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

just how much I let my guard down steamrolling me. “I’m really embarrassed. I swear, I don’t usually make a spectacle of myself like that.”

“Maybe you should do it more often,” he challenges.

I narrow my eyes at him. “What? You’re plastered all over social media singing back up to my Whitney. Claire sent me a video.” I gesture to my phone.

He smiles. “Did you see how hard we were laughing?”

I nod, unable to stop myself from smiling back.

“Maybe we both needed that last night. The goofiness and the forgetting.”

I swipe my tongue over my chapped lips. “Maybe.”

Torsten walks closer and takes a seat at the foot of my bed. He shifts his weight so he’s facing me. His expression is neutral but his eyes burn, curious and worried and devoid of judgement. “We need to talk, Ri.”

I frown and feign ignorance. “About what?”

He pulls a slip of paper from his pocket and shows it to me.

I wince. The stupid eviction notice I never pulled off my door yesterday.

“This is the same type of notice as six weeks ago, isn’t it? The one you ripped off the door and said was a delivery?”

I work a swallow and nod slowly, my embarrassment hiking up to new levels of pure mortification.

“You got another one?”

I clear my throat and nod again, unable to meet his eyes.

“Hey.” He dips his head to catch my gaze. When I don’t move, he reaches out and hooks his finger under my chin, forcing me to look at him.

He’s calm and sincere. So damn thoughtful and genuine. His kindness makes my chest hurt and the feelings I’ve been burying for months begin to work their way to the surface. Over the past few months, Claire’s been wrapped up in Easton and his recovery. Indy’s been preoccupied with her pregnancy. Of course, I don’t blame my friends for focusing on the big changes in their own lives.

But how is Torsten recognizing all the pieces I’ve tried to hide? How is he, an acquaintance at best, more attuned to my personal struggles than my closest friends? The realization makes me shift uncomfortably. Am I slipping up that badly? Cracking deeply enough that anyone paying a little attention can see the ugliness? Or is it more than that? Is it Torsten?

“Talk to me, Rielle. Please. I know we don’t know each other that well but I swear to you, we’re more similar than you think. So tell me what’s going on because this”—he runs his fingertips over the bruises Stu made on my arm—“isn’t going to fucking happen again.”

I close my eyes, suddenly more overwhelmed than I was last night, rushing out of Stu’s office. “Torsten,” I say but my stomach interrupts the moment by grumbling loudly.

He drops his hand. “Come on. Let’s go get breakfast. You need a gallon of water, a carafe of coffee, greasy food, and carbs. I know a place not far from here that has killer pancakes. Then, we’ll talk. For real.” He fixes me with a hard look until I nod.

“For real,” I agree, swinging my legs to the side of my bed. The room spins and I take a moment for my vision to catch up to my movement. I groan as I force myself to stand.

Torsten snorts, grasping the underside of my arm and helping me to my feet. “I’m going to use your bathroom real quick. Take your time, Ri. We’re both battling brutal hangovers this morning.”

I shoot him a grateful look and try to pull myself together.

Since we’re carless, having taken an Uber to my place the night before, we walk to the restaurant. The cold air that whips around me wakes me up and helps ease the clanging in my head.

Torsten points to a little diner on the corner. “I know it doesn’t look like much but the pancakes are phenomenal.”

When he holds the door open for me, I slip inside the warm, cozy neighborhood diner.

“Nice game, Torsten.” The woman behind the counter waves.

“Thanks, Beth. Is here okay?” He points to a booth in the back.

“Wherever you want, hon. I’ll be right over with coffee.”

“Thanks.” Torsten hits her with his blinding smile and I swear, she swoons a little. Even though Beth looks old enough to be Torsten’s grandmother, I can tell she’s a little smitten with him.

Aren’t we all?

I slide into the booth across from him. Beth comes over moments later with mugs of hot coffee. Torsten and I order pancakes.

He leans back in his seat and studies me.

“What?” I ask, reaching my hand to my face. Do I have something in my teeth?

“What happened to you, Ri? No bullshit. I’m looking at you and while you’re as gorgeous as ever, I don’t really recognize the woman I’m staring at.”

Wow. No lead up there. “Are you always this blunt?”

“Call it like I see it.”

“You know we don’t really know each other that well, right?”

“I know it may seem that way. But, sweetheart, I know you a hell of a lot better than you think.”

I lean forward, the table cutting into my chest. Torsten’s eyes dip down to my cleavage before snapping back up to my eyes. “How do you figure that?”

He swallows and his thick fingers wrap around the handle of the coffee mug. “Because like recognizes like. I’ve been in a version of your shoes before.” He shakes his head, giving me a look I don’t understand. “Don’t forget I’m an old man compared to you.”

I roll my eyes. “You’re not that old.”

“Almost thirty-eight,” he says it like he needs to remind me.

I shrug. I’ve dated two of my college professors who were well into their forties. Older guys don’t scare me off. “So, what do you think you know?”

“I know that you’re struggling, Ri. Financially, emotionally—you’re hurting.”

I take a gulp of my coffee, wincing when the hot brew burns my tongue.

“You’re going to find another job, Ri. But if you’re ripping eviction notices off your door two months in a row, that tells me you’re behind