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

know his birthday? We filled out so much paperwork that clearly stated both of our birthdates and oh my God—“I’m the worst wife ever.”

Torsten laughs and shakes his head. “Don’t worry about, it’s not something I advertise. I mean, I’m getting close to the big four-oh.”

My cheeks blaze and I wring my hands together. After everything this man has done for me, I forgot his birthday. “Torsten, I feel awful. Wait, you have to let me—”

“Ri, it’s not a big deal. You want to do something nice for me?”

I nod, biting my bottom lip.

“Come to Taps tomorrow.”

“Of course I’ll be there.”

“And do me one favor?” He turns those pale blue eyes on mine, silently begging for me to say yes.

As if I’d say anything else in this moment. “Whatever you want.”

“Oh, I like the sound of that,” he jokes, pushing off the countertop. He closes the space between us and wraps his arms around my back, caging me in between his arms. It’s the closest we’ve been behind closed doors since the wedding night debacle. Automatically, my heart rate speeds up and hopeful me does a sexy shimmy, hating that rational me has been cockblocking her for weeks now.

I glance up at him and he catches the ends of my hair, playing with the strands.

“There’s one thing I want for my birthday,” he murmurs, his voice a hell of a lot lower, deeper, than it was when he was standing over by the sink.

I swallow thickly and watch as his eyes cloud over. I shuffle the tiniest bit closer to Torsten, loving the way his arms feel around me. I’m drawn to him and I want him and a part of me hates myself for putting so much distance between us that didn’t need to be there.

“What is it?” I manage to ask, my voice breathy.

A smile rolls over his face, slow and languid, like a spring breeze. He narrows his eyes and quickly drops a peck to my cheek before dropping his hold and backing away. “You’ll see tomorrow. Just remember, you promised to say yes.”

“What?”

“I gotta head to the arena now. Have a great last shift, Ri.”

I stay in the kitchen until the apartment door closes. Even after Torsten’s gone, my heart races, my skin tingles, and I wish that he’d kissed me like he did that first night, when I didn’t have to keep my feelings locked down. Although right now, I debate how good of a job I am keeping those feelings secret. Because to anyone paying even a tiny bit of attention, it’s pretty obvious that I’m smitten with my husband.

“For He’s a Jolly Good Fellow” rings out loudly as Torsten’s teammates pound on tabletops and whistle loudly.

“Happy birthday, Big Daddy!” Claire cheers, approaching the table with two pitchers of beer.

Behind her, I balance a tray of Patron shots on my hand and a few of the guys groan.

“Just one shot! For his birthday,” I tell them.

They all acquiesce, knowing Torsten is the king of shots. No one, save for Indy, is getting out of the back room of Taps without downing at least one tequila shot. I pass out the glasses and when I set one down in front of Torsten, he catches my wrist and tugs until I’m perched in his lap.

I don’t know if it’s because it’s his birthday and he’s feeling playful, or if he wants to put on a show in front of his teammates, or if he really just wants me in his lap, but I don’t protest. At all. In fact, I shimmy my ass until it’s pressed against his groin and lean back against the muscled planes of his chest.

The whistles ring out around us but I don’t care. Across the table, one of Torsten’s teammates, James, watches me curiously. As soon as I make eye contact, he averts his gaze. But I can’t think too much about it because in the next moment, the team chant has shifted.

“Kiss her! Kiss her!” These brawny hockey players demand like little boys.

Claire’s mouth drops open but she joins the chant, my traitorous best friend. Indy cracks up, one hand covering her mouth, the other resting on her baby bump.

Torsten shifts behind me, his hand covers my thigh, and he leans forward. “Guys, guys. Simmer down. Ri and I—” he tries to formulate a response that will let us graciously bow out of a public smooch.

But after getting married, a little kiss isn’t going to stand in the way of showing everyone what we want, what we need, them to believe. Besides, I’d be lying my ass off if I said I didn’t actually want to kiss Torsten. As if it hasn’t been the only thing I’ve been fantasizing about for the past week. Well, not the only thing but…

I turn into him until my breasts drag across his chest. His eyes widen in surprise but the corners of his mouth curl upwards. Before he can say anything, I kiss him. I kiss him hard. Boldly. With certainty. As if I belong to him and he belongs to me.

Torsten’s hands wrap around my upper arms and hold me steady as I deepen the kiss, slanting my mouth over his and pressing against him. He leans back, his one hand cupping my cheek as his tongue demands more from mine. For a second, we duel for command but at the same time, we both settle into the moment, our tongues touching, our hearts racing, and our bodies melting together.

“Get a room!” Panda shouts, throwing straw wrappers at us.

I laugh and pull back, noting the surprise mixed with wonder in Torsten’s eyes. He definitely wasn’t expecting that. To be honest, neither was I. I could play it off as a birthday kiss, or wanting to show his team that we’re for real, but I don’t want to lie. I want to be honest with him and admit that I want to give him a thousand more kisses. That I’m starting