by Kendall Ryan
“What can I order for you, Sara?” David asks. “The firm is paying tonight.”
“Actually, I think I need to head out.” I shift awkwardly out of my seat, feeling the color draining from my face. “I just remembered there’s a client who was expecting a call from me today who I forgot to touch base with.” I note the disappointment in David’s eyes, so I offer a bit of damage control. “The client always comes first. That was one of the first things you said to me when I interned for you, remember?”
David’s look of disappointment fades into a proud smile. “Of course, how could I forget? I admire your work ethic, Sara. That’s exactly what I look for in a potential partner.”
“I always do my best,” I squeak in the most chipper voice I can muster.
But when it comes to stopping whoever is behind this anonymous email, I don’t know if my best will be good enough.
5
* * *
Pink Is My New Favorite Color
Teddy
Damn.
That’s my first thought when I spot Sara stepping off the elevator and into the wide marble hallway of the Ice Hawks’ headquarters. She’s dressed in a black pencil skirt and a cream-colored silk blouse that fits perfectly over her curves, and her dark hair falls in neat waves to the top of her shoulders. But it’s her lips that leave me feeling a little weak. They’re painted a bright berry-pink color, and holy shit, do I want to kiss her right now.
What the hell is wrong with me? Reel it in, dude.
Those gorgeous full lips lift in a polite smile when she gets close. “Teddy,” she murmurs, tipping her head. “Sorry I’m late.”
I glance down at my watch. “You’re not.”
She huffs out a sigh, waving her hand. “By two minutes. But parking was hell.”
“Yeah, sorry about that. I should have warned you. It’s the lunchtime rush from all the nearby offices.”
She nods. “Shall we do this thing?”
I swallow, fighting to regain my composure, and usher her toward the conference room at the far end of the hall where the meeting awaits. Her black heels click along beside me, and I steal another quick glance at her.
When we enter the small conference room with its glass table and six leather chairs, LaShonda stands and offers her hand to Sara.
“LaShonda Brown, head of public relations for the Ice Hawks.” Her smile is guarded, even if her demeanor is friendly.
“Sara Dawson of Carroll and Associates. It’s very nice to meet you.”
LaShonda nods as we take our seats. “I wish it were under better circumstances, but yes.”
When I first went to the head of PR, I was nervous and more than a little hesitant to come clean about the crisis I was facing. But from the first words out of LaShonda’s mouth, I knew I’d done the right thing. She’s tough and smart, and I truly believe her number one goal is looking out for the players. Plus, I haven’t received a nasty phone call from the coach or GM, so I believe she’s held up her end of the bargain not to tell anyone—at least not yet—and now we just need to convince her to keep it that way.
“I trust that Teddy brought you up to speed on what he’s facing?” Sara asks.
“I’ll be honest with you here, Sara.” LaShonda leans forward and folds her hands on the table in front of her. “I advised Mr. King that it would be better to have one of the team’s lawyers handle this.”
Sara nods. “I’m aware of that. And I think that was very astute of you. But I can assure you, I’m fully prepared to do whatever it takes to get the best possible outcome in this case.”
I steal another glance in Sara’s direction and find it hard to look away. She’s not intimidated in the slightest, even though this woman just told her, essentially, she doesn’t want her here.
And, Jesus, that lipstick. That goddamn pink lipstick—it’s killing me. If I kissed her, I’d get it all over me. So, why does the idea of that excite me so much?
LaShonda turns toward me, frowning. “Teddy, I’m going to be blunt here. I’ve kept this quiet because you asked me to, and I respect you. I know you want to handle this with your own attorney, but I can’t advise that. We need to loop in the team’s lawyers and team management. We need to—”
“I’m the other person in the video,” Sara says, her voice stern.
LaShonda’s gaze swings to Sara and her lips part. She looks as surprised as I feel.
Sara didn’t want anyone else knowing. There’s no reason for her to out herself—except for the fact she’s obviously fighting hard to take on this case. Fighting hard for me.
LaShonda clears her throat. “You’re . . .” She looks between us, studying us as though she’s working out the details of our past escapade in her head.
Yeah, lady. It happened. Sorry, not sorry.
Sara nods. “Yes. So you can see why I’d have a vested interest in ensuring this video never gets released. Not some overpaid team attorney who punches in at eight and is gone by five. This is my life.”
I give Sara a sympathetic look, but she doesn’t meet my eyes.
LaShonda taps her pen on the edge of the table, still thinking. “Well, that certainly does change things. I’m willing to work with you here, willing to play by your rules, if you’ll do something for me. Something that I think will help.”
I lean closer. “What’s that?”
LaShonda chooses her next words carefully, straightening her shoulders. “Revenge porn is a thing, Teddy, and whoever has it out for you now has this video as leverage. I’m sorry to tell you that it will most likely get out one way or another. The publicist in me wants to spin this.”
Spin it how?
“Just say it,” I tell her, my stomach suddenly filling with nervous energy. “Sara can be my lawyer if we agree to . . . what?”
