“Join us.”

  My pulse spikes. Suddenly, my fake date’s mother is guiding me to her table, and the guys hang back to chat with teammates, and I’m sitting between Ryker’s mom and Chase’s mom. Ivy is across from us, as well as a younger version of the fashionista, who I learn is Ryker’s other sister, Katie. Am I in for the grilling of a lifetime?

  “So, I hear you run a bookstore,” Chase’s mom says.

  “I just manage it.”

  “Well, that would be running it,” Ryker’s mom says in the same laconic tone of her son. She has a tattoo on her wrist. A simple circle of black ink, and the word strength.

  “That’s so fantastic,” Chase’s mom says. “To spend the day surrounded by stories. To help people find stories. And you run Page Turners Book Club.”

  “You know about that?” I ask, surprised she’s aware of my whole CV.

  “I might have looked you up,” Ryker’s mom adds playfully. “When Chase called me about the photos you wanted.”

  Right. Of course. How could I forget that?

  “It’s good to see him on social. I can spy on him more now,” she says dryly, and I know where Ryker gets his sense of humor.

  We chat some more, and no one lambastes me. No one gives me the third degree. No one asks when I’ll pop out babies either.

  It’s a nice, normal conversation.

  I might be foolish but maybe this thing could work. Perhaps their mothers being so cool is the sign I needed.

  Maybe it doesn’t matter if my family doesn’t understand me. I’ve become used to that. But I’ve found my own family with Aubrey and Nacho and my book club, and maybe now with these two guys.

  I try to let go of all the noise in my head. All of the questions chasing me. I relax into the moment as we talk about the city, and hockey, and books, and dogs, and weddings, and flowers, and how happy Chase’s cousin is with his teammate.

  Every now and then someone else from Ryker’s team or Chase’s team stops by to say hi, and it’s so endearing to see all these players playing nicely with the parents. The women are warm and welcoming and treat them like family too.

  With every minute that passes, I’m feeling like maybe the impossible is possible.

  When the band begins to play, Chase swoops by and pulls me out to the dance floor. We slow dance, and he looks at me with soulful brown eyes that seem to understand me in a way my own family doesn’t. When he looks at me like that, my heart thumps.

  But I’m careful to keep some distance between us.

  I want to pull him close—too close. I definitely want to. But I don’t feel right doing that just with him. I don’t feel right doing that unless I can declare myself as theirs.

  When Ivy and Ryker swing by, Ivy gives me a friendly nod. “Let’s switch. I need to dance with Chase.”

  We trade off, and I’m in Ryker’s arms, and this feels right too. My heart beats hard all over again.

  Somehow, a few weeks after my dog ate another woman’s underwear, I’ve fallen deeply for the two men who helped give me sweet revenge.

  But with them, I’ve found so much more than sweet revenge. I’ve found a Golden Retriever and a grump who like me just the way I am.

  Maybe, just maybe, I can put myself out there at the end of the night.

  34

  HOOK, LINE, AND SINKER

  Ryker

  As the wedding winds down, Ivy waves me aside. She tugs me along the corridor and into the alcove again, then stares at me, like she can see inside my soul.

  “You’re in love with her,” she declares.

  What the hell? She can see inside my soul.

  “No,” I say, bristling.

  Ivy rolls her eyes but says nothing.

  “I’m not,” I add.

  She scoffs.

  “Seriously.”

  She smirks. “You just denied it three times.”

  “Because you said it,” I point out, annoyed, but not with her. Annoyed with myself for being so transparent even when I’ve tried to show nothing.

  She pokes my chest. “You big lug.”

  I narrow my eyes, hating that I’m cellophane with her. “Why are you talking to me about this here?”

  “Because it’s so obvious.”

  I blow out a harsh breath, then I defend myself. “I danced with her, and Chase danced with you. So how did you realize it?”

  She flashes me an impish grin, like only a little sister can. “I figured it out the same way Grandma did.”

  “And how’s that?”

