My nose must wrinkle, because Anna catches a look at my expression and bursts into laughter. “I’d say you get used to it,” she says, “But you really don’t.” Then she’s pounding on the door, before I can say anything.
I notice a couple other girls headed up the corridor toward us, all around Charlie’s age probably, dressed in everything from jeans to miniskirts. I shuffle from one foot to the other, suddenly shy.
“So, how long have you and Charlie been seeing each other?” Anna asks, that grin back again.
“Oh, um… I don’t know if we’re like, officially—”
“Lila.” Charlie’s the one who has flung open the locker room door. Charlie, only half dressed, bathed in perspiration. Charlie, with his perfectly sculpted, naked chest on display for everyone to see, those perfect washboard abs glistening, and oh, fuck. The way he’s looking at me, like he could devour me alive, makes me wish fervently that everyone else in this hallway would just… disappear.
“Hey,” I manage, eloquently.
Then a couple other guys shoulder past him, including Pat, I guess, because he wraps his arms around Anna and practically lifts her off the ground, spinning her around as they kiss.
“So.” I clear my throat softly. “I hear it’s, uh, good luck, to…”
“Kiss me?” Charlie arches an eyebrow. Steps closer. I can feel the heat radiating off him. See the way his sweat-slicked hair sticks to his forehead. It makes me itch to push it back. Or better yet, drag his face down to mine. “So I hear,” he says, that sly, halfway smile lingering on his mouth.
So I just fucking do it. I step forward, wrap both arms around the back of his neck, and draw his mouth down against mine. It catches him by surprise, I can tell. His eyebrows shoot up. But then our lips collide, and his hands frame my face, white hot against my cheeks, and his lips are every bit as soft as I remembered. Not to mention as strong.
They part mine, and his tongue collides with my own, tangling with it, hungry, like we’re both trying to devour each other whole.
When we pull apart again, my chest is heaving, and it’s a wonder I’m still standing upright on my own two feet, with all the sensations flooding through my body.
“Damn. Need a lot of luck tonight or what?” asks a female voice somewhere behind us. A familiar one.
Charlie glances up, before his gaze returns to mine, as if drawn by a magnet. Like he can’t resist looking at me whenever he possibly can. “Oh, Lila. This is Sammy. She lives in the same apartment complex as me.”
When I turn, I find the same girl who offered to let me into Charlie’s building that first day I went back to propose this whole mess to him. My stomach tenses. I remember the way she grilled me, wanting to know if I went here, what I was doing visiting Charlie. But she’s smiling now, so I smile back, even if it feels strained around the edges. Forced. “We met, actually. She let me into your building once.”
“Good to know you weren’t some random stalker,” Sammy says, in a tone that tells me that’s exactly what she thought I was.
All around us, other girls are hugging or kissing their partners. At least half a dozen couples. But Sammy doesn’t kiss anyone. I wonder why she came here, until I notice a couple other girls say goodbye to their partners and go back to Sammy’s side.
“Well. See you around I guess. Lila, was it?” Sammy starts back up the hallway, her eyes lingering on me in a way that makes my stomach tense.
Is she jealous? Did she want her own boytoy on the team, is that why she’s mad at me? Because I stole Charlie?
Well, joke’s on her. He’s not really mine to begin with. And once this article is all said and done, after he and I end our fake relationship, she can have him.
Except, for some reason, the thought of that makes my nausea redouble. Probably just because she seems like a possessive jerk, I tell myself.
Definitely not because I’d be jealous of whoever Charlie hooked up with after me. No way.
Still, it leaves a sour taste in the back of my mouth, until Charlie leans down to kiss me one more time. “Got to get back in there,” he says. But he lingers, winks at me. “Thanks for the luck.”
“Not that you need it,” I reply, grinning. “You are a hell of a lot better than you led me to believe with all that false modesty crap, Charlie Cross.”
“Isn’t he, though?” Pat says, slapping Charlie on the back as he heads back into the locker room himself.
