Pucking Revenge : A Fake dating, friends to lovers, hockey romance (The Revenge Games Book 2)

Gavin: Sara okay? She seemed off tonight.

Aiden: Sara’s perfect. She’s dating a Langfield. There’s nothing better.

Beckett: For once I agree with Aiden. But also, what Gavin said. It was hard for Liv when the media circus hit. Even though they’re trained for this, it’s a lot. Tell her Liv is here to talk if she needs anything.

I CAN’T HELP but gape at my text messages, my heart in my throat. My brothers are being…weird. Not Aiden. He’s being Aiden. Thank fuck. But the other two are way too fucking perceptive for my liking right now.

I pocket my phone because I have no idea how to respond. My mind is spiraling, and for now, I need to focus on channeling a calm I don’t feel. In about five minutes, Sara and I are going to have a very real conversation, and the last thing I want to do is lose it on her.

After dinner, when we got in the car and were finally alone, she wrung her hands in her lap and shifted so she was facing me. It was obvious she was collecting her thoughts, but I held up my hand, silently begging her to wait. I needed the fifteen-minute drive to decompress.

My time is up, though.

Outside her apartment door, she turns to me, though she keeps her attention fixed on the floor between us. “Do you want to come in?”

I got so used to touching her in the restaurant that it’s killing me not to now. It was all for show, and it was only a few hours, but now my fingers itch to pull her hair out of that ponytail. I ache to press her against the door, cup the side of her neck, and hold her in place while I kiss the stress right out of her.

She was sleeping with your goddamn uncle.

That thought is the bucket of ice water I so badly need to get my head on straight.

“Yeah.” I clear my throat. “We need to talk.”

She nods, and with the key in the lock, she lets us both in.

Walking into her space for the first time since the bomb dropped feels different. I peer into every corner, survey every inch of this place, with a new awareness. Are there pieces of him here? Did he sit in my spot on the couch? Did he kiss her up against the door the way I’ve fantasized of doing? Was he here living every moment I’ve ached to share with her while I sat alone in my apartment only a few floors below, completely oblivious to it all?

“He’s never been here.” She slips off her shoes and shuffles to the kitchen.

Damn, she’s so fucking perceptive. At least when she wants to be.

When she returns, she’s taken her hair down, and she’s carrying a bottle of peanut butter whiskey and two glasses. Holding them aloft, she smiles. It’s not her real smile. She’s nervous. And feeling guilty. I hate that, but I can’t erase her guilt. Can’t ease it either. There are still too many things to talk about before I know how to proceed with her.

She pads back in my direction. “Figure we might need this.”

A little lightness seeps into me then, because even when she does shots, they’re so her. Full of sugar and sweetness. This is Sara. She doesn’t have a devious bone in her body. She didn’t seduce my uncle knowing he was married. There’s no question about that. If there was even a hint of doubt in my mind, I wouldn’t be sitting here.

She sets the glasses on the coffee table and unscrews the cap from the bottle. Scooting to the edge of the couch, she pours the whiskey, but her hands shake so badly, the bourbon sloshes over onto the table.

I put my hand over hers, steadying it. “Let me.”

With a long sigh, she hands me the bottle, then slumps back against the couch. Her messy blond curls fall like a curtain around her face, hiding her eyes. The burgundy silk of her dress folds against her chest as she slides her legs beneath her and turns in my direction.

I hold out her shot, and when she takes it, the feel of her warm fingers against mine has me pulling away and throwing back my own shot quickly.

“How long?” The question escapes me as I’m refilling my glass.

“We’re diving right in, I see.” She’s zeroed in on her full shot glass, lips and hands trembling.

“Need to rip the Band-Aid off, Sar. Let’s get it all out now, and then we don’t have to talk about it again.”

Her eyes meet mine. “During the playoffs,” she breathes. “But I didn’t know he was married, Brooks. I swear to God, he told me he was divorced.”

With an elbow on one knee, I turn toward the dark window and take a deep breath. That motherfucker. “He married my aunt when I was five. I always thought I was so lucky to witness a love like theirs. To be his nephew.” The words are bitter and sharp as I release them, like shards of glass tearing at my lungs.

Beside me, Sara sniffles, garnering my attention. Her eyes are welling with tears again, and as they crest over her lashes, she swipes them away quickly.