“You two agree to start dating, to pretend to be in a committed relationship for the sake of the media. And that way, if and when this thing does get out, you’re not some wild, reckless playboy filming hookups, which would probably result in your sponsorships drying up faster than you can slap a puck into a net. Instead, you’re in a committed, mature relationship with a woman, and some creep released a video of you two. It makes for a much better spin, what with your privacy being violated and all that.”
“My privacy has been violated,” I say sternly.
LaShonda holds up her hands. “I know that. I’m just giving you my honest opinion here. This would create the least amount of stir amongst your sponsors, your team, and the public.”
And probably piss off my coach less. She’s right. Shit, this is crazy.
“I’ll do it,” I say firmly. Sara has gone pale beside me, and I reach over and give her hand a squeeze. “Sara?”
“I—I’ll think about it. I need to get back to the office. Excuse me.” She stands and rushes for the door.
What the hell?
Grabbing her briefcase from the floor, I follow her into the hall and lightly grip her elbow to stop her from trying to flee. “Wait.”
Sara spins around to face me. She’s still pale, but her blue eyes are bright as they blaze on mine. “Thanks.” She takes the briefcase from my hands and holds it in front of her like a shield.
“Say something. Please.”
She swallows, those distracting pink lips pressing together in a line as she does. “This is crazy.”
“So? We can handle a little crazy, can’t we?”
She inhales deeply and lets it out slowly. “I really do have another meeting to get to.”
I nod. “Think about it. That’s all I’m asking.”
“I will.”
Taking a step back, I shove both hands into my pockets. “I’ll call you later. We can work out the details.”
Without so much as a nod, Sara turns again, this time for the elevators, and rushes off.
Is the idea of fake-dating me really that awful?
• • •
“You have any bread?” I ask, riffling through my grandfather’s fridge
. I pull out a package of lunch meat and give it a sniff. Seems all right.
“I think so,” he says. “Third cupboard over.” He watches while I locate the loaf of bread and make myself a quick sandwich. “You’re going to ruin your dinner.”
I laugh. Twenty-eight years old, and he still treats me like a little kid.
I hopped on a flight to Denver this afternoon to spend the evening with my grandpa Joe. I don’t see him nearly enough anymore, and that weighs on me, especially since he got diagnosed with dementia a few months ago. Grandpa Joe is the one who stepped up and raised me when my parents were struck and killed by a drunk driver when I was four years old, so there’s nothing I won’t do for him.
“I won’t,” I say. “I’m starving, and I want to go fix the mailbox before it gets dark. It’s leaning pretty bad.”
He nods. “Yeah, it’s been like that for a month. Bad windstorm did that.”
A month? I’m surprised they’re still delivering his mail into the thing and not making him drive to the post office to retrieve it. The box has nearly fallen over.
“I’ll get it straightened out, and then I’ll make us dinner. Cool?”
“Whatever you say.” He nods.
I’ll barely be here for twenty-four hours, but it’ll be just enough time to do a couple of chores for him around the house and drive him to his doctor’s appointment in the morning. Maybe I can take him out to his favorite diner for pancakes before I have to head back to the airport.
My desire for more time with him is driving all my decision-making lately. I’m starting to recognize the fact that he won’t be around forever.
And as a free agent, I’m not committed to Seattle next year. I’ve heard that Denver is looking at me for a possible trade. Moving to the Colorado team would mean I’d be closer to my grandpa and could watch over him and take care of him more easily. Of course, Grandpa Joe is resistant to this plan, mostly because he doesn’t want to inconvenience me.
How could it be an inconvenience to look after the man who set aside his entire retirement to raise a four-year-old? And he didn’t just look after me, but made sure I had the best of everything. He got a part-time job at the factory in town to pay for my hockey equipment when I showed an interest, and drove me to five a.m. ice time six days a week. When I was twelve, he let me join the travel league and went with me to every away game. He went above and beyond, and I should too. Anyway, it weighs on me a lot.
I finish my sandwich while Grandpa flips through that morning’s newspaper. I didn’t even know they still print the damn things. It’s obvious he already read it this morning—the pages are crinkled and there’s a coffee stain on one edge.
“I’m going to go fix your mailbox. Tools still in the garage?” I ask, standing and placing my plate in the sink.
He nods, rising too. “I’ll keep you company.”
That night, after the mailbox was fixed, a hornets’ nest removed from his back porch, and steaks were grilled and eaten, Grandpa fell asleep in his recliner in the living room. I helped him to bed and then turned off the documentary we were watching on honeybees. Fascinating little things. I couldn’t help but draw a comparison between their queen and Sara—she was tough as nails in today’s meetings, even if she did get spooked at the end.
Now I’ve stripped down to a pair of boxers and am lying in bed across the hall. It’s dark except for the glow of my phone. I told Sara I’d call her later, but I opt for a text, since I’m not sure if my voice carrying across the hall would wake my grandfather.
I shoot off a message to her. Hey, babe.
Babe??
I chuckle and keep typing. Yeah. We’re practically dating now. Didn’t you hear?
I smile to myself at that last remark, but it fades as soon as my phone starts ringing.
She’s calling me.
“Hey,” I whisper.
