Faking it with the NHL Golden Boy

CHAPTER 013

*FINAL DRAW*

Flora's POV

“Pink.” Lucille asked, confused, tilting her head like I’d just suggested something insane.

“Yes,” I said firmly, the idea solidifying in my mind. “If he doesn’t like black, he’ll sure as hell like pink.”

Lucille stared at me for several long seconds. “Are you kidding me? You do realise that the opposite of black is white, right? Basic colors, Flo.”

“Well, physically yeah,” I replied. “But on a deeper level, pink is a better fit. Black is dark, cold, intimidating. Pink is bright, soft, feminine. They represent two completely opposite things. It has to work.”

Lucille remained quiet, too stunned to speak at first. She finally let out a long breath. “Okay… so that’s the idea?”

“Well yeah, the core, actually. I’ll figure out the rest later.”

“If you say so,” she muttered, getting off her bed and heading toward the bathroom.

The moment she closed the door, I grabbed my phone and opened Pinterest. My fingers moved frantically across the screen, searching for the brightest, most overwhelmingly pink outfits imaginable. A full cheerleading set caught my eye—short pleated pink skirt, matching crop top, pink pom-poms, ribbons, even pink sneakers. It was too pink. Ridiculously, blindingly pink. But that was exactly the point. I added everything to my cart and ordered it with express delivery.

I spent the rest of the day and the next watching cheerleading tutorial videos, practicing routines in front of the mirror until my arms burned and my voice turned hoarse. By evening, I was convinced this would be the one that finally broke through Tyler’s walls.

The next morning—the sixth and final full day of the bet—I woke up with a heavy knot in my stomach that refused to loosen. The pink package had arrived early. I dressed slowly, each piece feeling heavier than the last. The short pleated skirt barely reached mid-thigh.

The crop top hugged my chest tightly and left my midriff completely exposed. I tied pink ribbons into my hair in high pigtails and added the pom-poms. When I looked in the mirror, I barely recognized the girl staring back. She looked desperate. Determined. And utterly exhausted.

This was it. My last real chance before tomorrow’s deadline. If I failed… Megan’s vicious smile flashed in my mind. Public apology. And one night with whoever she chose. The thought made my skin crawl. What if she picked someone weird? What if I couldn’t pay the debt and everything spiraled even worse?

I pushed the dark thoughts away, trying to focus on the plan. But they lingered like shadows.

Just then, my phone buzzed with a notification. I picked it up casually, then froze as I read the email. My eyes widened in horror.

“Lucille!” I called out, my voice shaking. “Lucille, come here!”

She rushed over immediately, leaning in to read the screen with me. Her expression shifted from curiosity to outrage.

“What! They have no right to blacklist you,” she snapped. “It’s not like you actually stole the company funds!”

The email was clear and devastating. I had been blacklisted from working anywhere else in the industry. No references. No future employment opportunities. Unless I paid back the full thirty thousand dollars immediately.

I was too stunned to speak. The room felt like it was closing in around me. Everything I’d been fighting for suddenly felt impossibly heavy. Tears pricked at my eyes, but I blinked them back. There was no time to break down. Not now.

Without another word, I grabbed my pink pom-poms, my flower bouquet and walked out of the hotel room, still in the full cheerleading outfit. Lucille called after me, but I didn’t stop. I headed straight for Tyler’s training ground with a single purpose burning in my chest. This had to work. It had to.

The training facility was loud with the scrape of skates on ice and the sharp crack of pucks.

I spotted Tyler immediately. He was in the middle of drills, wearing a tight black singlet that clung to his torso and shorts that showed off his thick, muscular thighs. From behind, he looked massive—broad shoulders tapering to a narrow waist, the intricate tattoo on his left arm fully visible, flexing with every powerful movement.

His earrings caught the light as he turned his head. He was chewing gum, jaw working in that annoyingly attractive way.

I approached quietly from behind while he was talking to his friends and the conversation died the moment I stopped right behind him.

His teammates’ eyes widened, then they started grinning like idiots.

