Fake Shot (Boston Rebels Book 2)

“Oh, no he didn’t!” I say as I spin in my seat toward my sister, clutching my phone in my hand. On the ice several rows in front of us, the players are already warming up.

“What happened?” Audrey asks as she hands a big container of popcorn to Graham.

“He had me added to the WAG group chat.”

Audrey bursts out laughing so loud that everyone near us turns to look at her. She fishes her phone out of her pocket, scrolls up a bit to find the right text thread, and then her shoulders shake with laughter again. “Ladies, let’s welcome Colt’s fiancée, Jules, to the chat. Most of you already know her, since she’s Audrey’s sister and Drew’s future sister-in-law,” she reads the latest text from Patrick Walsh’s wife, Marissa.

From what I hear, Walsh—or Walshy as his teammates call him—is the most happily married guy in the NHL, and Marissa serves as the “head WAG” since the team captain, Ronan McCabe, isn’t married.

Not that I’d ever let someone get close enough to me that I’d get married, but if I ever found a guy who worshiped me the way Walsh worships Marissa . . . maybe I’d consider it. Someone with that level of open adoration and an anything-to-please-my-partner attitude might even convince me to trust again. But where do you even find a guy like that?

My eyes track over to Colt, where he’s standing behind the goal, getting his water bottle set up. Behind him, girls holding signs with his name and clever sayings bang on the glass, trying to get his attention.

Not there, that’s for sure.

But when he glances up at me and finds me staring at him, he skates over to the glass in front of us and motions for me. I roll my eyes at him, but don’t dare refuse because I’m sure plenty of fans who are here early for warm-ups are watching this interaction.

Since photos and videos of us golfing together the other night started circulating all over social media, there’s been even more interest in our relationship. Luckily, it’s only the fans who seem to be paying much attention and they’ve been largely positive—they’re surprised, but supportive. People’s comments about the videos of us at the driving range together, especially when I hit my first ball and Colt picked me up and swung me around in celebration, focused on how “wholesome” we seemed.

And aside from a quick mention in our local Boston paper, there hasn’t really been any other coverage of our relationship, thankfully.

I take the steps down to the glass, and when I get there, Colt gives me a cocky grin as he circles his pointer finger in the air, indicating that he wants me to turn around. I sigh. I swore I’d never wear a player’s jersey, and yet here I am with COLTIER written across my back.

I had just walked in the door from work this afternoon—sweaty and covered in a thick layer of construction dust—when he’d come downstairs, clearly on his way to the arena for the game.

The perfectly tailored navy-blue suit, with that sexy purple tie, had him oozing so much sex appeal that I’d momentarily lost my mind and agreed to wear the jersey he handed me. Once I realized what I’d done, I’d added, “One time only, to keep up appearances.”

He’d just winked at me and said, “Sure, just this once.” And then he’d headed out the door, leaving me to shower and get ready quickly so I could meet Audrey and Graham.

But now, as I sweep my hair over my shoulder and turn around so he can see his name on my back, I wish I’d left the jersey at home. He’d have survived, but I might not survive this.

Because in the stands above me, I can hear people cooing and murmuring, and I know they’re talking about us even while I refuse to look up and check. They’re taking pictures of this moment, which is exactly why he called me down here.

It’s an important distinction that I need to remember: this isn’t about him seeing me with his name on my back, this is about us performing for an audience so they’ll believe that our engagement is real.

As I turn back toward him, I hope my face isn’t bright red from embarrassment.

“You look good in my jersey, Tink,” he says. It’s loud enough for me to hear him through the thick plexiglass, but he’s not yelling it for everyone to hear.

“So . . . WAG group chat?” I mouth the words as I hold up my phone against the glass, allowing him to see Marissa’s text and all the “Welcome, Jules!” messages below.

He just gives me that devilish smile. “Good, you belong there.”

If we were really engaged, sure, I’d belong in that chat. But knowing this is all going to be over at the end of the season, I don’t understand why he asked to have me added. But I can’t ask him right now because he’s skating backward and calls out, “Meet me in the Family Room after the game.”

When we close in on the end of the first period, the Rebels are up by one, thanks to a goal Drew scored on a power play. And that’s when Jameson and Lauren finally slide into the seats next to us, Lauren asking, “What did we miss?”

“Where have you been?” Audrey asks.

“Babysitter issues,” Jameson says, but Lauren’s cheeks grow pink.

“I thought Morgan was watching the girls?” I say.

“She is, but the T broke down on the way out to our place, so then she had to get an Uber, along with everyone else who’d just gotten off the train.”

“Why didn’t you just go pick her up?” Audrey asks, and Lauren’s cheeks get even pinker. Ohhhhh.

While Jameson says something about missing her call, I chuckle to myself, and Lauren elbows me and leans in, whispering, “Don’t be a jerk or I’ll start talking about Colt.” That has the laughter dying in my throat.

When the period ends, AJ appears at the aisle and insists Jameson slide over so she can sit next to Lauren. I love the way she just comes up like a total boss and tells my brother what to do. Most people are intimidated by him, but I’m pretty sure nothing scares this woman.

She asks me for more details about the mentoring program, and as I explain how it works, she sighs and says, “God, I wish we had something like that in the league. Being a woman in this sport is tough, and I could have used a good mentor when I was starting out.”

“Is that why you’ve been such a good mentor to me?” Lauren asks.

“I haven’t mentored you,” AJ says, looking over at Lauren like she’s just said something patently wrong. Lauren works in marketing for the Rebels, and while AJ isn’t technically her boss, she seems like she has her fingers on the pulse of all parts of the operation, whether related to the players or the business aspect of the organization.

