Aknock on the door ripples through the apartment, loud enough to shake the leaves on my snake plants.
“Don’t come out, Gwendolyn. I’m sending Rhode away after I talk to him,” I shout at her closed bedroom door.
Silence greets me from her room.
I glance at my reflection in the hallway mirror, smoothing out my caramel strands that look like a watered-down version of Gwen’s highlighted hair.
“You can do this, Nina,” I say to the girl in the mirror. “You’re just going to talk to him and then go your separate ways because there’s no way a professional hockey player is sticking around when he finds out you lied.”
I’m slightly regretting having agreed to this, but I was curious. I want to know what Nashville’s Naughtiest Bachelor needs from someone like me. I was also shocked Rhode actually listened to me over text that I ended up saying yes. Isaac never took my needs into consideration.
That’s one of the reasons I had to fake a lot of orgasms.
After sliding a piece of cinnamon gum onto my tongue, I dab on some concealer from my purse, hoping to camouflage the evidence of my sleepless night.
The nerves about seeing Rhode again kept me up tossing and turning. My thoughts started spinning about how I couldn’t sleep, and just when my eyelids started to flutter shut, my alarm shrieked, so I went for a five-mile run to calm down. I’ll glue my eyes closed to make myself sleep tonight. That or chug a bottle of melatonin.
I swing open my apartment door. True to his word, Rhode’s holding a bundle of sunflowers under the crisp winter sun. Dressed in jeans, a hoodie, and a navy beanie, the laid-back vibe makes him look younger, but I still see the sprinkle of gray at his temples.
He really is the kind of sexy that crushes hearts.
He smiles, breath fogging up the chilly air. “Well, if it isn’t my favorite doctor.”
I wince at the reference. “You’re early.”
His grin falters. “What can I say? I was excited to see you, so I left straight from the rink. Traffic was easy too. How was your day? Busy at the hospital?”
He rattles off the words, making guilt gnaw through my intestines. I gesture to the sunflowers because I desperately need a distraction from his blinding teeth. Those have to be veneers. “You really brought me flowers?”
“Yeah, of course I did. I wouldn’t lie to you, and my mom taught me well.”
He holds them out with a tiny smile that makes him look a little nervous, but there’s no way that’s true. I saw the Tenerife photos, and this man is the embodiment of brazen arrogance.
I narrow my eyes on the petals. In my experience, only players who have an ego the size of Canada give women flowers. That, or men who have to apologize for something. “How’d you find sunflowers? They’re out of season.”
He rubs the back of his neck. “I uh, went to a few shops until I found some since I figured you like them with that tattoo on your wrist.”
“You noticed my tattoo?”
His eyes meet mine, and he swallows. “I noticed a lot of things about you, Nina.”
The gesture is so sweet that it makes my stomach hurt. He doesn’t seem like Nashville’s Naughtiest Bachelor, but who knows what he’s got hiding under his dimple.
I pick at the petals. “So, why did you send me five texts last night about your completely normal proposition?”
He points over his shoulder. “Do you want to talk over a cup of coffee? My treat. There’s a shop across the street called Roasted I thought we could try, but it’s up to you.”
I’d rather spend the day fighting with Gwen than go back there. I had one of the worst panic attacks of my life in their bathroom two years ago, so I avoid that place like it’s a horde of sweaty bodies.
Using my foot, I subtly scoot my backpack to the side. “Thanks, but I’m not a big coffee-in-the-afternoon person, and I prefer decaf, anyway. You can come inside if you want, and we can talk?”
Smiling, he leans closer, and I get a whiff of laundry detergent. I stop breathing, so I don’t have to smell the fresh scent. “That sounds perfect, thanks.”
I spin on my heel, leading him past a fern that’s seen better days. I make a mental note to water it as we step into Gwen’s kitchen, which looks straight out of the 1950s with the mint-green fridge that screams retro-chic.
I glance at the fridge, wondering what I’ve got in there other than cold brew since he probably caps off his nights with a glass of scotch.
Opening the fridge, I grab a half-empty bottle of white wine. It’s one of Gwen’s fancy ones. “Do you like…” I squint at the unreadable French label. “Uh, wine?”
“Thanks, but I don’t drink during the season. Can’t handle the hangovers anymore. I feel like once I hit my thirties, my body lost the ability to process alcohol. Think there’s a medical reason for that?”
Tell him. Tell him now, Nina.
“I think it has to do with your enzymes,” I say, grateful for that one biology class I took freshman year.
