The Faker: A Marriage of Convenience Hockey Romance (Boston Hawks Hockey) by Gina Azzi (ink ebook reader .TXT) 📗

“You slept with him, didn’t you?” she deadpans, not looking remotely surprised.

“No! I mean, we did stuff.”

Claire snorts. “Stuff? What are you, fourteen?”

I feel the blush work up my cheeks and Claire’s mouth drops open. She points at me. “You really like him, Ri, don’t you?”

I squeeze my eyes closed. “I can’t like him, Claire. I mean, I can’t like him more than just a friend. We made an arrangement; we signed a contract.”

“So?” She shrugs. “Things change.”

“When we did…stuff—”

She sighs.

“It was intense. Real.” I widen my eyes at her.

“Okay.” She widens her eyes back.

“Then our wedding was so much more than I thought it would be.”

“It was pretty magical,” Claire agrees. “A hell of a lot nicer than most real weddings.”

“I know. It messed with my head. I can’t tell what’s real and what’s not. The room was decorated so beautifully and then Torsten kissed me and I was freaking melting like one of those girls.”

“What girls?”

I glare at her. “Like Indy. Or you.”

She snickers.

“And then, the freaking flash of the camera went off and Torsten gives me this knowing look, like ‘Hey, we’re killing the documentation for our papers.’”

Claire winces.

“Sometimes, he looks at me like he cares about me more than anything in the world and other times, his words make it seem like this is all about the arrangement. It’s confusing and I don’t like feeling like this.”

“Like what?” Claire shifts in her seat, giving me her full attention, her expression serious.

“Like I don’t know which way is up. It’s unnerving and frustrating. And frankly, I’m not good at it.”

Claire nods. “You like to be in control.”

“I am in control.”

“Okay.” She holds her hands up in surrender.

I roll my eyes. “Which is why last night, I told Torsten we need to stick to the agreement. But it’s stupid that we’re going to both forgo sex for two damn years, right? I mean, people have needs. And it’s not like I’m not attracted to him. So…”

“You had sex on your wedding night?”

I bite my bottom lip and nod.

“And?” she prompts.

“It was incredible in terms of our chemistry. But everything else,” I sigh, exasperated, “it didn’t feel anything like it did when we just did stuff.”

Claire winces. “Ri, I have no idea how you’re holding everything together right now. The past week, your entire life has been flipped upside down. Everything you’ve been working your ass off for has disappeared career wise and you’re married to a guy you barely know but it’s obvious, you want to get to know.”

I snort.

“Cut yourself some slack,” Claire advises. “You and Torsten will sort things out but take it from someone who’s been in weird, relationship-y limbo, honesty really is the best policy.”

“I guess.”

“You guess?”

I shrug. “I’m overwhelmed.”

“Fair.”

“I’m fine with our agreement. I need to find a job and Torsten needs to focus on the playoffs.”

“Okay.” Claire drags the word out, trying to figure out where I’m going with this.

“But I can’t just give up all my control and let him take care of my life, of me. We’re not just moving my boxes today. I’m going to sell Sally, pay off the rent money I owe, and hustle for a job. He left me a freaking credit card and it just made me feel so…”

“So…what?”

“Needy,” I supply.

Claire rolls her eyes and huffs. “You’re really overthinking this. Torsten left you a credit card because part of your agreement is that he looks after the finances. You don’t have to sell Sally, reacquaint yourself with public transportation, and pinch pennies because you’re too proud to take what he’s offering.”

When she puts it like that, I sound like an overindulgent child, throwing a tantrum. Still, using my own money fills me with a sense of security that I crave. Claire won’t understand the depth of it because I’ve never let her in enough to truly understand. Instead of explaining, I shrug. “I’m doing it anyway.”

She rolls her eyes but doesn’t look surprised. Living together for four years has proved that when I make my mind up about something, there’s very little that will alter my decision. “Who’s buying your car?”

I glance out the windshield and tip my chin up when I spot Merck. “Merck’s hooking me up with an interested party.”

“Oh, brother,” Claire grumbles, but she follows me out of the car.

“Hey, Rielle,” Merck greets me, his neck tattoo stretching when he cranes his neck to get a look at Claire. “What’s up?” he says to her, sliding his baseball hat off of his head, turning it around, and placing it back down so it’s backwards.

“Hey,” she says. Then she turns to me and holds out her hand. “Give me your keys. It’s a relief you rented a furnished apartment and we don’t have to carry a couch down the stairs. I’ll start boxing up your things.”

“You don’t have to—”

She sticks her tongue out at me and I snicker, placing my keys in her palm.

Merck and I watch Claire in silence until she steps through the door of my apartment building.

“You still owe three months of rent,” Merck reminds me in his thick Southie accent. The cool April sunlight gleams off the hard planes of his face as he turns his head to gesture for a green van to exit the parking lot.

“I know. I’m going to settle up with you today.”

Merck looks heavenward, as if asking God for patience. He’s a little bit scary and does a shitty job maintaining the apartment building but he’s always been fair. “You really want to sell your car?”

I nod.

“Rielle, I don’t know what the hell you did to end up here.”

“What—”

He shakes his head and my words die on my tongue. Merck waves a hand in my direction. “Girl, you and I both know you didn’t grow up in parts like these.”

I bite my bottom lip. He has me there. I grew up in an 8,000 square foot home with a closet larger than my apartment. I grew up donning the hottest trends, flying