I sit up straight and bat at her hand gently, using a thumb to wipe at the fat tear forming on her lash line before it can hit her skin again. Tender. Soft. “I’m sorry he lied to you.”

She shakes her head, and a sob breaks free of her chest. “Why are you apologizing? If I’d just talked to you, if I hadn’t listened to him and agreed to sneak around, I would have known the truth a long time ago.”

“Love makes people do stupid things,” I whisper.

Her lips twist at that word—love—but she doesn’t deny it, and another piece of my heart splinters.

I remove my hand from her face and run it through my hair, pushing away the pain so we can get through this.

“Why did you act like you were my boyfriend tonight? Why did you come to my rescue after you found out about what I’ve done? You must hate me.” Sara licks her lips and finally takes her shot, though she keeps those teary blue eyes trained on me as she does.

My elbows fall to my knees as I consider her question. Really think about it and try to recall what I was thinking. But the truth is, I wasn’t.

“I know you, Sara. You would never knowingly have an affair with a married man. But the truth is, I didn’t think before I acted. When I saw my uncle in your face, when I heard the way he was speaking to you, I reacted.” I take in a deep breath and tug my hair out of its tie. “Since I was a kid, my uncle has preached about what I need to do in order to be successful. I’ve always listened and worked hard to obey his every instruction. He was my idol. My entire life, I’ve done everything he’s told me to do.” Anger surges up inside me at the memory of his disapproving look at practice this morning. “He told me to stay away from you—that I should avoid relationships—but he never had my best interest in mind. He convinced me to stay away because he wanted you for himself. He took the fears I’ve held on to since childhood—the hurt that came every time my parents put work above me and my siblings—and he used them to keep me from being honest with you.”

She nods as a tear slides down her face. I don’t brush this one, though. I don’t trust myself to touch her when we’re both this raw.

“And what would you have told me if you were being honest?”

I close my eyes to steady myself. The alcohol is making me woozy. Now is not the time to admit to feelings I’m not sure still exist. When I open them again, I force myself to look at her. “Nothing.”

She winces, though she tries to cover it with a heavy breath. “So what happens tomorrow?”

I’m still lost in the flash of hurt that hit her at my words. “Hmm?”

“Will you tell your brothers it’s over? That you suffered from temporary insanity?” Her red-rimmed eyes go steely, wary. “I should probably start looking for another job.” She wrings her hands and slips her legs free.

Chest still aching, I frown. “What? Why? You did nothing wrong.”

She stands and paces to the kitchen, then turns back. “I can’t work with your uncle every day. Especially once he realizes you were just showboating. The two of you will get past this. He’s your family. I’m just—” Her voice cracks, and she swallows thickly. “I’m just the mistress.”

My world tilts at the way her voice breaks, and I’m moving again without thinking, pulling her into my chest and raking my fingers through her unruly hair. I grip it firmly and tilt her head so she’s forced to look at me. “You are not just anything. You’re not a goddamn mistress, or a dirty secret. You deserve to be paraded around. Celebrated. And that’s what we’re going to do.”

Breathless, she stares up at me. “What?”

“Let’s do this, Sar. Be my girlfriend. Let me show my uncle how you should be treated. Let me show everyone, including you, how you deserve to be treated.”

She lets out a bewildered laugh. “Brooks, I literally ended things with your uncle today. I’m not ready for another relationship.”

I throw up my shields before her words can touch my heart and scramble for a way to convince her to try this with me. “It wouldn’t be real. Just—let’s get a little revenge. Show him what it feels like.” I bend my knees so we’re eye to eye and capture her attention. “Would it be so awful to have to pretend to be mine?”

Sara’s eyes soften, and her palm finds my cheek. I hate how I want to lean into it. “No, it wouldn’t. Not at all, Brooks. But I don’t deserve it.”

There goes my heart again, aching for her. How can she believe that about herself? “Maybe you don’t think you do,” I argue, “but don’t I deserve it? Please, I need this. I need…” I blow out a breath and press my forehead to hers like I did at the restaurant. “He needs to pay. I can’t tell my aunt what he did. The last thing I want to do is hurt her. But…he can’t just get away with this.” My words sound as desperate as I feel, but I’m not above begging when it comes to Sara. “Do it for me, Pumpkin.”

A puff of a laugh escapes her. “That nickname, Brooks.”

My heart lifts just a little, enough that I find myself grinning. “Like it? Honestly, it just slipped out. I can try other names. Sugar? Sweetie pie?”