  “By knowing you. This is how you were when you met that—”

  “Don’t say her name,” I hiss.

  But Ivy goes quiet for a long beat. “Actually, no. You’re not like you were with Selena. This is different.”

  I can’t leave that word hanging by itself. I have to know what she thinks is different.

  “In what way?” I don’t bother to mask the desperation in my tone. I feel desperate for Trina.

  “This is kind of hook, line, and sinker. And I’m pretty sure Chase is all in with her too.” There’s no judgment in her voice. No condemnation over the unusual nature of this arrangement. Just a simple question comes next. “So what are you going to do?”

  That’s the rub.

  Nothing. Absolutely nothing. “There’s nothing to do.”

  “Because of the three of you?”

  “Well, yeah,” I say, with a life sucks shrug. Even if my sister’s cool with us, would others be? My teammates? The rest of my family? And really, most of all, would Chase and Trina want to be in a relationship? Maybe they like it for a week, but asking someone to be a throuple is more terrifying than facing down bloodthirsty teams on the ice.

  “Please. You love who you love,” she says, emphatic.

  I don’t disagree but I won’t get my hopes up. “Regardless, she just got out of a bad breakup. She doesn’t want anything more than something casual. She said as much. So even if I had a modicum of feelings—”

  “You don’t have to be so Mister Vocabulary to cover up your feelings.” Ivy snorts.

  “An iota,” I say tightly, refusing to give in.

  “More like a fuck-ton.”

  Fine. I hold my hands up in surrender. “Even if that’s true,” I continue, “there’s nothing I can do about it. She’s here with Chase, and he’s not into anything more, and…” What’s the point? The cards are stacked against us.

  I drag a hand through my hair, wishing there were another way, wishing I didn’t have a pact, wishing I could somehow lay my heart on the line for Trina and not lose my best friend in doing so. “It doesn’t matter. I’ll get over her.”

  But it will hurt, because in one stupid, annoying, amazing, incredible week, I’ve fallen in love with a girl who stole her ex’s tickets and then my heart.

  A little later, we leave, but once we reach Chase’s home there’s a message blinking up at me on my phone.

  Ivy: Call me when you get this.

  That’s not foreboding at all.

  In the garage, I step away from the two of them and dial her. “What’s going on?”

  “Your ex did a podcast with the shit-tastic reporter. And it’s about Trina.”

  I want to kill them before I even listen.

  35

  BAD LUCK CHARM

  Chase

  The three of us are gathered at the kitchen counter, the site of so many fantastic dinners and breakfasts over the last week. The place where we’ve gotten to know her, where we’ve laughed, and argued, and shared. Where we made the new pact.

  Now, with dread crawling through my veins, I open my podcast app. I’m bracing myself for the worst. Trina’s face is pale. Ryker is a stone, and I’ve got to keep my shit together since that’s what I do.

  I keep it together, no matter what happens.

  “It’s going to be fine,” I say tightly, then I hit play.

  The reedy voice of a one-time hockey podcaster fills my home. “Bryce Tucker in the house. You might know me from my sports coverage, but celeb coverage is way more fun. So let’s do it. I have a fantastic guest here today. The Stuntwoman.”

  Abby laughs. Or Selena, or whoever she is. It’s a familiar sound, one I used to liken to bells, but now, it’s the sound of deception wrapped up in a pretty package. “Hey everyone, this is your girl Selena here, AKA The Stuntwoman. And no, friends,” she stage whispers, “that’s not my real name.”

  “Never give up your name,” Bryce says. “Now, I hear you have an interesting story for us.”

  “I sure do.”

  I rub a hand across the back of my neck. This is going to be bad. Trina’s fidgeting with her nails, picking at her cuticles. I’ve never seen her do that before. It’s so unlike her. I don’t even know what to say to reassure her.

  If I can say anything.

  “Remember a week or so back when that hockey game made the news for the VIP evening?”

  Oh, shit.

  This is going to be worse than bad.

