There’s an edge to Pete. It’s one I had a glimpse of back in Florida, and one I want more of.
“I’ll be at all your home games, and I’ll travel with the team some, too.” I tell him, proud of myself for sticking to the facts instead of leaping over this table and crawling into his lap to see if he’s half as affected by me as I am by him.
Judging from the heavy look in his eyes, I’d say yes.
I’m not sure if our mutual lust-fueled attraction makes this fake dating thing that much harder or that much easier, but I can’t ignore it. I can’t pretend like it’s not obvious.
“Good,” he says, clearing his throat and shifting in his seat. He pushes his empty plate aside and reaches for his laptop. “Since we need to be visible, we should do more stuff like this. What time do youeat lunch and dinner at the dining hall? I eat with the guys, but we can make it work. And once Van’s off his crutches, he and I are moving out of Gramma’s and into the Brain Trust.”
I blink in surprise. “You’re moving into my dorm?”
“Technically, it’s my dorm, too,” he says, and he’s right. The honors dorm, or the Brain Trust, as somebody coined it back in the day, is reserved for students in the honors track, many of whom are Legacy Scholars. “I could have lived there freshman year,” he explains, “but I chose the athletic dorm so I could room with Van. We met at training that summer and hit it off. Plus, if guys bond off the ice, they’ll gel better on it.”
