THE HOCKEY CAPTAIN’S PRETEND GIRL

CHAPTER 3

SADIE

Jonah's building is nicer than mine, which feels unfair given that this morning I had a working ceiling and now I don't.. I stand outside apartment 6C with my bag over one shoulder, plaster dust still in my hair, and knock.

Jonah opens the door mid sentence. "Okay, fair warning, I didn't have time to hide the mess, so just, ignore whatever you're about to…," and then he stops talking, because someone is standing behind him.

He's shirtless. Tall, built, and he's holding a protein shaker flask in his hands. I already know who he is before Jonah says a word, because his face has been on posters around campus for two years straight. Rhys Callahan. Captain of the hockey team, the guy half my brother's friends talk about like he personally invented winning.

"You must be the sister," he says.

And there's a grin already forming, the kind that says he's decided this is going to be fun for him. "Jonah said you might be crashing here."

"My ceiling collapsed," I say. "Sorry I'll be in your space for a bit."

"Not a problem at all. I could never say no to a friend's little sister, especially when she's grown up this well."

"Rhys." Jonah's voice turns stern. "Don't."

"What?" Rhys lifts his hands. "I'm just being nice."

I decide, right there in the doorway, that I do not like Rhys Callahan. It isn't complicated. He flirted with me thirty seconds after meeting me on the single worst night of my year, and something about how easily it came out of him, like he does it on reflex, makes my skin crawl a little.

"There's a guest room," Jonah says, already taking my bag, already walking. "It used to be storage, full disclosure, but there's a bed, and the door locks. Rhys won't bother you. Right, Rhys?"

"I'm never a problem."

"Dude."

"I'm not going to bother her, relax." Then, to me, grinning again like he can't help it: "Unless you want to be bothered. I make a yummy two a.m. grilled cheese."

"I'll pass."

"That's what they all say the first week."

"There isn't going to be a second week," I say. "This is temporary. I'll be out by the end of the month."

Both of them trade a look I don't like, which makes me wonder whether they already know something I don't.

"Sure," Jonah says. "End of the month."

The guest room is exactly what he described, a bed wedged between hockey bags and boxes labeled JONAH, DO NOT OPEN. There's a window. There's a lock, which Jonah demonstrates twice.

I sit on the bed and just breathe for a second.

Jonah sits beside me, dropping the roommate voice completely.

"Hey. You okay? Actually okay, not the okay you say so I'll stop asking."

"No," I say, because he's the one person I don't have to perform for. "I had a boyfriend and an apartment this morning. Now I have neither."

"You have a brother and a very ugly storage room."

"I wish that will make me feel better."

He bumps his shoulder against mine, then goes quiet for a moment.

"For what it's worth, I never liked that Grant guy. He is a narcissistic loser," Jonah says firmly. "I never liked the way he talked about his career like it was the only thing that mattered. You are worth ten of him, Sadie. You are the one who actually does the work. He just stands in front of a camera and pretends."

I let out a small, bitter laugh despite everything. "You're telling me this now, after two years?"

"Would it have helped before?"

"I don't know."

"Does it help now?"

"A little," I admit. "A very little."

"I'll take a very little."

He leans back against the wall, studying me for a few seconds. Then something changes in his expression.

"Anyway, don't worry about Grant."

I glance at him. "Easy for you to say."

"No, seriously." He points at me as though he's about to make a very important announcement. "I'll find you someone better."

I stare at him. "You'll what?"

"A boyfriend."

I blink.

Jonah shrugs. "What? I have friends."

"Your friends are weird."

"My friends are medical students."

"That doesn't automatically make them good people."

"No, but it makes them responsible… rich… and too busy to think about cheating on you."

Despite myself, I smile.

He catches it and continues, encouraged.

"I know plenty of guys. Rich families. Good guys. Most of them are in med school, which means they actually have futures. I'll introduce you to one."

"Please don't."

"Why?"

"Because the last thing I need is you setting me up with anyone."

"Don't worry, I'll do it for free."

I shake my head, but he isn't finished.

"And they're better than Grant."

"Jonah—"

"No, they are." His voice loses some of its teasing edge. "Grant had an apartment and a few shitty films he appeared in, and apparently that was enough to make him think he was God's gift to women. I know guys who have actual goals. Guys who know how to treat people. Guys who don't make their girlfriend feel like she's some piece of furniture they can throw out when they're done with it."

The smile disappears from my face as I look down at my hands.

Jonah notices, and his voice softens.

"Hey."

I look at him.

"You're going to be fine."

"I don't feel fine."

"I know." He sighs. "But you're going to be."

Swallowing some saliva, I nodded.

For another long second, he looks at me… then seems to make a decision that physically pains him.

"And besides…" He grimaces.

"What?"

"You're…" He stops.

Now, that got my eyebrows raised. "I'm what?"

"Nothing."

"Jonah."

He rubs a hand over his face. "You're beautiful, okay?"

Staring at him, I can see he looks genuinely miserable.

"Did that hurt?" I ask.

"Physically."

A laugh slips out before I can stop it.

"I mean it," he says, pointing at me. "You're beautiful. You can pull practically any guy you want. I genuinely don't understand why you're sitting here looking like your life is over because Grant doesn't want you anymore."

My smile fades a little.

He reaches over and flicks my forehead lightly.

"Ow."

"You're not losing to Grant because he found another woman. You're not losing anything because some arrogant bastard decided he didn't appreciate what he had."

I rub my forehead, glaring at him.

Rising to his feet, he raises both arms and stretches. "Anyway, you're staying here. You're eating. You're sleeping. And you're not texting Grant."

"I wasn't planning to."

I roll my eyes.

Now heading toward the door, then he pauses. "And if you ever change your mind about the med-school thing…"

"No."

"You haven't even heard the names."

"I don't need to."

"One of them drives a Porsche."

"No."

"His father owns three hospitals."

"Absolutely not."

"He's six-two."

"Jonah."

"Fine. I'll stop."

He opens the door, then looks back at me. "You're safe here, okay?"

"I know," is all I say.

What I don't say is that safe was never really the thing I was worried about right now.

I lie back on a bed that isn't mine, plaster dust ghosting off my hair onto a pillow that smells like someone else's detergent, and stare at the ceiling.