Being in college, I rarely meet anyone who’s sober—like me. Last year, I found out that mixing alcohol with my meds is as good of a combination as laxatives and white pants. After only one cup of punch, I ended up unconscious outside the Sigma Phi Epsilon house.
I’m forever thankful to that pledge who stood guard over me and called Gwen, but it was still traumatizing. Since then, I’ve avoided alcohol. Sometimes, I miss all the fun, but waking up hangover-free every Saturday morning is pretty fantastic.
I set the wine back in the fridge. “I have tea if you want that instead?”
“That works great.” When our eyes meet, he rips his gaze to the cabinets while I start the kettle. “Nice place, by the way. It’s like a jungle in here. Reminds me of this time I went to Costa Rica with my buddies during the off-season.”
Of all the things in this kitchen, I’m shocked he singles out the one thing that’s mine and not Gwen’s.
He opens cabinet after cabinet until he pulls out one of the turquoise vases I made in my pottery class. Rhode removes it, fills it with water, and puts the sunflowers inside.
I watch his long fingers arrange the bouquet before yanking my gaze away. I do not need to be imagining what else this man can do with those fingers.
“Alright, let’s talk,” he says. “Why’s it so hard to get you to agree to go out with me? I normally don’t have this issue with women.”
A flare of jealousy sparks in my chest. Thankfully, it’s easy to extinguish. I don’t want to go there with a man whose bedpost is scratched up with notches.
I’m sure his exes are all lovely, flexible people, but based on what’s said about him online, someone could write a dissertation on his dating history.
I dig through the boxes of tea, purposefully giving him my back. “Trust me, I know you don’t. I saw the Tenerife pictures. You were right. You’re very flexible.”
There’s a pause. “So you looked me up?”
I glance over my shoulder, flicking my eyes over his broad chest. “I was curious, and I did my research.”
He readjusts the sunflowers in the vase so they don’t droop, keeping his eyes on the petals like he doesn’t want to see my reaction. “There’s a lot of bullshit about me online, you know.”
The way he’s fiddling with the flowers adds a charming boyishness to his rugged demeanor, which has my guard lowering. “I know, and I can’t imagine having my privacy invaded like that. It’s not fair to have your personal life splashed across the internet for everyone to judge.”
His blue eyes lift, and a layer of tension seems to melt from his features. “What else did you learn? Other than the fact that I’m a sexy hockey goalie that everyone wants?”
And there it is—that arrogance. “You’re exceptionally humble.”
He chuckles. “Keep going.”
“You’re six-three.”
“What the hell?” he demands. “Which article said that? Was it Sports Illustrated? I’m six-four.”
“You really need that extra inch?”
A corner of his mouth twitches. “Every inch counts.”
This man smiles in a way that makes me think he knows exactly what to do with that mouth. His glacial eyes flick down my body, and based on that look alone, there’s no doubt Rhode Tremblay knows how to treat a woman.
I can tell by the fluidness of his movements. It’s in the little ways he saunters instead of walks, grips a cup instead of clenches, leans instead of stands. I give him a once-over, noticing how he dangles the edge of his cup off his forearm like a little ledge made just for him.
Yeah, he knows exactly what to do in a bedroom—and a yacht, apparently.
“Anything else?” he asks. “Be honest. I like that about you. Most people aren’t.”
The sour knot winds tighter in my stomach, almost like my insides are curdling from my lie. Except, after listing all of his accomplishments, I don’t want to admit I’m an art student. That’d only highlight our power imbalance.
I tug at the cuff of my denim jacket. “You drink beet smoothies before every game. Disgusting, but fine. You like to cross-stitch, which is surprising, but I like that. You have one younger sister, Rowyn, and you grew up in Seattle, but your mom’s from Vancouver. You weigh two-hundred-and-twenty-five pounds of pure muscle. Oh, and you have one of the highest paying contracts of any goalie in the League.” I shrug. “Just throwing it out there.”
“Damn, you weren’t joking about doing your research.” He laughs. “But just so you know, I didn’t grow up with money, so I send a lot back to my family, and for the record, any woman I marry has to sign a prenup.” He mimics my shrug. “Just throwing it out there.”
I playfully snap my fingers. “There goes my plan to seduce a hockey player, get him to fall in love with me, and then divorce him for all his money.”
He points over his shoulder. “Should I go ahead and leave now?”
Leaning forward, I rest my elbows on the marble counter. “That’s probably for the best.”
“You’re not getting rid of me that easily.” Smiling, he copies my pose like we’re in a standoff. “But listen. There’s something I wanted to talk to you about.”
