THE HOCKEY CAPTAIN’S PRETEND GIRL

CHAPTER 5

SADIE

My hands are tucked into the pockets of the giant sweatpants. I feel small. I feel desperate. But mostly, I feel a cold fire in my chest.

Every second that passes makes the idea feel more insane, but the heat in my chest refuses to settle. Grant wants a pathetic, heartbroken ex.

Lila wants a convenient scapegoat.

I refuse to be either.

Rhys rubs the towel over his wet hair and exhales.

Curiously, he stares at me, waiting.

I lean against the kitchen island, trying to look casual and failing completely.

“You’re the only person I know who can pull this off,” I say, before I lose my nerve.

“Pull what off?”

I cross my arms, forcing my eyes to stay strictly above his collarbone. "I need a favor."

"A favor." He tosses the damp towel over his shoulder. "You hate my cooking and you hate my lack of shirts. What kind of favor?"

"I need you to be my date to the Wren on Saturday."

Rhys stares at me. The grin vanishes, replaced by stark, genuine surprise.

"Come again?" he says.

"You heard me."

He doesn’t say anything for a long moment. He just stares, like his brain is refusing to process the words.

“You want me to go to the Wren. With you. As your date.”

“Yes.”

He walks past me.

I follow his movements as he pulls a bottle of water from the fridge.

"Grant challenged me," I tell his back. "He practically dared me to show up with someone. He thinks I'm sitting around crying over him."

Rhys turns around, unscrewing the cap. "And you want to use me as a prop.”

“Yes. I want to use you as a petty, beautiful prop. I want him to feel small. I want Lila to wonder why she settled for a man who probably wears lifts in his shoes.”

“A petty, beautiful prop.” His mouth twitches. “Nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

He takes a long drink, his throat working. I firmly look at the refrigerator door instead.

"Jonah will kill me," Rhys states, lowering the bottle.

"Jonah doesn't need to know."

"It's one night, Rhys. A few hours." I take a step closer. "You just put on your suit, stand next to me, and look like you'd rather be with me than anywhere else on earth. Can you act?"

He lets out a rough, short laugh. "I play professional hockey. Half my job is pretending I didn't mean to elbow a guy in the teeth."

"Perfect. So you can pretend to like me."

He sets the water bottle on the granite counter. His eyes drag over my face, slow and assessing.

"Pretending to like you isn't the hard part," he murmurs.

I blink, caught entirely off guard.

Before I can form a single coherent response, he shakes his head. "It's a terrible idea, Sadie."

"It's a brilliant idea. You're already going to be there. You have a PR obligation. Showing up with a date makes you look good, doesn't it?"

"My agent handles my image."

"Does your agent want you looking like a solitary monk at such an event?"

Rhys raises an eyebrow.

"Please," I say, and I hate the faint edge of desperation creeping into my voice. "He humiliated me, Rhys. He let her lie about me to the press, and then he laughed at me for being upset."

I watch his jaw tighten. The playful arrogance drops away, leaving something much sharper underneath.

He hates bullies. I can see it right there in his eyes.

“Will you do it?”

He turns and leans against the counter, arms crossed, and for a second he actually looks like he’s weighing it seriously.

“You know what my week’s looked like,” he says finally. “My agent’s been shoving a list of women at me. All of them picked because they look responsible on camera. A nursing student. A kindergarten teacher. Every single one handpicked to make me look like husband material for the sponsors.”

“Sounds miserable.”

“It is. I don’t want a relationship, fake or real. Never have. I like things simple. No strings, no drama, no explaining myself to anyone.”

He shakes his head. “But the team’s got ‘family friendly’sponsors now. A cereal brand. A children’s hospital charity. They don’t care that casual is normal. They want to see me photographed next to someone who looks like she has her life together.”

I frown. “So...”

“You’re a better one than anything my agent’s cooked up,” he says. “You’ve got a real job. A real hustle. You’re not doing this for headlines, you’re doing it to survive your own ex. That’s the kind of story sponsors eat up. If my agent sees a photo of me with a decent… with you at the Wren, he stops sending me a new stranger every day.”

“So we’re both using each other.”

“Looks that way.” He shrugs, but there’s something almost relieved in it, like he’s found a loophole he didn’t expect. “It gets him off my back. It gets Grant off yours. Feels like a win-win.”

“Exactly… a win-win,” I repeat.

“I hate Grant,” he adds suddenly.

“You do?”

“I heard that call. I heard the way he talked to you. Guys like that build themselves up by tearing women down. I don’t respect it.” His jaw tightens. “So yeah. It’s a yes.”

Relief hits me so hard I almost stumble.

“Thank you,” I whisper.

“Don’t thank me yet.” His voice drops, deeper now, and the air in the kitchen suddenly feels tight. He steps closer, and the room shrinks around him.

“If we do this, we do it right,” he says.

“What does that mean?”

“It means I won’t be a polite friend holding your coat. If I’m your date, I’m your date. I’ll look at you like you’re the only person in the room.”

He reaches out, tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear. His fingers are warm.

“Can you handle that, Sunshine?”

“I can handle it,” I say, my voice thinner than I mean it to be.

He pulls his hand back, but the intensity stays in his eyes.

"Now. We need to get our story straight."

"Our story?"

"Yeah, Sadie." He leans against the counter, crossing his arms. "When your dirtbag ex asks how we met, we can't tell him your brother forced me to let you sleep in my spare room."

"Why not?"

"Because it's pathetic," Rhys says easily. "We need something better."

“A charity gala,” I offer. “Or an art gallery opening. Something classy.”

“Boring. Grant already thinks you’re predictable.” He steps around the counter, closing the distance until the heat from his skin feels like a wall. “The gym. You were struggling on a cable machine, and I couldn’t look away.”

“I do not struggle with gym machines. And I don’t need a savior story.”

“Then you were checking me out.”

“I was not.”

“You are right now.”

My eyes drop to his collarbone before snapping back up. “I’m looking at your face. Which is too close.”

“Not close enough for a ballroom full of press and a jealous ex.” His voice drops lower.

His hand comes up before I can step back, settling against my waist, warm through the thin cotton of my shirt.

My breath catches.

“Rule one of couples who can’t keep their hands off each other,” he murmurs. “They don’t leave polite gaps.”

He draws me an inch closer. The kitchen feels tiny.

“Rhys.” My voice comes out breathier than I mean it to.

“You’re stiff as a board. Grant sees you like that, he’ll know I’m a paid actor.” He tilts his head, studying my mouth for a beat before meeting my eyes again. “Where do your hands go?”

“My what?”

“Your hands. When a guy’s holding you like this.”

I swallow and rest my palm against his chest. His skin is hot, his heartbeat slow and steady. Mine feels like a hummingbird trapped in glass.

“Better,” he says. His hand slides to the small of my back, tucking me in. “Now lean in like you’re telling me a secret. That’s the kill shot. Grant sees you whispering in my ear, he’s done.”

I rise onto my toes, my lips an inch from his jaw.

“We met at the track,” I whisper. “I was running stairs. You thought I was out of your league, so you tripped over your own shoes trying to get my attention.”

A laugh rumbles through his chest before I hear it.

“Not a chance in hell,” he murmurs, his breath ghosting across my cheek. “If I wanted your attention, Sadie, I wouldn’t need to trip.”