  Trina purses her lips together. Ryker stops pacing and sets his hands on the counter, like he’s going to rip it out from the floor.

  “Well, I did a little digging about the guest. And want to know what I found out?”

  No, just no.

  “So this woman who won the tickets to hang out with Chase Weston and Ryker Samuels, and is now supposedly dating Weston?”

  “Supposedly. That’s a fighting word,” Bryce says, clearly amused by his guest.

  “So, on Friday night she goes to the game. The next night, she’s at the dog park with him. A couple days later, she’s hanging out with the other guy at her bookstore and then the library, and then she goes to a wedding with Weston tonight? Something is sus. I mean, earlier in the week she was clearly posting pics on Samuels’ social feed?”

  “Wait. Wait. I have to ask, how is she clearly posting pics?”

  She sighs like c’mon. “He didn’t even have social beforehand, and then there’s a shot of him at her bookstore, along with team shots and so on? She’s got to be some kind of image consultant for Samuels, for sure,” she says, and I wince.

  Way to hit the nail on the head, though of course Trina’s so much more.

  “All right, so your conclusion is?” Bryce asks.

  “She’s a prop. She’s an engineer. She’s a provocateur. Because she’s also a, wait for it, fake date.”

  Trina’s breath comes sharply.

  “No way is she his real GF. Guarantee it’s fake,” my former girlfriend says.

  Trina swallows roughly, then drops her head in her hand. I rub her shoulder. Ryker lets go of his irritation long enough to smooth a hand over her back.

  “And you’re sure because?” Bryce asks.

  “Weston is a pro athlete. No way did he go from VIP night to suddenly saying she’s his girlfriend. The only logical answer is she’s posing as his girlfriend all while she’s managing Samuels’ surly rep. And together that tells me she’s some kind of puppeteer. Pulling all the strings. She’s up to something. If it looks like a stunt, talks like a stunt, and quacks like a stunt, it’s a stunt. She’s running some sort of great experiment too and I have a feeling what it is.”

  “What is it?”

  “Well, I have a little more intel,” she says, sounding like the cat who ate a box of canaries. “I spoke to her ex a week ago…”

  Trina gasps, then presses her lips together even harder, as if she’s holding back tears. “Sweetness,” I say gently, trying to make her feel better during what’s sure to be the worst part.

  Then, Jasper’s voice fills the room. “She was mocking hockey when she broke up with me. She hates the sport! Every time I watched a game she was insulting it. Now she’s spending all her time with pros? She’s up to something. She’s always up to something.”

  “You ass,” Trina seethes, and I want to wring that guy’s neck all over again. He might have laid off her if Abby had called him yesterday, but this was a week ago.

  “So this proves what?” Bryce asks.

  I don’t have to see Abby to know she’s drawing a deeply satisfied breath as she says, “I’ll be waiting to see what her endgame is. Launching a PR company? Announcing her own podcast? Because this is how you do it. With something bold and public, and with two celeb studs at your disposal. I mean, they were useful to me. I dated both of them during my How Many Boyfriends stunt earlier this year.”

  I hiss.

  Ryker slams a fist against the counter.

  Trina breathes fire.

  “Oh, damn!” Bryce calls out with a cackle.

  “Either way, girl, if you’re listening, let’s do something together! We can conquer the world. Find me and we’ll join forces.”

  I hit end. That’s enough. That’s fucking enough. I don’t care that she named me after all. That she named us. But I care deeply that Trina’s getting dragged through the mud.

  In her beautiful teal dress that clings to her curves, she’s frozen, drawing deep breaths.

  This is not okay. I can’t let this spiral. I step away from the counter, jaw clenched, running my hand through my hair, trying to devise a plan, stat.

  “I’ll fix this,” I bite out.

  “It’s okay,” Trina says softly but her voice is empty. She’s clearly shocked. “I’ll be fine.”

  “No. This is not fine,” I say, anger rising inside me, but also determination. I’ve spent my whole damn career as the good guy. I’m the player who’s friendly and outgoing, who plays well, wins games, and loves the sport.