Next to me, Anna laughs. “Charlie’s always been too modest,” she murmurs, though her voice is still loud enough for Charlie to hear, as he rolls his eyes and follows Pat inside. “To be honest, I’m shocked this is the first time a guy like Charlie Cross is bringing a girl back to the locker room for a lucky kiss,” she adds, as she starts back up the hallway toward our seats, where we can watch the rest of the game.
My eyebrows shoot up my forehead. I can’t have heard that right. “Wait, you mean he’s never brought anyone else back here?”
Anna shakes her head. “He’s had a couple hookups, I think, over the years. But nothing that ever stuck.” She glances over her shoulder as if checking for eavesdroppers, before she lowers her voice confidentially. “If you ask me, that Sammy girl has been trying so desperately to get with him for the last year that Charlie just gave up on dating at all. She chases any prospects away.” Anna shrugs. “But, also, he just never seemed that into anybody. Tonight, though…” Anna’s eyes dance with amusement when they find mine again.
I bite my tongue so hard I swear I’m in danger of drawing blood. “Don’t be ridiculous,” I say. Even though I should be agreeing with her. After all, we’re planning on getting fake-engaged soon. I should probably be lapping up these compliments. Feeling glad that Charlie doesn’t have any complicated exes in his past, or happy that he’s not the type of guy to lead a bunch of girls on.
Instead, this new information only serves to make feel more conflicted. If he’s never dated anyone seriously before, will this affect him more than I thought? To pretend to get engaged to a girl only to have it fall apart?
I guess I just figured, what with him being a hockey star and looking the way he does, that Charlie was a player on campus. Or if not a player, the kind of guy who could get any girl he wanted and went after them.
Okay, I guess that is a player. And I’m glad he’s not. But…
I push my lingering doubts to the back of my mind as we reach the arena once more. We took long enough arriving—the team is already back on the ice, circling to warm up, while the refs finish resetting the nets after the ice cleaning.
We settle back into our places, this time with beers in hand—Anna insisted on buying me one. We sip as the game starts up again. But the beers quickly prove to be a mistake, because about five minutes into the second period, Charlie scores again, which makes me forget all about the beverage in my hand and leap to my feet, promptly spilling half the drink on my own jeans.
“Shit,” I bark, and Anna bursts into laughter behind me, before she throws a few napkins at my head. I wipe myself off as best I can and chug the beer to prevent any further spillage. It definitely makes the next period interesting, or at least more entertaining.
Charlie doesn’t score again, but he passes to one teammate who does. Then the other team roars back with a vengeance, scoring once and then twice in quick succession, all while Charlie is on the bench and another line of players are on. I can see his frustration in the way his shoulders tense and his hands fist around his stick. But he never yells at his teammates or makes them feel bad. I’m close enough to hear what he’s shouting, and it’s all encouragements, cheering them on, telling them it’s okay, they’re still ahead by one.
As the second period pulls to a close, within the last minute, the other team scores one last goal, though, tying it up. This time, when the team skates off the ice for the second period break, there aren’t any cheerful waves or shouts.
I bounce my leg against the stand, nervous, until Anna brings a hand to rest on my shoulder
. “Hey, this happens all the time. Don’t worry. They’ll come back next period.” She grins at me, then glances down at my still-damp thigh. “Another beer?”
But I remember what happened to the last one and wisely shake my head. “Think I’ll stick to bottled water. Less spill risk.” Still, I trail out after her into the main bar area this time, just for something to do.
The period break lasts twenty minutes, which means twenty minutes of curious college kids peering at me, trying to guess my deal. A few of the girls I saw at the lockers earlier, including Sammy, sidle up to Anna and start chatting. But to her credit, Anna sticks by my side, and any time one of them asks about me, she waves me over to I can answer the question myself.
I tell them I met Charlie on campus. Not a lie. I tell them he’s a great guy, really sweet and funny.
