Her Hockey Superstar Fake Fiancé: A Strong Family Romance Companion Novel

by Cami Checketts

  Faith’s eyes softened then. She studied him for a few beats. Her tongue darted out and moistened her full lips, making his heartbeat roar in his ears. He wanted to move around the chair, tug her close, and finally have her lips under his again. He’d missed her for many long years. Luckily, hockey had kept him insanely busy, because right now he didn’t know how he’d survived without being close to her.

  “Maybe,” she finally admitted.

  Jag felt himself soften. He smiled and pushed away the jealousy and the ache of missing her. “Thank you for the massage,” he murmured.

  “If you sit there quietly and let me cut your hair, I’ll give you another massage after I’m done.”

  “Really?”

  “Can you sit there quietly?”

  Jag grimaced. He wanted that massage. He wanted her fingers on his scalp, but he wanted to talk things out even more. So many years, and maybe there were misunderstandings that once resolved could clear up some of the pain. Nothing could take away the pain and betrayal of her writing him off and then later marrying Blaine, but if he could be with her, he could overlook that. “Okay,” he finally conceded.

  “Okay.” She gave him a partial smile—not the full-dimple smile, but enough encouragement for him to sink back into the chair.

  She kept combing, measuring, and snipping, but he could feel that something had changed. Instead of leaning away from him, she was leaning in. Her arm would press softly into his back or shoulder or chest, and he’d get that heady scent of vanilla. He loved it. He kept his promise not to talk, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t stare at her. And stare he did. He drank her in as she focused on his hair. He’d catch her eye and give her what he’d been told was his smoldering glance. She’d blush and look away again. He loved those interactions almost as much as her brushing against him and smelling irresistible.

  She put down her scissors and ruffled his hair as if getting the stray strands out. Then she filled her palm with something that smelled good and started working it into his hair. He wanted to keep his eyes open and stare at her, but this scalp massage felt so unreal that he had to close his eyes and just let himself savor the sensation.

  After not nearly long enough, her touch went feather light, and she pulled away and used the comb to brush his hair to the side and away from his face.

  “Please don’t stop,” he murmured, “That was amazing.”

  She smiled, and he got a quick glimpse of that dimple. “Sorry. I’ve got to rinse Mary’s hair out, or she’s going to look like a skunk.” She tilted her head to the lady under the inverted bowl, who was still buried deep in her magazine.

  “Can I see you later?” he asked quickly before she pulled away completely. Standing, he turned to face her.

  “I … I don’t know, Jag.”

  “Please, after work. Let me take you to dinner, take you out for ice cream, take you ice skating, take you to Iceland, anywhere … please.”

  She gave him a little half smile and her dark eyes seemed to be interested in him, but then she pushed the words out quickly: “I’m going to Blaine’s grave after work.”

  “Oh.” He grimaced and looked away. He and Blaine had been close once, but he couldn’t imagine how hard it would be to go to the grave and watch Faith mourn for the man she’d chosen to marry instead of Jag. Not that he’d even been in the running when she’d married Blaine, but it still felt like the two of them had betrayed him. At the same time, the thought of her suffering hurt him. If only he had the right to hold her and comfort her.

  “Do I pay you or up front?” he asked, instead of begging her to let him come, let him be there for her no matter how much it hurt. Because that was what you did when you loved someone as much as he’d always loved Faith. The tension should’ve crushed them, but when he was spending time around her, it all came rushing back even stronger, as she was all woman now and he couldn’t hide the longing he felt for her.

  “Up front.”

  He nodded. “Thanks. The massage was amazing.”

  She smiled then, but it wasn’t a soft smile that meant he was going to get a kiss. It was the smile of her needing to leave but hating to go. At least it meant she still cared. “I’m glad you liked it.”

  Jag felt like his time with her was slipping away, like the awful moment in the spring when the ice started melting on the lake and there was nothing you could do to stop it, or when a puck somehow got past his stick and was racing toward the opponent and all he wanted was to get it back. He didn’t even know where she lived or what her phone number was. He could stop by her parents’ place—they’d always been kind to him—but would they want to give out information about her? “Do you still live with your parents?” he blurted out.

