by E. Cleveland
GRIZ
A Fake Relationship College Hockey Romance
E. Cleveland
Griz
Copyright © 2020 by Eddie Cleveland
Editor:
Finishing by Fraser
Proofreader:
Proofing with Style
Cover Design:
Eddie Cleveland
Copyright © 2020 by E. Cleveland. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Contents
Introduction
Playlist
1. Channing Tatum in a Speedo
2. Bridezilla Bids
3. Big, Tall & Smug-exy
4. The Boyfriend Experience
5. Birth Control of Sofa Beds
6. Cheesy Pornos
7. Big-Beard Feminist Face
8. Couch Condom
9. Nightmare on Ice
10. TikTok Sex Videos
11. Pop Quiz: Boyfriend Edition
12. Sex With Socks On
13. Baa Baa Black Sheep
14. King Crab Kidnapper
15. Life-Sized Masturbation Poster
16. Horny Jack-in-the-Box
17. Grandma’s Mysterious Hair Pin
18. Sexy Isn’t Measured in Inches
19. Two Types of Tears
20. Trampled Flowers
21. Gone Viral
22. Black Eyes & Silent Voices
23. Fucking Surprise!
24. Bitchzilla
25. Yoga Pants Kink
26. Instant Regret
27. Closet Temperature Beer
28. Break It In
Also by E. Cleveland
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About E. Cleveland
Introduction
One thousand dollars.
I wasn’t supposed to bid at Westbury’s Bachelor Auction. In fact, I was hosting the event when I decided to lean into the microphone and yell out that ridiculous amount.
I blame Bridezilla's stupid text (oops, I mean my sister). It made me lose my mind. I’m pleading temporary insanity.
Then Griz walked out on stage. He’s one of Westbury’s elite jocks. A hockey boy. A Warrior. He came out looking all tall, dark and smug-exy. With his broad shoulders, towering height and hotter than hell face, he was just too perfect. I could just imagine my sister’s face, her jaw on the floor, seeing him in a suit on my arm.
Whew. Is it hot in here or just me?
Bridezilla assumed I wouldn’t need a plus-one for her wedding. Why? Because I’m the curvy girl. The one who never quite measured up against her blonde perfection. My whole life she's made me feel like a red-headed freaking potato and… I dunno, I lost my senses.
Griz will be the perfect fake boyfriend to take to her wedding. I've just got to keep my real feelings in check. It'll be fine. As long as I don’t fall for his intense eyes, his chiseled muscles or his big teddy-bear smile...
I think I’m in trouble.
Playlist
Watermelon Sugar - Harry Styles
Are You Gonna Be My Girl - Jet
Hotline Bling - Drake
Slow Hands - Niall Horan
Pillow Talk - Zayn Malik
Savage Love - Jason Derulo & Jawsh 685
Single Ladies (Put a Ring on It) - Beyonce
1
Channing Tatum in a Speedo
Griz
The muffler on my Escalade rumbles against the cold winter night. The heater fights to warm it up inside. All the guys that live at Hector House, including me, are strapped in and ready to go, but we can’t. We’re still waiting on the girls. Player’s girlfriend, Kaylee, is still in the house with my sister, Etta.
What the hell is taking them so long? I’m not sure what more they could possibly need to do to be ready. You’d think they were the ones strutting around on stage for a packed auditorium. Instead, all the eligible bachelors in the group, and also Player, are stuffed in here.
Waiting.
The heat knocks the bite out of the air and replaces it with the smell of our colognes mixing together. It’s starting to smell like that department store section my mother dragged me to before Christmas each year. There was a special perfume she liked to buy for her sister. It’s that same assault-on-the-senses smell with notes of leather mixed in. Every now and then I get a whiff of evergreen.
Each of us is dressed differently than we usually are. That’s the thing with being a bachelor at a charity auction…it doesn’t feel like enough to just get up there. Standing motionless, all business as usual under the spotlight is a chump’s game. None of us are “hope for the best” types. You don’t win hockey tournaments by hoping for the best, and it won’t get you the big bids from college girls with too much cash and a wild streak.
No, you gotta sell it. Not quite like Channing Tatum in a speedo, but you’ve gotta bring some flair. Give those people a reason to want to part with their money.
I look at the guys in the rearview mirror. I’ve seen Blaze in that leather jacket before, but he looks more cleaned up than I’m used to. It might be because I’m not used to seeing his hair slicked back, but I’m pretty sure it’s the fact that his eyes aren’t red around the rims. It’s startling how clear the whites of his eyes look when he isn’t toking his second favorite pastime. Obviously, as a member of the Westbury Warriors hockey team, the sport is his first favorite. I wouldn’t bet any money on that order though.
Gucci, my best friend—and now the guy dating my sister—has got no skin in this game. Somehow, my sister and her friends got all of us to volunteer to be bachelors tonight, but he got a pass. He’s dressed the same as he always is, just his regular jeans and his regular winter jacket.