“Hey.” For a second I think she’s about to rip into me for calling her babe, just like she did about the sexual innuendos I made in my apartment. “Where are you? Why are you whispering?”
“I’m in Denver.”
She pauses for a minute. “But there’s not a game tonight. And the day after tomorrow, you’re playing here.”
I didn’t know she follows my schedule that closely. Then again, most of Seattle does, so maybe I shouldn’t read anything into it.
I shift on the narrow bed, propping another pillow under my head. “I came here to check on my grandpa. He’s asleep across the hall.”
She makes a humming sound. “I forgot, you grew up there, didn’t you?”
“Yeah. Well, mostly. I moved here after my parents died. I was born in Wisconsin.”
It’s not a piece of information I’ve given her before, and Sara takes her time processing it. She knows I was raised by my grandfather, but I’ve never told her the reason why.
“How old were you?”
“Little. I was four.”
“God, I’m sorry. What the hell is wrong with me? Here you are facing one horrible situation, and now I’m probing you with questions on something even worse. I’m sorry. Let’s change the subject.”
“No, it’s okay. Honestly, I’m happy you called.”
“You are?” she asks, her voice lifting.
“Yeah. You distract me.”
“In a good way?”
“In a good way.” My thoughts flash to earlier—to that pink lipstick that I wanted to mess up, that I wouldn’t have minded getting all over me—and my breath quickens.
The line goes quiet for a moment, and I wonder if she’s thinking about what LaShonda said earlier like I am.
“So, are you going to fake-date me or what?”
Sara chuckles, and I can picture her smile. “I don’t know. Are you going to be a good fake boyfriend?”
“Oh, I’m the best there is.”
She laughs again. “Let’s talk about it when you get back, okay?”
“Yes, dear,” I murmur.
After we say good night, I lie awake for a long time thinking about Sara, and then about my grandpa. I’m normally a pretty easygoing guy and not much gets me stressed, but this situation with his health does. I just wish there was an easy answer, and there’s not. It’s so hard watching the person you love most in this world slowly fade away, which I fear is exactly what’s going to happen. At least Sara distracted me for a bit.
Man, my life has turned into a shit show. Let’s hope it gets better before it gets worse.
6
* * *
Missed Opportunities
Teddy
“Hey, dumbass! I’m open.”
Asher glares at me, banging his stick repeatedly on the ice to catch my attention. I fling the puck his way but it goes wide, and he lets out an unhappy grunt as it whizzes past him, straight into the corner.
We’re playing a scrimmage game, and my focus has been absolute shit today. I can’t complete a pass to save my life. I haven’t even scored once yet, which is saying something, because the only thing standing between me and that net is our rookie backup goalie, Morgan. He’s good, but he’s nowhere near as solid as Owen. I should have a couple on net by now. Asher definitely would have sank one in if I’d fed it to him in time.
I try to tell myself I’m off my game because of the quick midweek travel I did to Denver, but I know that’s not it. If I’m being honest, I’m still bothered by how quickly Sara shot down the idea of pretending to date me like it was the worst thing in the world. It stings more than it should.
When the scrimmage finally ends, I hobble down the tunnel toward the dressing room and strip out of my skates, jersey, and pads. After a quick shower, I find Owen, Justin, and Asher in the dressing room discussing something in hushed tones. I quickly dress and slip my feet into my tennis shoes before joining their huddle.
“What’s up?” I ask, more than a little curious about what has them whispering. If we’re plotting more hazing on the rookies, then I totally want in on that action.
O
wen has a huge smile on his face. Justin gives him a playful shove, which only makes Owen grin wider.
“Will someone please tell me what the hell is going on here?”
Justin clears his throat. “Owen is going to propose to Becca.”
My stomach tightens as my eyes flash to Owen’s. “Whoa. That’s huge, man. Congratulations.”
“She hasn’t said yes yet. Better not jinx me.” He reaches out to return my handshake.
“She’ll say yes,” Asher says, rolling his eyes. “You two are like disgustingly in love.”
“Did you buy the ring yet?” Justin asks.
Owen gives him a sheepish nod. He turns and reaches into his backpack, producing a small black box, and when he opens it, we all stagger a step back.
Holy crap, that is one big rock.
“Damn.” Justin hisses low under his breath.
Proudly, Owen rattles off something about clarity and facets. When I hear the terms flawless and four carats, that’s all I need to know to understand that this ring costs much more than most people make in a year. It’s absolutely stunning.
The perfect piece of jewelry he’s holding is a reminder of how far I am away from giving a woman something like that. First, I’d need to get someone to agree to date me, and seeing as one of my good friends doesn’t even want to fake-date me, I’m thinking it’s way off. That can’t possibly bode well for my chances of finding lasting love.
“Congratulations, man. You two are perfect together,” I say, giving him my nod of approval.
Becca is the best thing to ever happen to Owen. He was a manwhore of the highest order before she tamed him. I’m still not sure how she did that, entirely, but it’s obvious he’s crazy about her.
Justin thumps Owen on the back in a bro hug, while Asher shoves his hands into his pockets. Once the ring has been safely tucked away again, we start for the exit.