  “No.” She rolled her eyes. “What kind of a loser do you think I am?”

  Jag laughed, despite how churned up he was inside. “I didn’t mean it like that.” He took a deep breath and admitted, “I wanted to be able to find you later.”

  She studied him, then walked away, lifting the bowl thing off Mary’s head and escorting her to the seat Jag had vacated. Faith didn’t give him much. Her lips were pursed like they used to do when she was thinking deeply. Jag stood by, feeling like she didn’t want to push him away but she had no choice. Was her memory and longing for Blaine too strong to let Jag back in? Whatever it was, Jag hated it more than he’d hated losing to the Islanders.

  Mary smiled at him, tinfoil sticking out all over head.

  “Hi,” Jag said.

  “Hiya, handsome.” She gave him a wink.

  Faith laughed and gave Jag a conspiratorial look. The intimacy of shared humor washed over him, filling in the cracks that had opened when she’d dumped him ten years ago and soothing them—to a point. Nothing could really fill them or heal him until she agreed to be his again. Did he even have a chance?

  Faith put some gloves on and started pulling the foil things off of Mary’s head. Jag figured he was supposed to take this as his cue to leave. He could come back tomorrow and get his own head covered with tinfoil, but he didn’t want to wait until tomorrow.

  “Please,” he said in a low tone.

  “I …” Faith’s brow wrinkled, and she stared deeply at him. Her dark brown eyes were beautiful and appealing.

  Jag begged her with his own gaze. He felt her leaning his way. Was she was going to cave? He prayed she would, but nothing in her gaze told him which way she’d go. He used to be able to read her every mood. He wanted to put his hands up and see if she’d match them with hers, no matter if there was no glass and no gloves.

  She shook her head, focused back on Mary, and said in a murmur, “Today’s just not good.”

  His hopes crumpled, but he knew she was right. He knew he needed to back away. “Tomorrow?” he asked quietly.

  She shrugged and met his gaze, her dark gaze infusing some hope into him. “Maybe.”

  The last of Mary’s foils were pulled out, and her hair looked crazy: a sickish yellow in spots, red in others, and even black here and there. It looked as unstable and messed up as he felt right now. Jag didn’t know what else to say or do. Maybe he was wrong, absolutely wrong, and he and Faith weren’t meant to be together.

  Or maybe it was like fighting his guts out to get into UMass and then get the notices and offers from the pro scouts. He hadn’t given up then. Why would he give up on something so much more important than hockey? He’d given up on him and Faith years ago, but he’d been immature and stupid back then. He’d been lost without her, but he’d deluded himself into thinking that he’d be okay, that he’d someday find someone else. Now he knew better. Now he knew there was no one out there like Faith. Not for him.

  Faith leaned Mary back in the chair and started rinsing her hair. Jag watched carefully, and he knew that this hair rinsing was nowhere close to the way Faith had massaged and rinsed his hair. All the crazy colors started washing down the drain, and he saw that Mary’s hair was going to be okay, pretty even, with different twists of highlights
. Maybe he and Faith could be okay.

  Faith glanced up at him. “See ya, Jag,” she said softly.

  Jag lifted a hand and backed away. Today wasn’t good. He got that. Maybe tomorrow. The way she’d washed his hair had been special. They had a chance to blend together like Mary’s hair. He was waxing weirdly philosophical, which was completely unlike him. He waved to Mary and then strode around the little barrier and to the front desk to pay. Faith worked at a nice place. Tomorrow he could see her, maybe do something with her, maybe talk. That should be good, but he only had a limited amount of days before he’d be back in Boston, across the country from her again.

  He hated to wait, especially because he had nothing to do. His entire family was up skiing, and he couldn’t ski, as per his contract. What was he going to do with himself for the rest of the day? Nick had helped him get Gavin’s number earlier, and Gavin had helped him get in contact with the spa and figure out exactly when Faith would have a sort of break to fit him in. It had worked pretty well. Maybe he’d bug Gavin again and see if he could go ice skating on the lake behind the Strong’s house. The long day stretching out in front of him needed to be filled, or he’d go crazy waiting to see Faith again.