  I don’t fucking cause trouble.

  But this? This is trouble.

  And I have to fix it for everyone. For her, for me, and for my friend. He’s trying to rehab his rep, and I won’t let this blow up all his good work. Besides, we made a pact to be friends in public.

  Time to implement it.

  Before anyone can say a word, I spin around. “Look. You’re moving out tomorrow anyway,” I say to her. “If anyone asks, we’ll say we became fast friends. No one needs to know the date tonight was fake because it’s none of their fucking business. I’ll tell my teammates not to say a word and they’ll have my back. But I’ll let the press know you’re a friend. That’s the truth. We’re all friends.”

  Ryker shakes his head, his eyes filled with fire. But he’s quiet.

  “What? We are. No one fucking knows what we did. We presented to the world as friends. So we went on a date. Big deal. We’ll just say we’re friends. This is why we made a pact, guys. We made a pact the other morning to act like friends, to be friends, to effectively look out for each other as friends, right?”

  Ryker breathes out hard but nods like it pains him.

  “Yes. We did,” Trina says on a rough swallow. “This is the pact,” she says, getting it, like she always has. “But what about Charlotte?”

  I cycle back to Friday, but I feel okay about it. “We never did anything in public. We don’t have to say a thing. People made assumptions. Abby is making assumptions. We’re just friends.”

  Trina looks at me like she’s eaten something sour, but she says in a hollow voice, “Friends.”

  Ryker crosses his arms. “That’s bullshit and you know it.”

  I fling my arms up. “Someone has to triage. I don’t want our girl taking the fall. Do you, man?”

  Ryker’s jaw ticks. “Of course I fucking don’t. But that’s not what this is about.”

  I don’t need this shit right now. “Then what is this about? I’m trying to fix the problem. What are you doing?”

  “Oh, excuse me. Like you gave anyone else a chance. You’re just deciding that this is the way it is.”

  Seriously? He wants to argue when we have all this stuff to deal with? I am not in the mood. “I’ve had three shitty games in a row. Now the press is saying terrible things about Trina. I’m trying to fix it. The last thing we need is this blowing up and someone saying she’s a bad luck charm for me. Saying it’s her fault my team’s losing,” I say, breathing hard, like I ran a race.

  Trina snaps her sad gaze to me. “They would say that,” she says heavily.

  See? She gets it. She gets me. “They love to find an enemy. That fan account that loved you the other day will hate you when the team doesn’t play well. I need to play well.” I also need to calm down. A few deep breaths and I’m settled. I’m the team captain. I need to handle this thoroughly and well. “Look, if you need a PR firm to run interference, I’ll find you one.”

  Ryker rolls his eyes. “She doesn’t need a fucking PR firm.”

  “What does she need then?”

  He doesn’t answer—just gives me a you’re a dick look.

  I turn to Trina, wishing I could erase the situation I’ve put her in, all because I didn’t want to be set up at a wedding. “Look, I made a mistake. I should have just gone to the wedding solo. No big deal. This is my fault and I’m sorry, but I want to fix things. You get that, right? You understand me?”

  I feel a little desperate. She’s always understood me. I hope to hell she still does.

  She hesitates. But not like she’s unsure, more like she’s weighing everything, then she says, “Is this what you want?”

  Like what I want matters. I want her. I want this. But if this thing between us could get toppled so easily…

  “This isn’t about what I want. It’s about doing the right thing,” I say, emphatic and resolute.

  But just so I’m not a unilateral dick, I turn to my buddy. “You good with this?”

  He sears me with his eyes. He’s the grump all over again. The guy in the limo with the hard edge. The one who doesn’t trust people.

  I can’t fix that right now though.

  I turn to the woman I was falling for to see what she wants to do tonight. But she’s already down the hall, and when I follow, I find her throwing shirts and dresses into her suitcase, gathering her things.

  That’s clear then.

  36

  DRESS HANDKERCHIEF