“You’re a lucky girl,” says one of the girls, who I saw kissing the goalie earlier. “Charlie’s a total catch. We’ve all been wondering when he’d finally set his sights on someone.”
When she thinks I’m not looking, I notice Sammy kick that girl’s shin lightly, and the two of them exchange glares, until the girl shrugs, as if to say, What?
Good to know not everyone in this crowd immediately distrusts me, at least.
Though they’d be right to, I can’t help adding in the back of my head. After all, everything they think they know about me, about Charlie, is based on a lie.
But still, it feels good to be included. Good to chat with them, as we wait for the third and final period to begin, I feel for a little while like I’m just here on a normal date with a normal guy I like, getting to know his friends and teammates’ girlfriends.
Anna cracks a few jokes about the beer—which, to be honest, tastes a lot better than I remember any beer I used to buy in college tasting, but still not great—and pretty soon we’re all laughing, even Sammy. I force myself to smile at her, and hope that she can let this tension between us go. But she avoids my eye, so I just focus on getting to know the other girls instead. They seem nice, friendly enough, and genuinely happy for Charlie and me.
Which only makes me feel weirder.
Soon enough, though, a little buzzer sounds to let us know that the third period will be starting soon. We file back into our seats. This time, Anna sits right next to me, and together we cheer for our boys as they file back onto the ice.
The period starts out hot and fast and only keeps getting wilder. Within the first few minutes, both teams have gotten penalties—the other team for tripping one of our players, and one of our team for shoving the guy who tripped his friend.
Halfway through the period, when there still haven’t been any goals scored, despite more than a few stellar attempts, most of them by Charlie himself—the other goalie is talented, I’ll give him that—a fistfight breaks out. I don’t notice it at first, until Anna elbows me and points. It’s down by our end, a defender and one of the other team’s offenders squaring off. Then a second member of their team jumps our guy, and next thing I know Charlie is flying into the fray.
My stomach knots with nerves. Shit. I forget myself and jump to my feet so I can see better, my hand flying to my mouth.
Don’t get hurt, damn it.
Charlie swings a punch at the opposing team’s big, burly defenseman, the one who up until that moment had been whaling on Charlie’s teammate. There’s a scuffle, a flurry of uniforms where I can’t quite see anything, and then Charlie emerges just in time to deck the other guy across the chin, before a ref explodes between them, shoving them apart and shouting.
The ice devolves into chaos for a while, while the refs sort out who started the fight, who to blame for what.
“Come on, they totally incited that,” Anna complains at my elbow.
I can’t stop biting my nails, my thumb nail almost all the way down to the quick now. And all the while, I don’t dare take my eyes off of Charlie, as if, were I to look away for a moment or blink, he might vanish into thin air, or end up injured worse than he already is. Even from here, I can see a bruise swelling on his cheek, and a cut on his lip.
Eventually, the refs announce both sides will serve a five minute penalty. They push Charlie into the box along with the guy he punched, even though the other team blatantly started that fight in the first place.
“What bullshit,” I grumble to Anna, who makes angry noises of agreement at my elbow.
Worse, the five minute penalty means Charlie will be totally off the ice until the end of the period, when there will only be a few minutes of play left.
I watch the clock tick down nervously. I’m not used to getting invested in sports games. Usually I just go to football games or the occasional baseball game to eat the stadium food, drink beers and hang out with whichever friends have talked me into going in the first place.
But with Charlie’s team on the line, suddenly, all I want is this win. My heart feels like it’s in my throat, as the minutes tick down until Charlie will be released from the penalty box. I keep glancing from his taut, tense shoulders, to the ice where his teammates struggle to fend off more and more offensive pushes from their opponent. The goalie makes a couple of stellar saves—behind me, I hear his girlfriend whooping loudly.
Then, finally, the timer on the penalty clicks off. The second he’s able, Charlie flies from the penalty box and into the fray. Almost right out of the box, he takes a pass from his right winger. He flies with it toward the opposite end of the ice.