“Of course you have. Starting that day, you offered to bring a shovel if I needed to bury a body,” Lauren says, and I haven’t heard that story before, but I can guess it happened when Lauren found out the truth about her late husband. “And then you started inviting me to lunch, where you gave me all kinds of tips about how to survive in this male-dominated industry, and then Patrick got promoted, and I got his job as the head of marketing after only being here for, like, six months. You think I don’t know you were behind that?”

“Good talent needs to be cultivated and rewarded,” AJ says with a shrug.

“That’s how it feels in construction, too,” I say. “It’s why I only hire women⁠—”

“That’s so badass.” AJ meets my eyes with a bright smile. “I love that. In fact, I love it so much I might want to hire you.”

I’m about to tell her that I don’t work for friends, when I realize that she’s not a friend. But she sure feels like a kindred spirit.

“You totally should,” Lauren says. “Jules and Audrey did my whole house when I first moved back, and it couldn’t have come out better.”

I think back to the winter before last, when Jameson had us secretly remodel the entire upstairs of Lauren’s house before she moved in, then refused to take any credit for it. His feelings for her were so obvious to everyone except Lauren—but then again, she didn’t know the extent of the sacrifices he’d made for her until much later.

“I’ll keep that in mind, because I just bought a new place and I think it’s going to need some work. But I want to live in it for a bit first, and make sure that what I’m envisioning actually makes sense for the space.”

“That’s really smart,” Audrey says. “I wish more people would do that. Most people think they know what they want, and they don’t want to live through renovations, so they do them before moving in. But you wouldn’t believe the number of people who want us to come back and change things once they’ve lived with them for a while.”

The lights start flashing and AJ jumps up. “I have to run. Enjoy the rest of the game.”

I’m standing with Audrey, who’s got a sleepy Graham wrapped around her, in the Family Room. I’ve rarely been in here, since it’s a space reserved only for players’ families. Once or twice, I’ve come with Audrey post-game if it’s not too late and she hasn’t had to take Graham home to put him to bed. Tonight, he’s half-asleep with his head on her shoulder, but I think she’s hanging around just so I don’t have to wait for Colt by myself.

Not that we’ve been standing here alone—there has been a parade of wives and girlfriends coming up to chat with us, some who I already know and some who are introducing themselves to me for the first time. But it would be a lot less comfortable if I didn’t have my sister by my side. That’s kind of how my life has been, Audrey always by my side, until recently.

I’m getting tired and wishing I’d just gone home, when Colt finally walks through the door. He’s one of the first players into the room, which is highly unusual for a goalie, and he beelines straight toward me, wrapping me in his arms and giving me a full-body hug. I’m caught off-guard, as the only time he’s ever hugged me before was the morning in Vegas after I almost wrecked my whole life.

I relax in his arms when I realize this is just for show. The Rebels had a tough game tonight, with Florida scoring in the last seconds of the game from a rebound off Colt’s pads that their left winger was able to sneak into the goal from behind him. And, of course, a goalie who lost the game like that would want a hug from his fiancée, so he’s giving his teammates’ families exactly what they expect to see.

When he releases me and steps back, he tells Audrey, “Drew got off the bike a few minutes ago. He’s showering and he wanted me to tell you that he’ll be out in a minute.”

“Okay, thanks,” Audrey says, as Colt peeks around behind her and smooths his huge hand over Graham’s head.

“He’s completely out,” he chuckles.

“Yeah, I can tell,” she says. “He’s dead weight.”

“I’ll take him for you,” Colt offers.

“I don’t want to keep you if you guys want to go. Drew will be along in a few minutes.”

“We’re going to meet up with some of my teammates for a while,” Colt tells her, quickly glancing at me, “so we’ll stay until they get out here.”

“I’m sorry, what?” I agreed to go to tomorrow night’s charity event with him, and I told him I’d meet him in the Family Room tonight. I never agreed to go hang out with his teammates. And what is he even thinking? The more time we spend together, especially around his teammates, the harder it will be to make this an amicable split at the end.

He turns away from Audrey and takes two steps over so that he’s standing inches in front of me. Putting his hands on my hips, he pulls me even closer as he leans down and says, “Be nice. That was a tough loss, and I could really use a win tonight.”

“A win?” My voice is all kinds of doubtful.

“Yeah, you know, like a night where you go along with this without acting like you hate me.”

“What makes you think I’m acting?” I don’t hate Colt, but I hate what being around him still does to me. I hate how it brings back memories of feelings I thought were long buried, and I hate how worried I am that it will bring back the feelings themselves. So I do what I always do when it comes to Colt—I push him away.

I feel his laughter as his chest shakes, and his voice is a low rumble when he says, “I think you wish you hated me, Tink.”

Heat floods my body in a way that has me wanting to turn and run out the door, getting as far from him as possible. When did hearing him use my childhood nickname become a turn-on, instead of something that pissed me off?

I need to tamp my body’s response to him as far down as possible. So I look up, stepping back as I say, “I think you wish I was better at hiding the way I hate you.”

Drew comes up behind us right then, and with a low chuckle, says, “You two need to get better at the pretending part of this. You’re lucky that it was me right behind you.” He kisses Audrey’s forehead and takes Graham out of her arms. “You kids have fun at the Neon Cactus tonight. We’re going home.”

“I’ll bet you are,” Colt says, wiggling his eyebrows like a lunatic. “I’m sure you have some adrenaline to burn off.”

“At least I’ve got a way to burn it off.” He wraps his arm around Audrey after she smacks his arm, then leads her out of the room like he can’t wait to get her home.

Everyone I know is getting laid tonight . . . except me.