Hat Trick

by Eden Finley

  Hat Trick

  Fake Boyfriend Book 5

  Eden Finley

  HAT TRICK

  Copyright © 2019 by Eden Finley

  Cover Illustration Copyright ©

  Kellie Dennis at Book Cover By Design

  www.bookcoverbydesign.co.uk

  Photographer: Wander Aguiar

  Model: Preston T

  www.wanderbookclub.com

  Edited by Deb Nemeth

  http://www.deborahnemeth.com/

  Professional beta read and line edited by Les Court Services

  https://www.lescourtauthorservices.com

  Copy-edited by Kelly Hartigan @ Xterraweb

  http://editing.xterraweb.com/

  All rights reserved.

  This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher.

  For information regarding permission, write to:

  Eden Finley - permissions - edenfinley@gmail.com

  Contents

  Trademarks/Disclaimers

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Afterword

  Notes About Hat Trick

  Eden Finley Books

  Acknowledgments

  Trademarks/Disclaimers

  This is a work of fiction. As such, the views in this book in no way reflect the views and principles of the NHL or any of their real teams.

  Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Chapter One

  Soren

  Whoever’s idea it was to get away and recharge in Fiji is a dumbass. Oh, right. That dumbass is me.

  Nothing emphasizes your loneliness quite like a beach vacation with four couples.

  Laughter echoes through the night, coming from the open-air hut behind me where the rest of the guys are still having dinner.

  The winter wind is cool and smells like salt water, but I still don’t need a jacket. The water I’m wading through up to my ankles isn’t even cold. Apparently, Fiji doesn’t know how to do real winters.

  It’s only our first dinner since arriving here, and I had to sneak out under the excuse that I’d had too much to drink, which is true, and I needed air, which is also true. But I needed to get out of there because of the stark reminder everyone back there has their life together. I’m older than all of them, and I’m the one who’s lost.

  It’s been months since Bryce and I finally called it quits for good, but it still feels a lot like failure hanging over my head.

  Just like my contract negotiations. They aren’t going well either. Damon has been in talks with the team since before last season even ended. What they’ve been offering is good moneywise, but what I want is a no-trade clause. Getting that at thirty-three is like asking for a pet unicorn as part of the contract deal.

  There’s a very real chance I could lose my boyfriend and my career in the same year.

  I kick the water at my feet.

  When Bryce took me back after I came out publicly, I thought all our problems were solved.

  Turns out we had more than closet problems.

  We had relationship problems.

  They were even worse.

  Yet, I stayed with him because I came out for him. I changed my life for him. And, apart from one sweaty night with a twinkish rock star three years ago, I’d never thought of having anyone else but him.

  I knew the minute we all stepped onto our chartered flight here that I’d made a mistake in accepting Matt and Noah’s offer to come with them to Fiji. They do this trip yearly, but this time, they invited all of us to join them.

  I’m not in the right headspace to be on and sociable, especially when we’re supposed to be here for a celebration.

  Matt’s youngest brother, Wade, is coming to live with Matt and Noah in the fall to attend private school in Chicago. They’re calling this vacation their final play before they become guardians of a teenager, so they wanted to make it huge.

  Everyone is all coupled up, and for the whole flight, they stared at each other lovingly, silently promising two weeks of sun, surf, and sex.

  It’s disgusting.

  And I’m disgustingly jealous.

  I sink my feet into the coarse sand, and the water laps at my shins as I move deeper.

  The owners of this private island, Joni and his wife, Ema, were gracious enough to rent the whole place to us, so at least while all the guys are distracted with mocking each other and arguing who are the better athletes—baseball players, football players, or hockey players—no one should interrupt my little pity party for one.

  And please, like that’s an argument anyway. Hockey players, hands down. The end. No need for more discussion.

  There’s one thing I should remember about this particular group of guys though. Most of them are egotistical athletes with frat-bro syndrome, but they’re also perceptive fuckers.

  I sense someone’s presence and turn to find Ollie ditching his flip-flops at the edge of the water to join me.

  “Go back to all the fun,” I say.

  “Sorry, can’t.”

  Of course, he can’t.

  Out of everyone here, I’m closest to Ollie. He also plays hockey, and when he found out I’d announced my orientation at a press conference, he stepped up and came out to support me so I didn’t have to do it alone. It cemented our friendship.

  “How are you doing?” he asks, holding out a bottle of water for me with his tatted-up arm.

  I take a sip. I probably need it after how much I’ve had to drink in the last hour. “Fan-fucking-tastic.” Does that sound bitter? Eh. Oh well.