  Chapter Four

  Faith had struggled through work, counting down the hours and then the minutes. It was so unlike her. She loved people and loved helping them feel more appealing. She was a natural with hair and had always loved doing it up for her little sisters and their friends. For the rest of the day, all she’d wanted was to go find Jag again. She couldn’t let herself do that. Today was supposed to be about Blaine, honoring and remembering him on the anniversary of his death. She would finally get to read that letter, and maybe that would help her move past all the hurt and loneliness.

  The letter was in her purse, and she was planning to go straight to the cemetery in Vail after work. She thought it was very sad and telling that she’d rather go knock on doors in the lodge until she found Jag rather than face whatever Blaine wanted to tell her. Blaine had been persistent in his pursuit of her, until she’d finally married him because he’d always been there for her and constantly promised that he loved her enough for the both of them. He’d always been very, very kind to her. He’d treated her like a china doll. She’d hated it, and she’d felt extremely guilty that she’d hated it.

  Rushing out the door, she hurried through the near-full parking lot toward her car. Angel Falls Retreat was busy this Christmas season, and now that it was December twenty-third and school was out, there were large groups of local families and teenagers enjoying the slopes, as well as the crowd of out-of-towners who were staying at the resort for the holiday.

  She waited for an Audi sport utility to pass by. It stopped right next to her instead. The window rolled down, and Jag was smiling at her. “Fancy meeting you here.”

  Shaking her head, she couldn’t hide her own smile. “Have you been driving around the parking lot just waiting for me to walk out?”

  “How low you think of me.” Jag grinned. “Honestly, I haven’t. I hiked up to the Strongs’ lake, and I’ve been ice skating all afternoon.”

  “You and that lake.”

  “It’s my happy spot. Can you … wait right there?”

  “Right here?” she asked.

  “Don’t move.”

  Faith laughed, and all the angst over the letter and Blaine’s death day disappeared as she remembered how often Jag had said those exact words after one of his hockey games while she waited at the glass. How she wished she could’ve gone to his college games, and how she wished she could now go cheer at his Bruins games. She sometimes watched them on television, but it was often too painful for her.

  Jag pulled into a stall, jumped out, and hurried over to her. “Can I walk you to your car?”

  “I guess so.” She smiled up at him. He was so tall, so handsome, so perfectly perfect.

  He put a hand on her lower back and escorted her to her car. The sun was shining bright today, and with her coat on and Jag by her side, she felt as warm as summertime.

  They stopped next to her beat-up Corolla. Blaine had bought her a nice Jetta after they’d been married, but the twenty percent of his medical bills that weren’t covered by insurance had motivated her to sell everything she could. She was proud that she had no debt and could make the payments on their house; she didn’t need a nice car.

  Faith set her purse in the car and turned to face him. Jag shut the door and leaned in close, so that Faith’s back was pressed against the car. He placed both his hands on the roof of the car, effectively pinning her in. Her breath shortened. They’d been in this position before, and she knew exactly what was coming next.

  She stared up at his face. Jag’s blue eyes were focused deeply on her. He shifted closer, and his strong body pressed against her. Faith forgot about everything but him. She should slow down. She should exercise some self-control. Instead, she lifted her hands and framed his face with them. It was cold outside, but that didn’t matter. She was safe in the warmth of Jag’s arms again, and nothing and no one could hurt her.

  She trailed her thumb along the scar next to his mouth. “How’d you get this?” she murmured.

  “Fight on the ice.” He smiled. “My helmet came off and the ice ripped my lip open.”

  Faith slid her arms around his neck, stood onto tiptoes, and softly touched her lips to the scar.

  Fire raced through her as Jag turned toward her so their lips were aligned and murmured, “You missed.”

  Faith smiled, lifted her eyebrows, and said, “You gonna help me with my aim?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Anticipation and a heady desire swirled around them as Jag’s lips hovered over hers. She wanted him to kiss her, take command of her world, and push away the ten years without him.

  Jag smiled slightly and moved in.

