by Kendall Ryan
I stare dumbfounded at the selfie Becca sent us. She’s holding up her left hand, a solitaire diamond glistening in the light. Behind her, Owen is absolutely beaming with pride, one arm wrapped tight around Becca’s waist as if to indicate that he’s never letting go.
God, they’re ridiculously cute—like one of those Instagram couples that you think can’t possibly be real.
I fire off an enthusiastic reply with as many exclamation points as I can manage, trying to ignore the unexpected pang of jealousy hitting me like an arrow straight to the chest.
Of course I’m happy for Becca and Owen. They’re perfect for each other. Yet I can’t help but feel slightly envious of what they have. A real, genuine love worth holding on to, till death do you part. Meanwhile, all I’ve got is a completely fake relationship for the purposes of softening the media blow of a potentially leaked sex tape. Not exactly the textbook definition of romance.
I manage to quiet the green-eyed monster in me long enough to join in the celebration happening in the group chat, oohing and ahhing with the rest of the girls over the enormous rock on Becca’s finger. Everyone agrees that we’ll have to get brunch on Saturday to celebrate and see just how sparkly the ring is in person, as well as talk wedding plans.
When Aubree volunteers to make the reservation, I duck out of the group message momentarily and open my contacts. I need to text Teddy. Partly because I want to know if he was in on this proposal plan, and partly because I need to feel a little less tragically single right now, even if the best I can do is texting my fake boyfriend.
Seconds after I press SEND to forward him the picture of the happy couple, my phone buzzes with his reply.
Hell yeah, she said yes!
I chuckle at his response and quickly type out a message.
Did you know anything about this??
A second later, I get my answer.
Uh, maybe . . .
Plopping down on the couch, I lift a forkful of noodles to my mouth. It makes sense that Owen ran it by the guys before popping the question. If no one else, he would have at least told Justin, probably Becca’s parents too. Maybe he told all his teammates; who the heck knows.
My phone lights up with another text.
Are you mad I didn’t tell you?
I roll my eyes, a smirk tugging at my lips while I respond.
Of course not. I’m just impressed you didn’t spill the beans last Friday after you had a few drinks.
Yeah, right. I can be trusted with a secret, as you well know. Are you still coming to the game Saturday?
A jolt of nerves passes through my body as I look down at his text. Teddy and I settled on Saturday’s afternoon game as the perfect opportunity to make our relationship public, since with hundreds of cameras around, it’s bound to go viral. I’ll be sitting with the other players’ girlfriends and wives, rocking TK’s jersey, and the rumblings of Teddy King being spotted with a new girl on his arm will be officially confirmed. The thought of being shown on national television overwhelms me, but I know there’s no better way to make sure America knows that this Ice Hawks’ forward is spoken for.
I type out a reply.
Wouldn’t miss it for the world. But for now, I need to eat dinner before I fall asleep. We’ll talk details of Saturday tomorrow?
He replies a moment later. Gotcha. Good night, babe.
I hold one finger over those four little letters on my phone screen, b-a-b-e, and the tragically single feeling turns to a warm hum in my chest as I drift into a dream where I’m the one flaunting a diamond on my left hand and beaming with happiness.
• • •
Question: What is the correct number of mimosas needed to celebrate one of your best friends getting engaged?
Answer: The limit does not exist.
Saturday mornings are always an absolute zoo at any brunch spot in the city, but we’re not eating at just any brunch spot today. We’re eating at the hottest restaurant for brunch within Seattle city limits. Beneath the airy lighting and plants hanging from the ceiling, all five of us are cozied up at a table meant for four, having taken full benefit of the build-your-own-mimosa bar and what very well may be the world’s most impressive selection of pastries. How Aubree managed to snag us a reservation here with only a few days’ notice, we may never know.
“Cheers to the woman who finally locked down my brother!” Elise calls out, lifting her glass of water in the air.