  “Was it all the jokes about hiring you a very illegal rent boy?”

  I snort. “No. It also wasn’t the Canada bashing, offers of threesomes, or… I dunno, whatever you guys moved on to after that. I tuned out after a while.”

  “It’s our poor way of trying to take your mind off everything.”

  Because it’s no secret my life’s a mess right now. That makes me feel a whole lot better.

  “I’m thankful for it,” I say because I really am. It’s just not what I need right now. “But maybe I shouldn’t have come here.”

  “Bryce wasn’t the right guy for you.” Ollie says this as if I didn’t already know that. He’s not the reason I’m upset.

  “It’s not so much him. It’s hockey, it’s my uncertain future, it’s … everything. What if the team doesn’t want me anymore?”

  “If New Jersey doesn’t offer you another contract, then they’re assholes, and you’ll sign with someone else.”

  “That’s just it. Signing with another team is more daunting than retiring at this point.” It was an adjustment for everyone to get used to playing
next to the gay guy. Ollie’s team appeared to accept him better than mine had accepted me, but what if the next team is worse?

  “What’s your ultimate goal when it comes to hockey?” Ollie asks, and it’s such a loaded question that I don’t know how to answer.

  “What’s yours?”

  “The Cup, obviously, but that’s every player’s dream. If I get to your age—”

  “You’re not that much younger, asshole.”

  Ollie smirks. “As I was saying, if I get to your … level of experience—”

  “Better.”

  “I’d be happy with the type of career you’ve had. You’ve won a Selke Trophy.”

  “I won that eight years ago.”

  “And you were in the Stanley Cup final three years ago. I haven’t ever made it to a championship game.”

  “There’s a major difference between us though. You still have time. I feel like mine’s running out.”

  Ollie lets out a loud whistle. “That’s dark. No wonder you drank so much at dinner.”

  Coconuts filled with liquor might be my downfall this trip. I sip more water. “They were good, but they were strong and sickly sweet. Now they’re sitting wrong.” I rub my stomach.

  “Maybe go easy on them if your old body can’t handle it.”

  I kick at the water and splash him all the way up to his shirt. I may be older but that doesn’t mean I’m more mature.

  “Really? Is that how it’s gonna be?”

  Before he gets a chance to retaliate, I run for the beach and away from the water so he can’t get me. My knees protest, but I tell them to shut the fuck up. Water goes everywhere, and I’m probably as wet as I would have been if I’d just let him splash me.

  Ollie catches up as we hit the sand and tries to drag me back toward the water, but we’re both laughing so hard we don’t get far.

  That’s when the sound of a helicopter hits our ears and makes us pause. The loud rhythmic thumping of propeller blades becomes louder, and a blinking red light in the sky gets brighter and lower to the ground.

  “Paparazzi?” I ask.

  “Matt and Noah say next to no one recognizes them in Fiji. It’s why they love coming here.”

  We move back toward everyone else, who are now huddled by the entryway to the food hut, each of them as curious as we are.

  “Then who—”

  The idea of paparazzi crashes and burns when someone far worse steps out of the helicopter when it lands in the clearing close by.

  I blink a few times to make sure I didn’t somehow wish him into an illusion.

  He’s not supposed to be here. Matt said he couldn’t get out of his music tour.

  There’s a reason I refer to Matt’s brother as the twinkish rock star, the random guy I had one night with a billion years ago. Because the reality is, he’s not some random guy, and it wasn’t some random hookup.

  He’s forbidden fruit. Not only because he’s Matt Jackson’s little brother who’s ten years younger than me, but because he’s a famous rock star now.

  No one knows what happened between us, and unless I want to get beaten up, I have no plans to let anyone here find out. Matt and Noah are overprotective, and the rest of the group all see Jet—sorry, Jay—as the little brother they never had.

  Now, he’s here in front of me.

  My heart pounds while memories of our past flash through my head.

  His shaggy brown hair is unstyled, his ripped jeans are tight, and the cocky smirk that has haunted me for three years is still the same.

  This vacation just became a whole lot more interesting.

  As we lock eyes, I realize I’m wrong.

  It’s awkward. The word I’m looking for is awkward.

  Chapter Two

  JET

  THE HOOKUP

  There should’ve been a tingle in my stomach. Or perhaps an alert in my subconsciousness that I was about to meet someone who’d change my life. There was nothing but the usual buzz of energy under my skin and the thousand thoughts per minute running through my head.

  People always wondered why creative people were neurotic and a little batshit. All I had to say to those people was “You try living in my head for a day. You’ll understand.”

