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

our breakfast and clear off the table together, chatting about regular, normal things. Mostly, our friends. Easton’s recovery and Claire’s new design business. Indy’s pregnancy and how Noah’s going to be a crazy helicopter dad.

It’s easygoing. Normal. It’s something most couples take for granted every day. But eating breakfast with someone whose company I enjoy is nothing to take for granted. It’s the best morning I’ve had in a long time. I smile at Rielle and she grins back and something between us shifts. We share a moment that’s so much larger than this instant because it’s as if we come to a silent understanding. We’re friends, we care about each other’s best interests, and right now, that’s more than enough.

“She looks good in that number,” East bangs his fist against my shoulder in the locker room.

I snicker. “She sitting with Claire?”

He nods. “Everyone is desperate for the details on your wedding, you know? It’s not every day everyone’s favorite flirt ties the knot.”

I shrug. Across the locker room, James watches me carefully. When I meet his eyes, he fixes me with a look. One that says don’t mess this up. But what no one knows is I have no desire to mess things up with Rielle. Even though a part of me hoped our relationship would evolve into something deeper, right now, I’ll take her any way I can get her. And if that’s just friendship, then I’m holding on to that with both hands.

We take the ice and I revel in the moment, now savoring every second of play since I know my time is just about up. It’s bittersweet and nostalgic and hopeful all at once. I’ve seen players hang up their skates with misery etched in the lines of their faces and I’ve watched players hang up their skates with their heads turned to the future, to creating what comes next. I’d rather be the latter and it’s definitely a conscious choice, one I have to strive for. Because when I pass the puck to Noah and he makes the first goal of the game, the crowd rushes to their feet. The cheers and noise that ring out is deafening. It’s hard to let all that notoriety go after so long. I scan the crowd and when I find Rielle, sitting with the wives and girlfriends, cheering my name and wearing my number, some of the pain eases.

I choose the future, even if it seems more uncertain than an NHL career.

13

Rielle

The following weeks pass quickly as Torsten and I settle into our new lives. The Hawks advance to the second round of playoffs and I show up to each of Torsten’s home games wearing his jersey with pride. When he’s out of town, I pick up extra shifts at Jolene’s, socking away any money I can for one of the photography courses I’ve been researching. My life looks entirely different than it did a handful of weeks ago but if I’m being honest, I’m so much happier.

It’s not the penthouse or the financial safety net either. It’s Torsten. The way he fills the space with warmth and energy. The way his eyes sometimes smolder when I catch him looking at me. The way he asks about my career plans with genuine interest. I’ve always known him to be friendly, easygoing, and engaging. But now, I crave the way his eyes find mine when he’s on the rink and I’m in the stands. I love the way he smiles at me when I enter the kitchen in the morning. I look forward to curling up next to him on the couch and watching Netflix before bed.

I’m a little enamored with my husband and after the line I drew in the sand, I have no idea how to cross it. I don’t want to rock the boat when things between Torsten and me are going so well. But I also don’t know how to control the feelings that wash over me when he enters a room, the fantasies of him crawling up my naked body that blare in my mind when he darts out of his bedroom with only a towel around his waist. I’ve always known marrying Torsten would be dangerous for my heart, but the more time I spend with the Hawks’ reformed bachelor, the more I wonder if I’m hurting us both by holding back from what could be a really incredible relationship. A real marriage.

“Hey Ri, you working tomorrow night?” he asks when I enter the kitchen, my purse already over my shoulder.

“Nope.” I grin at him. “Tonight is actually my last shift because my friend is coming back to work. But the manager added me to a list in case they ever need someone to cover a shift.”

“That’s pretty cool.” He leans back against the countertop. Sweatpants ride low on his hips and the ridges of his abs are visible through the thin material of the tank top he’s rocking. His biceps bulge as he crosses his arms over his chest and I think, not for the first time, how damn sexy he is.

“Huh?” I ask, bringing my eyes back to his.

He smirks at me, a knowing glint in his eyes. He shifts his weight to make his muscles pop even more and I feel the blush that works up my cheeks. He totally caught me checking him out. But, I mean, really, how could I not when all that delicious muscle and strength is just right there, on full display?

Torsten’s eyes twinkle. “I was asking if you wanted to grab drinks with the group tomorrow at Taps? It’s going to be very laidback but the team is insisting…”

“On?” I furrow my brow. What the hell are we even talking about?

Torsten’s grin widens. “My sweet wife, tomorrow this hunky specimen of pure male”—he rolls his hand down his body, which I drink in appreciatively—“turns thirty-eight.”

My eyes snap back to his and my mouth drops open. How did I not