The Faker: A Marriage of Convenience Hockey Romance (Boston Hawks Hockey) by Gina Azzi (little red riding hood read aloud .TXT) 📕

back to the conversation. This is still a negotiation and when you make emotional decisions, you end up on the losing side. I clear my throat. “Okay, good. So, separate bedrooms, no cheating, anything else? I’m happy to sign a prenup, obviously. You’ll be traveling with the team over the next two months so we’ll have a chance to settle in without everything being awkward.”

Torsten blows out an exhale and leans back in his chair. He raps his knuckles against the table. “I’ll have my lawyer draw everything up. I’ll hire you a lawyer too or you can just send me the bill for whoever you’re most comfortable working with. There’s one more thing we need to discuss.”

“What?” I narrow my eyes.

“What are we going to tell people? Obviously, we can’t really share our story or we’ll end up—”

“In jail,” I snort.

Torsten takes a gulp of his water. “Exactly. But, there’s no way we can pull this off without being honest with Easton and Claire.”

“Or Indy and Noah,” I mutter, knowing he’s right.

“Austin,” he adds. “I’ll talk to the guys before our team meeting tonight. We’re going over video reels.”

“Okay. I’ll message Claire and Indy and see if we can meet for coffee.” I tap my fingers against the table, thinking of all the ways this is going to blow up in my face. There’s no way in hell that Claire’s feelings aren’t going to be hurt when she realizes the scheme I’m about to pull off. She won’t buy that I’m just getting married to help out Torsten. Besides, I can’t tell her he’s not re-signing because the team doesn’t know yet. Shit, am I going to lose my best friend’s trust?

“What is it?” Torsten asks.

I lick my lips. “I don’t know what to tell Claire.”

His expression softens. “We’ll tell them a variation of the truth. That six weeks ago, I helped you home after you drank your face off with Claire.”

“That’s true.”

“Yeah.”

“And that we’ve been talking since then. Hanging out as friends.”

“As friends,” he agrees. “And that when I mentioned my predicament to you, you offered to help me out because—”

“Because I needed out of my job. Away from my boss.”

He narrows his eyes. “Don’t think we’re not going to address what really happened last night.”

I lower my gaze.

“Just tell me, Ri. Who bruised you up? Someone related to the loan, your ex-boss? I need to know. I need to make sure whoever the hell he is, he won’t ever put his hands on you again.”

I sigh. “It was Stu, my ex-boss. But we don’t have time to get into everything right now.” I flick my wrist, desperate to keep us on track. “I’ll explain to Claire that I agreed to move in with you and take some time to explore my career path without the financial pressure I’m under. I mean, Claire and Indy know I have loans. They just don’t know the whole story.”

“What is the whole story?” he tries again.

I flash him a quick grin. “Not going there, Torst.”

“Ri, I’m in the middle of playoffs. My contract is up at the end of June. In order for this to work, it’s going to happen fast. Real fast.”

“Okay,” I agree.

He searches my eyes, as if looking for confirmation to match my words. “So, we have a deal?”

I take a deep breath and look around my shitty apartment. When my eyes latch onto Torsten’s again, I nod. “We have a deal.”

6

Torsten

I wasn’t kidding when I told Rielle we’d have to move fast. By the end of the night, I’ve confided in my closest friends and teammates, bought Rielle a ring, and scanned the papers Bill sent over. I’m changing into sweats for the night, when I glance at the clock. It’s nearing midnight and Rielle still isn’t home.

You’re not her keeper.

Still, a flicker of worry flares in my chest. I still don’t know the full story about her student loans. I don’t know the full story with the fuckhead ex-boss who touched her. I don’t know any of Rielle’s full stories and I have no clue where she is. With each minute that passes, my nerves jump and my concern increases.

What am I doing? Two nights ago, I didn’t think twice about Rielle Carter unless I was picturing her plump lips closing over my cock and how sweet it would feel to sink inside of her. Now, I’m stressed because a handful of hours have passed and she hasn’t checked in.

Is this what marriage is like? Constantly worrying about someone?

I sigh and tug on my sweatpants. Pausing, I take in my room, as if I’m seeing it through new eyes. The mahogany furniture, the sturdy, boxy bed frame, the gray and black comforter. Everything about it screams bachelor and for years, I reveled in that. But now, I wish it was a little softer. I wish it had a woman’s touch. Rielle’s.

I’m reaching for my T-shirt when the apartment door latch catches. I hear a burst of giggling. Grinning to myself, I toss my clothes in the hamper and make my way out of my bedroom.

Then, I freeze. Because Rielle is standing in the center of the living room. Her arms are raised over her head, her expression, cast in moonlight, is dreamy. Her eyes are closed, her body swaying to whatever music she’s turning over in her mind.

But that body. I work a swallow. She’s dressed in skintight leather pants and a cropped top. The sexiest boots I’ve ever seen mold over her knees. Her hair is a wild tangle of curls, tumbling down her back.

She must feel my gaze because she stops moving and turns to glance at me over her shoulder.

Black eyes that glint and burn. A lush mouth that’s sinful in its ability to tempt. Curves my hands are desperate to feel. My throat dries, my eyes widen, and I take a tentative step closer.

“Rielle.” My voice is raspy, deep.

Rielle grins and it hits me straight in the chest. “Hello, soon-to-be