“Yes, your totally normal proposition. What’s that?”
His eyes dart around, betraying a hint of nerves. “It’s clear you’ve done your research about me, so you’ve probably noticed I don’t have the best reputation online. That’s not who I am anymore, but it’s been tough getting sponsorships, and that’s where I could use your help.”
“What does that have to do with me?”
He sips his tea. “Remember the boy you gave the cold brew to?”
“Of course. Gabriel. He had the biggest brown eyes.”
That one lonely dimple pops on his cheek, but then something shifts in his expression. His warm smile blazes through me like I’m being burned alive.
“Yeah, him. Turns out, he’s the son of the CMO of ¡Vamos! Have you heard of them?”
“The protein bar company?” I ask. “Yeah, I love their tres leches flavor.”
“You should try the buñuelo ones too.” He takes another sip. “Their CMO, Andrea Peña, wants to invite us to one of their corporate events to thank us for helping her son. I could use the chance to talk to her about a sponsorship, and I was wondering if you’d come. Be my date. They’ll have dancing and free drinks. It’ll be fun.”
Small talk. New crowds. Open bar. That sounds like Satan crafted a seventh circle of hell custom-made for my anxiety. “I’m not really into parties. Could you take someone else?”
His face tightens in a subtle grimace. I narrow my eyes. “What?”
“I uh, might’ve already said you were going, and I hate going back on my word. Please?” he adds quickly. “It’s just one night, and it’ll help to have a gorgeous doctor on my arm. Show them I’m serious. I’ll owe you one. Anything.”
This man’s way too charming. That’s a red flag for heartbreak. “No. I can’t.”
His grin falls. “There’s got to be something I can offer you. I’ll do anything.”
Nothing’s worth making small talk for three hours, especially since he thinks I’m a doctor. Next time I lie about my career, I’m saying I’m a mortician, so no one asks questions. “I’m sorry, but no. Look, Rhode, I just don’t think this—”
A pounding cuts me off.
Rhode tilts his head. “What’s that?”
“I’m not sure.” I lift my ear to Gwen’s bedroom, and it sounds like she’s hammering something into the wall.
“That’s it, baby. Ugh, you’re so tight.”
A nauseating jolt surges through me at the sound of Isaac’s voice. I freeze, every muscle coiled tight as his sex noises seep from Gwen’s bedroom. She swore she wouldn’t do this here, but I should’ve known she’d shatter that promise.
“I take it you have a roommate?” Rhode says over the headboard banging.
“Yeah, that would be Isaac. The ex you met. We should probably leave them to it,” I mutter, crushing a sunflower petal between my fingertips as each wall thud reverberates through me like a bullet. “The woman he’s currently filming a Pornhub documentary with would be my older sister.”
“What the hell?” Rhode blurts. “Now I get why you wanted a fake boyfriend. You need a fake husband? I’ll sign a fake marriage contract.”
“Fuck yes!” Isaac shouts. “Just like that. Ride my cock. I’m so close.”
“Someone’s feeling lazy,” Rhode mumbles.
Angry tears well in my eyes, but I quickly blink them away. Isaac never sounded like that when we had sex. He held me like I was made of stained glass, colorful but breakable.
He’d whisper sweet everythings as he settled between my legs in the shimmering twilight, but when the morning rays broke the horizon, I realized those everythings were made of nothing.
I swallow around the massive lump in my throat. “Come on. Let’s go to the living room.”
Rhode’s hand flies up, stopping me. I drop my gaze to our connection as his calloused fingers graze the delicate skin of my wrist. A simmering heat radiates through my body, settling somewhere between my core and my heart.
“Hey, don’t listen to them. Look at me,” he commands.
A shiver flurries down my spine. I have a feeling that deep voice could get someone to do almost anything.
He drags my attention back, and I expect to find pity glimmering in his sapphire depths, but if it’s there, it’s buried deep in his eyes. All I find is a devious curve to his lips that pulls me up to the surface of something new.
“I’m probably going to regret this, but as your fake boyfriend, I feel like it’s my duty to offer. You want to make him jealous? I’ll help you out if you help me by coming to the event.”
I throw the petal-less sunflower in the trash. “How? They can’t even see us.”
“No, but if we can hear them, they can sure as hell hear us, and I can be pretty damn loud when I want to be.”
His mouth twists into a smirk that looks handcrafted for his lips. “So, name any position that you want, because I bet I can fake fuck you better than he ever did for real.”