Canuck, on the other hand, is quite the contrast to Gucci. He looks like some kind of cartoon of a Canadian in his lumberjack get-up. The checkerboard pattern on his thick shirt reminds me of a tablecloth from my grandma’s dining room. Sitting next to me, Player has taken a different tack.
He’s usually wearing jeans and a t-shirt, like the rest of us. Tonight, he’s got some kind of “dad’s-golfing-buddy” look happening. The khakis and collared, short-sleeve shirt I know he’s wearing under his coat are something straight out of a country club.
I look over at Player, jerking my thumb over my shoulder. “Okay, so I can see what those guys are going for.” I tilt my head back toward Blaze and Canuck in the back seats. “What’s with your outfit? You look like you’re hoping to get a job as a caddy, man.”
Player stiffens a bit. He’s got a bit of an ego about his looks. It’s gotten better since he got a girlfriend though. He used to walk around Westbury like a fucking rooster, all puffed out. He definitely thought he was cock-of-the-walk on campus. Of course, it probably didn’t help with us giving a college hockey rookie the nickname Player. Sometimes when you get your nicknames, they hang off you a bit. Like a shirt passed down from your bigger sibling, it can be something that doesn’t quite fit, but that you end up growing into.
I guess that would make me a bear cub when I showed up at Westbury. Everything has gotten bigger and wilder over the last couple of years. My hair, my beard…my cock. I might even be a bit taller. I’m literally growing into my name, looking less like a cub and more like a full-grown grizzly bear.
“What do you think I’m doing?” Player answers me. “I’m trying to dial down the sexy, man.” I laugh, but then I try to keep a straight face when I realiz
e he’s not kidding.
“Okay, I’ll bite. Why?” I ask.
He shrugs and points at Hector House where his girlfriend and my sister are still inside getting ready, while the rest of us are still out here waiting. “I’m not looking to tempt.” He shrugs. “Not fate, not bunnies, not anyone.” He points at me. “You say ‘dressed like a caddy,’ but I say dressed like the prize pick for a sweet old lady at the bachelor auction.”
There’s so many things wrong with his logic. I could tell him that there are a lot of girls into the preppy thing, but that would puff up his ego more and it’s already hard to breathe in here with all the cologne. There’s so many more fun ways to make my point.
“You haven’t been around the elderly too much, have ya?” I look at him from the corner of my eye. Most of my focus is on the front of Hector House. Kaylee and Etta have finally emerged from the front door. They shiver in their dresses against the cold winter night. I watch as they make their way across the shoveled front sidewalk toward the vehicle.
They look a hell of a lot fancier than Gucci, but I might have them beat. I classed it up tonight with some sophistication. I’m not a dress shirt guy, and I can’t think of another time I’ve ever worn a vest, but I’m not playing games at this auction. I’m ready to start a bidding frenzy tonight.
“Not a ton.” Player frowns. “Why?”
“No reason.” I look down at the steering wheel. “I just think you might be underestimating those ladies.”
“Meaning?” Impatience flashes over Player’s face.
“I’m just saying, they’re sweet old ladies by day, but…”
“Sexy GILF’s at night,” Blaze yells from the back.
“GILF?” Player looks over his shoulder.
“Yeah, you know, like a MILF but with a sexy grandma,” he explains, and Player turns back to the front.
“Nope. Not a thing.” Player shakes his head.
“Trust me, they are,” Blaze answers, and I’m sure I’m not the only one wondering how many GILFs he’s slept with. That would explain the moment of silence.
“They’ll pinch your cheeks,” Canuck pipes up from the back, “just not the ones you expect.” We laugh. Well, everyone but Player laughs, and the door to the car opens.
“It’s about time.” I shake my head as my sister finally gets her ass in the vehicle.
Etta rolls her eyes and pushes her way into her seat between Gucci and Blaze. As soon as she gets settled in, she gives me the finger, waving it around to make sure I catch it in the rearview mirror.
“Whatever,” Kaylee chimes in. Getting seated behind her boyfriend, she slams the door shut. “Good things are worth waiting for, right, Noah?” she asks Player, and it sounds weird even now when she says his real name.
“Yeah, tell us, No-ah.” Blaze cups his hands around his mouth to make sure his dig is heard by us all.
Gucci laughs just as hard as the rest of us, at first. Etta’s pursed lips change that. All of a sudden he gets all mushy, leaning into her. I hear him tell her how perfect she looks, and they kiss.
No. Eyes on the road and ears listening to some music. That’s what we need. Music. I’m good with my best friend and my sister, but that doesn’t mean I want to witness all the cutesy snuggles and shit. It’s nothing against them. I’m just not interested in watching any of the guys become the boyfriend versions of themselves.