“Go, Charlie!” I shout, unable to hear my voice, because the whole arena is deafening now, roaring with sound, as people chant for our team.
Anna grabs my hand and squeezes tight. I squeeze back, as Charlie nears the goal.
He feints to one side, moves to slap the puck. In front of him, the goalie dives to stop it… But the puck is still on Charlie’s stick. He pivots, fires it left and—
“Yes!” I scream. The puck hits the back of the net, with only a minute left in the period. Goal.
The rest of Charlie’s teammates roar and practically tackle him in a hug. My heart leaps into my throat again, as I watch the heaving mass of players, hoping nobody accidentally elbows or crushes anyone in that fray. But eventually, Charlie’s head emerges again, his face a huge, wild grin.
And he’s staring right at me. Right there on the ice, with everyone watching, he points at me. Blows a kiss.
I laugh. And grin right back at him, cheering too, jumping in the stands with Anna beside me.
A minute of frantic scrambling later—the other team trying to score again, and our team stopping them all the while—the buzzer sounds. Game over.
“We won!” Anna screams in my face, and I laugh and hug her, then the other girls.
My heart swells in my chest. Wow. I never knew hockey games could be this fun. I never knew I could get so invested in the outcome of a game. We’re still cheering and celebrating, when Anna nudges my shoulder.
“You might want to go down there,” she says, thumbing over her shoulder.
When I turn around, I notice that the teams have finished their ceremonial “good game” handshakes. But Charlie is still standing in the middle of the ice, waving at me. Gesturing for me to come there.
Come there how?
I climb down to the players’ box and stop there. At least, until Charlie skates over, and opens the little door that leads onto the ice itself.
“Come here,” he calls.
My forehead scrunches with confusion, but I listen to him. I hop over the boards, and step gingerly onto the ice with one sneaker. “I don’t have skates,” I protest.
“I’ll help you.” Then he’s there, right in front of me, taking my hand and drawing me with him onto the ice.
He skates backward, pulling me with him, so I don’t have to try and walk in shoes on this slippery as hell post-game surface. His hands feel warm and strong, wrapped around mine. I expect him to take me in a little circle, maybe hug me, and then let me go back to the safe, dry stands.
Instead
, he starts to tug me toward the center of the ice.
“What are you doing?” I shout, laughing. Behind him, I spot a few of his teammates watching, grinning. Still more are lined up along the boards, trading high-fives and celebratory shots that their friends watching the stands brought with them. The room is still crowded, nobody eager to disperse after this win. Everyone wants to hang out and celebrate.
Which means there are still a ton of witnesses when we reach the center of the ice, and Charlie drops to one knee.
“Charlie,” I hiss, reaching down to grab his hands. But he takes mine instead, pressing them together, holding them between his hands.
“You said you wanted traditional,” he says, his voice low, so nobody can hear but me.
By now, a couple of his teammates have noticed what he’s doing, as have more than a few of the girls in the stands. I hear whoops and cheers starting up, along with gasps.
“Lila Baker,” he starts, his eyes fixed on mine. And looking down at him, still sweaty and flushed with victory, dressed in his full hockey suit, gracefully kneeling on this slippery as hell rink like it’s nothing, like balancing here on literal ice is the easiest thing in the world… Fuck. He’s hot.
His smile widens, like he knows what I’m thinking. “The days I’ve spent with you have been some of the most fun, exciting days in my life. Not to mention sexy.” He smirks, and my face heats bright red. Or, redder than it already was, at least.
“Charlie… You don’t have to—”
“I want to,” he interrupts me, his voice low and heated. He tightens his grip on my hand. “Lila. I’ve loved being with you. Getting to know you, learning how your mind works. I want to keep doing that, every day, for the rest of our time together. So.” He reaches into a pocket, and I can’t help it. I actually gasp.
The Husband Game Page 10