She smiles up at me, the first one I’ve seen from her since Seb stepped into the restaurant earlier, and she loops her arms around my waist, melting against my chest. “You really want me to be your fake girlfriend?”

No, I want her to be my real everything, but I can’t exactly say that. “Yes.”

She pulls back and studies me, her brows pulled low. “How would it work exactly? I work for the team. Won’t that cause complications?”

“Like my brothers said, it’s fine.” I brush a strand of hair from her forehead. “If it involves us, Liv will handle it. But you know me. You haven’t had to handle a single scandal for me yet.”

“That’s because you’re Good-Boy Brooks. What you’re talking about doing now is very un-good-boy behavior.”

With a low growl, I haul her to me again. “Good. Then maybe you’ll stop with that fucking nickname.”

She laughs and pinches my side. “Aw, you want a new nickname, Brookie?”

In retaliation, I tickle her stomach.

She loses it, practically going limp and tumbling toward the ground, but I catch her.

“Keep it up, and I’ll show you how very bad I can be.” Holding her tight, I go for her stomach again.

Sara sucks in a breath and grasps my hand before I can tickle her. She looks up at me and bats her lashes in a way that practically makes me melt. Then she pops up on her toes and whispers, “First you’ll have to catch me.” Then she pushes off me and rushes to the other side of the room.

A warmth spreads through me as she bounces around on her toes, watching me like she’s trying to predict which way I’ll go, her blond curls dancing with every move. The cranberry silk of her dress strains against her curves in the most perfect way as she shifts from foot to foot. God, she’s gorgeous. And she’s finally fucking smiling. Really smiling.

“You really want to play?” I taunt, taking one step closer.

She stands still and taps her finger against her chin. “Hmm, yup!” Then she scurries around the couch, headed toward her bedroom, but I’ve got longer legs and a determination to win.

Once I’ve got both hands on her waist, I lift her off the ground and pull her to me. The way her legs continue to move even as her ass is glued to my hips pulls a bark of laughter from me.

“Nice try, Pumpkin. Now give me a new nickname, or we’ll be doing this all night.”

With a groan, she drops her head back against my chest. “You gotta give me more time to think.”

Her proximity, the feel of her in my arms, her body pressed against mine, momentarily steals all my sanity, and I find myself dipping in close and sliding my nose up the curve of her neck, inhaling her sugary-sweet scent.

The softest sound escapes her throat, barely a moan. It’s not a sound I’m familiar with, and I’m dying to hear it again. So I do it a second time, then nip at the bare skin of her shoulder.

“You have until tomorrow.” I release her and take two big steps back. If I don’t get out of her apartment, I’ll do something I can’t come back from. Like pin her against the wall and taste other parts of her.

Sara spins, her jaw unhinged. “You’re leaving?”

I swallow past the lump in my throat and give her one subtle nod.

“Okay,” she says, drawing out the word. “So we’re dating?” Her voice is low, unsure.

“Yup.”

She tilts her head and pulls that bottom lip between her teeth. “For how long?”

I keep walking backward until I hit the door. “Till my uncle quits.”

“What?” She presses a palm to her chest. “He’s never going to quit.”

“He will if we play this right. I saw how he looked at you.” I take a deep breath and ignore the ache in my chest. “You weren’t just a fling for him.”

I hate to admit it, but there’s no way he didn’t have real feelings for her. How could he not care about her? She’s perfect. And as much as it hurts, I have to believe he did. Because if he cheated on my aunt with a woman he didn’t really care about, just because he could, well, there’s no way I can reconcile that with the person I thought he was. But if he did it because he fell for Sara? I still can’t condone it or even forgive him, but I can understand it.

At least a little.

“What about you?” she asks, crossing her arms over her chest and lifting her chin, suddenly bolder than she’s been all evening.

I lean against the door and grasp the knob. “What about me?”

“The girl you told me about. Won’t this be a problem for her?”

This fucking girl. God. “I don’t date during hockey, Sar.”

She nods. “Right. But you said⁠—”

“You’re my only girl.” I pull up to my full height and shut her down. “Stop worrying. The only thing you should be concerned about tonight is what you’ll be calling me when you fake scream my name.”

She throws her head back and laughs. “God, with a mouth like that, I should start calling you dirty boy.”

I wink and pull the door open. “Now we’re talking. Night, Pumpkin.”

“Night, Brooks.”