We agreed to carpool to the game later, and Elise volunteered to be the designated driver, so she’s a no-go on the mimosa bar this morning. I told her I’d stay sober with her in solidarity, so my champagne flute is really more of an orange juice flute. She doesn’t have to know the real reason I’m not drinking—I’m too nervous about Teddy and me going public today to stomach anything more than a few sips of OJ.
“Congratulations, future Mrs. Parrish!” Bailey giggles as we all clink our glasses together. “I can’t wait for the wedding of the century.”
“You guys are going to go down in history as the best bridesmaids ever.” Becca smiles, laying a hand on her heart. It’s her left hand, of course, and the overhead lights bounce off her ring, casting little rainbows across the table.
“Speaking of which,” Aubree says, “I feel like it’s our duty as bridesmaids to plan a kick-ass engagement party for you guys.”
“But how are you going to outdo this reservation, Aubree?” I tease, sending the group into a giggle fit.
Aubree does an exaggerated toss of her hair, then pretends to dust off her shoulder as she shoots us a devilish grin. “Oh, you know I’ll always find a way.”
As Bailey pops the last bite of her chocolate-filled croissant between her lips, she holds one finger up in the air to indicate she has something to say. “Sara,” she manages to say after she swallows. “Didn’t you and TK just go to a fancy-schmancy engagement party? Maybe you could give us some pointers.”
My stomach knots. I don’t want to make this brunch about my relationship with Teddy. One, I don’t want to dive into those details in front of everyone, and two, this morning is all about Becca, not me.
“We can talk about it later,” I say, trying to limit the dismissive tone in my voice. “Personally, I want to hear more about when Becca thinks they’re going to set a date.”
Becca takes the bait on my conversation topic switch, her face lighting up with excitement as she dives headfirst into a full-on defense of winter weddings, describing just how magical they can be.
The tension releases from my shoulders. Crisis averted. The less I have to talk about my relationship with Teddy, the less nervous I feel about the game. Which, as I glance at my phone, starts in forty-five minutes.
I give Elise a look, urging her to check the time, and she gets the message. We have to get out of here if we’re going to make it in time to watch the puck drop.
We split the tab and say our good-byes to Bailey, who is going home to study, and Aubree, who has to make an appearance at a charity 5K for work today. I almost make a comment about how I’ll be the only single girl in the group at the game, but I bite down hard on my lower lip and catch myself just in time.
No more Single Sara mind-set. I’ve got to focus and remember whose jersey I’m wearing and whose arm I’m officially on.
It’s a quick drive to the arena, and when we arrive, I make sure to follow a few steps behind Becca and Elise, letting them lead the way through the chaos of vendors and fans. I haven’t been to many Ice Hawks games lately, whereas the two of them are here more nights than not. They know their way around much better than I do.
Our second-row seats are so close to the ice, it feels ridiculously indulgent, and I get a little more excited. There are a few familiar women in the seats next to ours, each of them sporting an Ice Hawks hat, jersey, or both. I recognize one of them as Coach Dodd’s wife, and the other two greet Becca and Elise with hugs before making their way to me.
“I’m Sara, Teddy King’s girlfriend. Number four,” I sa
y, shaking each of their hands. It’s the first time I’ve said it out loud. Teddy King’s girlfriend. I hope it sounded believable.
“Girlfriend?” Elise says on a gasp. “So, you two are official already?”
“She’s wearing his jersey, Elise.” Becca gestures to the giant number on my back. “It doesn’t get much more official than that. Now, are we getting soft pretzels or not?”
While Elise chaperones a tipsy Becca on her way to the concession stand, I grab a seat next to the coach’s wife, making polite hockey-related small talk.
“Have you come to see him play before?” she asks. “He’s a wicked forward.”
I’m instantly reminded of all the college hockey games I used to drag my roommate to. Even when she was busy studying, I would go by myself, not wanting to miss a chance to see Teddy play.
“It’s been a while,” I admit with a smile. “I’m excited to be here.”
And it’s true. To be sitting here with the exclusive club of women dating the players? It’s exciting. Or maybe nerve-racking. But I’m not going to take the time to sort that out. We’re just a few minutes from puck drop, and before long, Elise and Becca are back, pretzels in hand and ready to cheer on their guys.