I drive the short distance from our five-bedroom house to campus. The Escalade is blasting “Are You Gonna Be My Girl” by Jet, and when I park, we’re all walking into the theater, strutting in with some swagger. We’ve rehearsed this whole show a couple times now, but the main stagehand still guides us up the hall and to the room assigned to the hockey guys who agreed to do the auction.
It’s a university theatre, not a Broadway stage, so there aren’t many changing rooms to work with. With more guys from the team filtering in around us, it’s starting to get more of a Vegas strip-club vibe in here. Of course, the guys doing push-ups on the floor, trying to look pumped up before they go out on stage, aren’t helping. Kaylee, my sister and Gucci all left a few minutes ago to get some seats in the front row, so I’ve got some time to kill before my big debut.
I roll up my sleeves, getting ready to drop down and get in on the push-ups, but Player nudges me. “The last thing you need is another workout. Let’s take a walk. I want to see where Kaylee got a seat.” He heads to the door and just assumes I’ll follow.
Player is a solid guy and a good fucking leader. I guess that’s why he’s been the team captain and the star forward for the last two years. Even though I feel like a few rounds of push-ups could only help bring in the high-rollers, I follow him. Blaze heads out behind us but goes in the opposite direction.
“Where are you going?” Player yells out to him.
Blaze just pulls a joint out of his pocket, holding the distinctly twisted paper up over his head, and walks toward the exit. So much for those clear, white eyes. I watch him go for a second, wondering if he really does like hockey more than weed, but Player snaps me out of it.
“C’mon.” He starts walking.
“What’s with you being so hardcore lately? Kale smoothies, the workouts, no chicks... Are you alright, man?”
“Never better,” I answer. “I’m just getting my focus back.”
“Yeah, good on ya and all, but just don’t let that shit with the pretend pregnancy change you. You’re acting kind of like the guy from Full Metal Jacket after they all beat him with the soap lately. Obviously, if you ever brought this conversation up in front of Kaylee I’d deny it, but you could use a little...distraction.” We reach the wings of the stage. It feels bigger from up here. “Get out there and have some fun with it. Give some high bidder a tip.” He uses air quotes to make his point.
He didn’t need to.
I’m not interested in any more distractions. Of course the thought crosses my mind exactly as I notice Hattie across the stage. A chick wearing an earpiece keeps messing with Hattie’s hair. If it’s even half as annoying as it looks, I can’t tell from Hattie’s face. She’s too busy looking out from behind the curtain. The bright lights shine across her face and gleam over her lips. I’m frozen in my focus on them. There have been deer staring down the front end of a Ford Ranger who were less stunned than I must look.
With her pouty lips and killer curves, there’s no question about it – Hattie is distracting. She’ll never be a “distraction” though. Not in the way Player means. I don’t know why, but thinking of Hattie in the same way I’ve used and been used by so many girls, it makes my jaw tighten and something clench up in my gut.
Hattie scans the crowd. It’s easy imagining distracting myself with her. That long, red hair wrapped around my fist, bent over her desk at the school newspaper office…it’s not the first time the thought has crossed my mind. She was the one who planned this entire charity auction and roped all the guys into being eligible bachelors. We’ve all met with her, gathered around that oversized desk at the Westbury Tribune, discussing the ins and outs of tonight.
I’ve had many thoughts about all the ways she and I could destroy that office. If we had some alone time in there…naked. Hattie steps back from the edge of the curtain, and I realize that Player is still standing next to me. The fucking curl on his lips has gone full Joker’s smile.
“Atta boy.”
“Nah man.” I shake my head, and I know before I even say the words that it’s a truth resonating inside me. “After what happened before Christmas, I’m done with hook-ups. It’s a new year, a new me,” I breathe life into the thoughts that have been bantering around inside my head all Christmas break. “I’m taking all that energy and putting it on the ice, Player.”
“Well, shit. I guess we’re about to see some Olympic-level, gold-medal fucking hockey out there, then.” He laughs.
I smile, but I’m not joking around. I spent the last couple months thinking I was about to father a child with a girl I hooked up with for one n
ight. I was ready to get in there and be the dad that kid deserved, no fucking question, but I hated myself for bringing a child into the world with a woman I didn’t even care about, let alone know.
When the dates didn’t even come close to matching up on her ultrasound, she confessed that it wasn’t mine so flippantly. I realized I had no idea who she really was, and it was a wake-up call. It’s not like I’m fucking Scrooge after being visited by the three spirits. I didn’t wake up at my parent’s house on Christmas morning, a changed man, giddy about the lack of pussy he’d be getting in the new year.
I knew it was the right call every time my mom gave me a pitying look, or my Dad clapped his hand on my shoulder for no good reason other than he wanted to reassure me. Those concerns and sympathies were etched into their faces, just like it was on Player’s face tonight. I don’t want to see that look on another face as look as I fucking live.
No. I’m not interested in one-night stands, and anything more serious than one night is out of the fucking question. I’m keeping my eye on the puck, my stick on the ice and my dick in my pants.
2
Bridezilla Bids