Tyler turned around slowly.

Tall and intimidating as always. His thick eyebrows drawn together in confusion, long lashes framing those sharp eyes. His chest rose and fell with each breath, the singlet stretched tight across his pecs. God, he was hot. Dangerously hot.

I thrust the pink flowers toward him with a girly giggle, trying to sell the bubbly, lovey-dovey act. “For you, Ty!”

He stared at the bouquet like it was a live grenade. “What the hell is this?”

“Flowers obviously,” I said sweetly, batting my lashes and curling my hair to the back of my head. “For my future boyfriend.”

Tyler’s expression darkened, he opened his mouth to speak but then an old man who looked like he was in his late thirties called out. “Tyler, get over here now, this isn't the time for your little rendezvous.”

“I'm coming coach.” He shouted and turned back to me. “Practice is about to start. You should leave now.”

I smiled brightly, refusing to let the rejection show. “Okay! Good luck out there!” I turned and skipped away with the flowers, like I was obeying, heart pounding.

But I didn’t leave the facility. I circled around to the far end of the ice and started cheering at the top of my lungs.

“Tyler! Tyler! Let’s go, Ty! You’ve got this!” I shook the pink pom-poms hard, my voice echoing across the rink. “Faster, stronger, unbeatable! Go Bears!”

Tyler’s head snapped up mid-skate. He shot me a look of pure disbelief mixed with irritation —What the actual f**k was written clearly across his face.

His teammates, however, were thoroughly entertained. A couple of them whistled and clapped, grinning widely. One even gave me a thumbs up. But the one person whose attention I desperately needed looked anything but impressed. His expression remained cold, annoyed, and increasingly frustrated.

I kept going, pushing through the burning embarrassment and the growing exhaustion in my arms and legs. The pink skirt swished with every movement. The ribbons bounced in my hair. I was all in. This was my final shot. Tomorrow was the end. If this failed, Megan would destroy what little was left of me.

Tyler dropped the puck with a sharp clatter. He skated straight toward me like an angry bear, stopping hard at the boards, eyes blazing with irritation.

I leaned casually against a stationary bike — a sleek, expensive-looking black exercise bike with “Caddy” written in small silver letters on the frame.

“Get off Caddy,” he growled.

I blinked. “Caddy… what? You named your bike? Who the f**k names their bike?”

Tyler’s jaw clenched. He reached over, gently but dramatically dusting the seat where I’d been sitting with his hand, as if I’d contaminated it. The passionate way he wiped it down almost made me flinch.

“What do you want, Flora?” he demanded, voice low and dangerous. “Why are you trying so hard to get my attention? You threw the deal away and now you suddenly want back in? Do I look like some kind of child’s play to you?”

I swallowed hard. The truth — the bet, the debt, the blacklist — stuck in my throat.

Instead, I pushed my chest out slightly and gave him my best flirty smile. “I’m auditioning for the fake date role, obviously. You want a lovey-dovey partner who can cheer you on the ice, right? Here I am.” I twirled one of my pink ribbons. “I’m asking you out again, Tyler Sinclair. Be my boyfriend. I’ll cheer for you every game, wear your jersey…whatever you want.”

Tyler stepped closer, towering over me. His masculine scent — wood, sweat, and something undeniably him — wrapped around me. “Are you always this desperate around guys who choose not to notice you?”

The words hit harder than they should have.

Sean hadn't noticed me either.

Not when I loved him.

Not when I sacrificed for him.

Not when he chose Megan.

My throat tightened painfully.

Tyler was looking at me the same way now.

Like I was pathetic.

Something inside me snapped.

I stood up straight, anger and hurt surging through the exhaustion. My hand flew before I could stop it—a sharp, resounding slap across his cheek.

“You’re a piece of s**t,” I spat, my voice shaking with raw emotion.

Then I turned and walked away, pink ribbons bouncing, pom-poms clutched tightly in my fists, tears burning hot in my eyes as the weight of tomorrow pressed down harder than ever.