“It’s so good to have you here,” Elise tells me between bites of pretzel. “Trust me. You’re going to love watching the game with the girls.”
My pulse quickens as I force a smile. Because the truth is, I really do think I’m going to love it. Probably a little too much. But I can’t get used to this.
What happens after this whole crazy sex-tape situation blows over? Do Teddy and I tell all our friends the truth? Or do we pretend to break up? Whatever we decide, I certainly won’t have a spot with the hockey girlfriends anymore.
I hope that after all is said and done, maybe things will go back to normal. If I can just stop noticing how handsome Teddy is, maybe we can go back to being friends again. We pulled it off after college. Why should it be any different this time around?
My worrying is interrupted by the announcer’s voice booming over the loudspeaker and the whole crowd screaming and jumping to their feet. Player by player, the team skates onto the ice, and when Teddy enters the rink, I lose my mind cheering and clapping as loud as humanly possible.
We’re close enough that when I spot the gleam lighting up his eyes as they lock with mine, the chilly arena suddenly feels warmer, like a cozy wool blanket has been placed around my shoulders. As he skates to the other end of the rink, he blows me a kiss, which nearly knocks me over.
Nice play, King. Let’s hope the cameras caught that one.
“Oh my God!” Becca squeals, clapping her hands together giddily. “That was so cute. I take back everything I said about not picturing you guys together. You’re freaking adorable.”
I shrug as if it’s no big deal, but on the inside, my heart is working double-time. Because even if that kiss was just for the cameras, it hit me in the feels harder than Teddy’s best slap shot.
My reaction to him is unexpected. Unwarranted. Unwanted. We’ve spent years hanging out in the same circle of friends, so why now am I suddenly so hot and needy for him? Maybe because I know how good he looks naked, how amazing he is with his tongue.
Stop it, Sara. Pull your head out of your ass and quit fantasizing about the hot hockey jock.
Nothing good can come of nurturing my growing little obsession with him. But the more I try to pretend I’m not affected by him, the worse my longing gets. And if I can’t get these feelings under control, we’re both going to be taking the penalty for it.
As the action starts, my gaze is focused on the ice, chasing the players and the puck with every fierce move they make. I’ve been to Teddy’s games many times over the years, but being here tonight is a different experience, maybe because I’m closely watching everything and seeing it through a new lens.
Like how bulking ginormous Owen looks with all that gear on. The way their team captain, Grant, stations himself at the end of the bench to tap gloves with the guys coming in off their shift. The way Teddy moves effortlessly, yet so aggressively across the ice. It’s a game that requires a lot of stamina and courage, and Teddy is damn good at it.
To say I’m proud would be a massive understatement. But it’s the rest of my emotions that have me more than a little on edge.
Taking a much-needed breath, I lean forward in my seat, way more into this game than I ever expected.
11
* * *
Sexy Little Temptress
Teddy
I can’t seem to shake the memory of the last time I was alone with Sara . . . it wasn’t my finest performance.
I jerked off on her like some hormonal teenager. I’d barely shoved my pants down when I was all but fisting my cock and jerking it against her stomach, coming in under a minute with the taste of her still on my tongue. I doubt that’s what LaShonda had in mind when she suggested we begin dating to keep up appearances. My bad.
But if Sara is holding this against me, you wouldn’t know it. Her fingers curl around my bicep, and she lets out a low laugh at something Asher just said.
Does she know she’s turning me on?
Not to mention, she’s wearing that lipstick again—that fucking bright pink lipstick that makes the front of my pants too tight.
She came to my game last Saturday, but we didn’t go out afterward. The media had caught wind of our relationship . . . so, mission accomplished. Sara texted me good game when she got home, and I received a pleased email from LaShonda the next morning saying we were all over the media.
While I spent this week traveling for two games in the Midwest, Sara spent the week buried in work. Which means that this is the first chance we’ve gotten to be together again. I sort of wish we were somewhere quiet, alone, instead of here in this swanky hotel’s ballroom. But celebrating Owen and Becca’s engagement has won out.
