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

A week ago, I was fighting off Stu’s wandering hands, wondering what life in an alleyway would look like.

Now, I’m stepping out of shoes that cost almost as much as my old car in a luxury penthouse. Talk about a twist of fate.

On some level, I know it should bother me that I’m doing something highly illegal. I’m sure I should have some moral qualms about the whole arrangement. Maybe the past year, of trying so damn hard to just survive, has warped my thinking. Because right now, I’m so happy to be full and warm and safe, I could weep tears of joy.

“You have fun today?” Torsten asks. His voice is all rumbly and deep.

God, he’s sexy. His blue eyes blaze as he unbuttons the neat row of his dress shirt. I watch as he undoes his cuff links. They’re shiny and look heavy, expensive. Like him.

What does he think when he looks at me?

Torsten tilts his head, studying me. “You okay, Ri?”

I nod. Torsten Hansen is now my husband. Husband. My heartbeat races at the thought. I’m falling a little bit in like and lust for my husband. But not in love, right? No, never in love.

The weight of an important decision settles around my neck. In many ways, it seems heavier than the decision over whether or not to marry Torsten in the first place.

“If we sleep together…” I say and Torsten’s eyebrows jump to his hairline. I clear my throat. “If we sleep together, it will complicate things.”

He nods slowly.

“But if we don’t, we’ll just be celibate for two years…”

He nods again, frowning. He takes a step closer and his big hand envelops mine. It’s warm and strong, reassuring and tempting.

I lick my lips and Torsten’s eyes focus on my mouth. He swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. “Rielle.”

“If we do this, it’s just about sex. We both have physical needs; there’s no point in going without for two years when we’re here, right?”

He frowns, his eyes flashing with a burst of anger. He shuffles closer, his hand squeezing mine.

“No messy emotions, no complicated expectations. It’s easy to get carried away after a day like today.” I force a smile and unzip the back of my dress. I shimmy out of the top and push it down to my waist. It falls to the floor like a waterfall, rippling and rushing down my body.

Torsten takes a step back, his eyes scanning my curves. He closes his eyes for a moment, as if in pain. “Rielle, we could try—”

“No,” I cut him off. I don’t want to hear whatever he’s going to say. Because any words from him right now will make me yearn for the fairy tale that doesn’t exist. He’ll make me crave the happily-ever-after that isn’t in the cards for us.

I know better than to hope for things like that.

I step out of my dress, my hands dangling at my sides. I force myself to say the words I need to believe. “Tonight, going forward, this”—I gesture between us—“is just sex.”

His eyes are narrowed as they study my face. After a moment, he nods. “Just sex.” His tone is clipped.

I swallow and step forward, my hands finding his shoulders, my body pressing into his. I kiss him hard, hunger and hurt on my lips. His hands find my hips and squeeze. He meets me kiss for kiss, our teeth clashing, our tongues dueling.

Torsten Hansen fucks me fast and furious on his living room floor hours after he kissed me under a sky of rose petals. He takes me like a savage and I revel in it, in him. Afterwards, when we’re both sated, he storms to his bathroom to clean up and I retreat to my bedroom so I don’t have to witness the hurt and confusion in his eyes.

It’s for the best if we stick to the arrangement. Today was beautiful; it was more than perfect. But it was also dangerous and I need to remember that. My heart can’t handle any more breaks. At least, these are the rationalizations I feed myself as I toss and turn all night. Around 3 a.m., I finally fall asleep.

When I wake in the morning and step into the kitchen, Torsten’s gone. He’s already left for his flight. A simple note is tucked under a coffee mug on the island.

Ri, Be back in three days. Here’s a card for whatever you need. Torsten.

A lump squeezes my throat painfully. I pick up the gold credit card, threading it through my fingers.

“Dammit.” I toss it back on the island. Tears rush to the surface and a few of them spill over, tracking down my cheeks.

If I’m keeping things casual, then why the hell does this sting so badly? Yesterday morning, I felt cherished and desired.

Today, I just feel cheap.

What’s worse? I deserve it.

9

Rielle

“I can’t believe you got married yesterday,” Claire mutters as she drives to my old apartment, where Sally is parked. I still owe several months of rent and need to move out the rest of my things. Torsten promised to help me sort it all out when he gets back from Tampa but after everything that went down between us, I don’t want to become overly dependent on him.

I didn’t touch the gold credit card he left me.

Torsten is taking care of my Jerry Jensen loan. It doesn’t feel right to let him settle my three months of overdue rent and haul my boxes to his penthouse. I’m the one who pushed him to adhere to the terms we agreed to. I made my bed and now I need to lie in it. Even if it fucking sucks.

“Yeah,” I agree, looking out the window.

“Ri? What’s going on?” Claire asks, turning into the parking lot of my apartment building. She parks and turns off Easton’s car.

I drop my head back against the headrest, rolling it to meet her expectant expression.

“Before the wedding, Torsten and I…” I pause, weighing