  “Can I get a statement from your fiancée about how you met?” a snide voice asked from much too close by.

  It was the redhead reporter lady. She was dressed a little smarter today in a formfitting ski coat and pants. Faith had been curious about her yesterday. Today she was ticking her off.

  Jag cursed softly and ushered Faith’s head to his chest, holding her close as if to shelter her from the woman. “There will be no statement, and if you keep this up, I’ll sue you for harassment.”

  The woman laughed. “I’d love to see you waste your money.”

  “Go bug some idiot who wants the publicity,” Jag said.

  She only laughed louder. “You want it …” Her voice got husky. “All of it.”

  Faith couldn’t believe what the woman was implying. She pulled from Jag’s grasp to glare at the woman.

  The redhead smiled and said, “I know all about you, Faith Grainger. Betrayed Jag and married his best friend. Blaine died a year ago today. So tragic. So desperate, aren’t you, sweetheart?”

  Faith’s temper flared at the woman’s condescending tone. The woman had dared butt into their almost kiss and conversation, and now she was being a complete brat. Faith wanted to tell her off, but she could sense that claiming Jag as hers would bug this woman more than anything. Faith gave her as cold of a smile as she was getting. “Back off from my fiancé, or I’ll show you Western hospitality like you’ve never seen.”

  The woman arched her delicate eyebrows, her green eyes cunning. “You’re way out of your league, sweetheart.” She tsked her tongue and looked at Jag. “A widowed hairdresser driving a rusted-out Toyota. Classy. Your fans are going to love this. Is this an engagement for charity or simply a long-lost love?”

  Jag started toward her. The menacing look on his face would’ve scared his teammate, Josh Porter, who loved to fight more than he loved to score.

  The woman scuttled away. “I think I’ve got plenty to whet the people’s appetite. See you soon.”

  Jag watched her go, turning back to Faith with a heavy breath. “I’m sorry,” he muttered. “Sheryl has it in for me.”

  “I go
t that.” The moment between them was shattered, leaving her upset and unsteady. This was Blaine’s death day, and she’d all but thrown herself at Jag. What was wrong with her? Being around Jag scrambled her brain waves, leading her to make rash, crazy decisions. They weren’t engaged; they didn’t have a future. She needed to remember that, and quick. “I’ve got to go,” she murmured.

  Jag nodded, studying her as if he wanted to convince her to stay but knew he shouldn’t. “Can we talk later?”

  Faith shrugged and backed away. Pulling the car door open, she used it as a barrier between them. If Jag touched her, she’d come unraveled and could easily forget her own name. “There’s too much between us,” she said.

  “I know.” He grinned. “Sparks and happiness and me never wanting to let you go.”

  Faith trembled from his words and the warm look in his eyes. She felt the exact same way, but … “That’s not what I meant. Too much garbage and pain, Jag.”

  Jag didn’t come around the door, but he leaned over it, getting much too close for her susceptible heart. “We can work through it, Faith. We have to be able to.”

  Faith didn’t know about “have to.” “And then what? You leave me again, write me off with a lame letter?”

  “Excuse me?” His eyebrows dipped together. “I wrote you off?”

  Faith clung to the door, anguish and anger rolling together at the memory. “You broke my heart, Jag. I know I was young and probably too immature, but I loved you, and you dumped me for hockey.”

  “I didn’t dump you; you dumped me,” he protested.

  Faith glared at him. “Get your story straight, Parros. Maybe your reporter friend can help you.” With that, she dodged into her car, slammed the door, and started it.

  Jag stood there, glaring down at her through the window. She thought maybe he’d try to stop her, but it looked like he was as mad as she was. How dare he claim she’d dumped him? Maybe ten years had dulled his memory or he’d taken one too many hits to the head. Jerk anyway. As she pulled out, she couldn’t resist looking in the rearview mirror. The anguish on his face cut deep and made her abdomen clench. She forced herself to look away and push on the gas. Jag couldn’t even admit that he’d dumped her and apologize. A simple apology would go a long, long way. He lived in a high-dollar, delusional world—a world she’d never been a part of and never would.