The low lighting and circling waiters carrying trays of champagne and little hors d’oeuvres create a romantic, intimate ambience. In the center of the room are the guests of honor—Owen, tuxedo-clad and beaming with a huge grin, his arm around his new fiancée, Becca, who looks equally as overjoyed, dressed in a long cream-colored silk gown. They look so happy.
Something twists inside me, and I shake away the feeling, leaning down to ask Sara if she’d like another cocktail.
Nodding happily, she presses a kiss to my cheek. “Yes, and one of those little crab puff thing-ys, please.”
I have no idea if that kiss was really for me, or for the benefit of our friends who think we’re actually dating.
Taking advantage of the situation, I give her hip a squeeze and leave her with Asher. I don’t miss the way his gaze wanders to where my hand lightly gripped her. I guess it’s probably a little strange for our friends to see us behaving like a couple, when the entire time they’ve known us, we’ve been nothing but platonic.
Smiling like I’ve got a secret, I wander to the open bar to get us a refill on our gin and tonics.
Our first cocktail disappeared pretty dang quickly after Sara announced that she’s made partner at the law firm, a goal she’s been working toward for years. Between the celebratory toasts and congratulations, that first round went fast. But Sara, in her typical humble fashion, didn’t want to take the spotlight from Becca and Owen’s night, and banned us all from mentioning it again—at least for the night. I’m so damn proud of her, though I could burst.
After stuffing a couple of bills into the tip jar, I collect our drinks and wander back toward Sara. This time she and Asher have been joined by Bailey and Elise. Bailey’s talking about bridesmaid dresses while Sara nods along dutifully, like a good friend. It’s kind of amusing.
“Have I told you how gorgeous you look tonight?” I murmur low near her ear. “Prettiest girl in the room.”
I’m rewarded with an elbow to my ribs and can’t help but chuckle. She’s feisty, and I love it.
I’m trying to distract myself and keep the m
ood light, because the alternative is focusing on the fact that if our sex tape leaks, her promotion will be pulled back faster than a goal shot during a time-out. It’s not something I want to think about.
“You look handsome too,” she finally whispers, giving me a sly smile.
I place my hand at her lower back and lean close again, appreciating the delicious scent of her bodywash. “I guess engagement parties are becoming our thing.”
She nods, meeting my eyes with a sultry expression. “Two in what . . . four weeks?”
I nod. “We’re on a roll.”
She shoots me a wicked look. “Just don’t drink the water.”
Gazing at her curiously, I start to wonder about that comment. “Why? Are you scared we’ll be next?”
Her lips part, and she watches me but doesn’t reply. Something about her reaction shakes me and causes my stomach to sink to the floor, like the idea of ending up with a guy like me would be the worst thing she could imagine.
“Hey, if anyone’s next, it’s me and Justin,” Elise says, placing one hand on her hip and giving us a pointed look. “We’ve been together longer than Becca and Owen. And you guys have only been dating for like four minutes.”
Sara laughs and turns toward Elise, where they get into a serious discussion about how long each couple has been dating, and a host of other things that I would classify squarely under the category of girl talk. I do my best to tune it out.
Becca and Owen escape from the pack of relatives that have been holding them hostage and make their way over toward our group.
“Damn, look at that rock!” Bailey says dramatically, shielding her eyes when Becca gets close.
Owen looks so proud he could burst, and Becca lets out a low laugh, holding out her left hand for everyone to inspect her engagement ring.
While they talk about setting a date, I fixate on something else.
“Don’t drink the water.”
That comment is still bouncing around in my brain as we’re encouraged to take our seats for dinner. I pull out Sara’s chair and she lowers herself into it, sitting between me and Bailey. Also at our table are Asher, Justin, and Elise, the rookie Landon, and our team captain, Grant. I notice he’s drinking water rather than a cocktail like everyone else. He’s certainly more disciplined than I am. Owen and Becca are sitting at a nearby table with their parents—something about getting the families to meet for the first time.