  I entered the New Jersey locker room on a mission to invite Caleb “Soren” Sorensen to Fever with the rest of the group who I’d dubbed the gay brigade.

  Lennon had given me his press pass after he was swamped by paparazzi. It was official. His and Ollie’s relationship was no longer on the down low.

  I had tunnel vision going into that locker room. Lost in the mindless beat thrumming through my head to a song I hadn’t yet written, I was taken aback when Soren turned to me as I approached.

  His wide pecs and sculpted abs made my feet trip over themselves. I was assaulted with a sight my young and naïve eyes couldn’t handle.

  Pfft, naïve.

  I told my conscience to shut up.

  Soren cocked his head. “Aren’t you …”

  I forced my gaze to his face, but that was worse. Honey-colored eyes burned me from head to toe as he took me in. He looked horrified by what he found, but that couldn’t be right. I was gorgeous, damn it. And modest about it too.

  “You were at the Rainbow Beds benefit,” he said.

  My ears heard him, but my brain was still stumbling over the look of mortification it had seen not two seconds ago, so it didn’t register the actual words.

  I managed to get out what I needed to. “Ollie and Lennon are going to Fever. Like … after this. With the rest of the gay brigade. You. Fever. Uhhh …” Way to make sentences, dude.

  “Gay brigade?”

  “Matt. Ollie. Damon. Lennon. You know … gay.” Get it together, Jet, I swear to Kurt Cobain. I shook my head. “They’re all going to Fever, and you’re invited.”

  “Because I’m gay?” Soren asked, his lips curving in amusement.

  “And because you lost the Cup and need to drown your sorrows.”

  His face fell. His team had been one goal away from holding the Stanley Cup over their heads, and I was rubbing it in his face.

  My bad.

  Then I realized he wasn’t the only one who had heard me, and I was surrounded by copious amounts of dick. And not in the fun way. The other players didn’t even try to cover up, and being the gay guy in a room full of hot, naked, straight manly men, my feet found the momentum to get the hell outta there before I did something stupid like offer myself as some sort of towel boy.

  But I’d done my job—I passed on the message for Soren to meet us at the newest gay club to hit the streets of New York. Whether or not he’d turn up was another issue. It would have nothing to do with my babbling if he didn’t come. Nope. Not at all. Not my fault, guys.

  I caught up with the others outside the arena, and we took two cabs to Fever. When our group entered the bar, everyone turned their heads and checked us out … well, everyone else out. Being invisible was a side effect of hanging out with these guys—famous athletes who were around six foot or taller. I was average at five ten, but next to these guys, I was the shorty of the group. Because of the invisibility, the bouncer didn’t bother carding me when we all came in, so I went straight to the bar for drinks.

  I drank. I danced. I got lost in the beat and sweaty bodies around me. And the minute Soren stepped through the doors, the energy in the room shifted. My pulse thrummed stronger in my veins, trying to compete with the loud bass coming from the speakers. Even though there was a sea of men surrounding me at any given moment, my gaze went straight to his.

  From that moment on, his gaze burned into me everywhere I went. To the bar to get drinks. On the dance floor with Ollie. Flirting with a cute guy near the hallway to the bathrooms. Everywhere I went, he was watching. Not that I was complaining—I just didn’t know why.

  His bright eyes stood out, even in the dark, and I noticed whenever a guy would say anything to me, a line creased Soren’s forehead.

  Older guys weren’
t my thing. In fact, I spent a lot of my time ribbing my brother-in-law about being old, and he was only twenty-seven. This Soren guy was at least that, if not older, and I didn’t need a daddy in my life to deal with my daddy issues, fuckyouverymuch, Mom and Dad.

  Still, the high it gave me knowing he was watching me made me want to put on a show for him.

  I waded my way through the crowded bar and back onto the dance floor. It took less than five seconds for someone to approach and start grinding on me.

  Before I moved to New York, I’d had little experience with guys. I couldn’t deny I was gay, but the sex was … awkward. It made me question why people liked it so much. It was possible that I only ever hooked up with other inexperienced closeted guys like me, so neither of us knew what we were doing.

  I had faith I’d eventually find the type of love my brother Matt had with his husband, but until then I’d have fun.

  And watching Soren squirm was definitely fun.

  Only, it seemed he was done with squirming. He left his post at the cocktail table with the rest of the guys and charged toward me. I thought he’d interrupt my dance with Mr. Handsy and maybe try to take his place. But that was not what happened.

  His beefy hand wrapped around my upper arm, and then he pushed me off the dance floor.