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Jonas keeps his voice low. “Good job, Rake. Vince would be proud.”
How I’d love nothing more than to tell Vince to go fuck himself. But I like playing for the Aftershocks and if what he’s saying is true, that they’ll can my ass if there are any more issues, I’ll do what it takes.
Fake marriage it is.
But Petal, with her romance novels, her rolled-up blue jeans and T-shirts with hearts all over them, and her perpetually messy hair—why’d I have to end up with her? Why couldn’t it have been someone who wouldn’t challenge me? Get under my skin? And leave me jerking off in the shower every goddamn morning before I can greet her for breakfast?
It’s like the universe isn’t already giving me a hard enough time—they had to throw a woman at me with a smart-ass mouth who has no patience for anybody’s shit. I love a challenge. Don’t get me wrong. But I prefer a challenge I can win. And I don’t think there’s any winning with Petal.
She doesn’t give a damn about me.
Even so, I have nothing to complain about. I got the successful hockey career I always dreamed about. I have my condo in the sky, a nice car, and I can afford to go anywhere in the world I want. In fact, if I never played another game, I’d be set for life.
I’m one of a handful of athletes who actually listens to their financial advisor.
And I can have any one of a hundred women walking down the street right now.
So why do I feel this way? Like I don’t really have anything?
We get to the ice, and Jonas turns to me once more. “Dude. You look like you just lost your puppy.” He lowers his voice. “I know you like her, and that this is just an arrangement. But maybe in time she’ll change her mind about you. Who knows. Stranger things have happened.”
I nod. “Thanks, pal,” and I take off across the ice, hoping I can get my head back where it belongs. Every drill is an opportunity to improve my craft. I can’t waste that thinking about a woman.
21
RAKE
“How was practice today,Rake? You looked good. Really good.”
Ah, BJ’s back. You never know when he’ll be passing through town. In spite of the tension of our last meeting with Vince, I’ll always credit the man with being my biggest fan. He believed in me from the start, back when I wasn’t fast enough on the ice or with my stick. He saw something in me and has had my back since the beginning of my career. A guy couldn’t ask for a better agent.
I nod, removing my helmet and wiping the sweat pouring down the sides of my face. “I feel good, BJ. Better than I’ve felt in a long time.” I surprise myself by saying this because, before he asked me, I hadn’t even realized just how good a practice today was.
Sometimes you’re tired and sore as fuck. And sometimes you dust everyone else on the ice. Today was one of those days. I was on fire.
“Does it have anything to do with”—he leans closer—“your little marriage thing? Are you enjoying all the benefits of being a husband?”
I wish.
I shake my head. “No. She sleeps in the guest room, if you must know. Honestly, I’m pretty sure she can’t stand my ass. She doesn’t like sports, and she doesn’t like athletes.”
And yet I’ve stopped my whoring around.
He slaps my back with a laugh. “Sounds perfect for you, Rake. Someone to keep you on your toes. She coming to the game this week?”
“She said she would. She also said she’ll be bringing a book.”
I need to talk her out of that.
“What if we get her an extra ticket or two? So she can bring a friend?”
“If you can get the tickets, that would be great.”
“Did you know you were on ESPN this morning? There was a clip about you guys. How you met and eloped. People are buying it.”
Fuck, I hope so. Because if they find out it’s a bold-faced lie, then I’m really fucked. If my reputation was in the shitter before, then it’ll be flushed clean away. And if what Vince says is true, there’ll be no coming back.
Why did I have to act like a dick for so long?
