Logan leads me to the dancefloor where we’re surrounded by other couples.
Taking my hand in his, he slips his other hand around my waist. Our fingers interlace and he’s pressing his palm against mine in an oddly intimate gesture. I look into his dark eyes. Adrenaline courses through my veins, tingling my fingertips.
We start moving to romantic jazz.
“Thank you,” he says, “for doing all this.” His breath smells good, minty.
“That’s what I’m here for, right?”
I study him as we dance. His immaculately tailored blue suit still manages to show off his impressive biceps. His chiseled jaw is clean-shaven. He sure cleans up well. Really well. His dark eyes find me, clearly catching me staring. He smirks. My heart is pounding so hard I’m afraid he’ll hear it. I look down.
“What?” He asks.
“Nothing.”
“You’re staring,” he says in a low voice.
I clear my throat. “Why do you want to win the Corazon trophy so bad?”
I look back up into his stunning dark brown eyes.
“Because all the greatest hockey players that have ever lived have won that trophy—Namund, Kowalchuk, Alkin, Mazrik.”
“So? You already know you’re great at hockey. Why do you need a trophy?”
“It’ll be proof that I’m great.” He glances up at Jake Turner who’s standing by the dance floor taking notes. “Sometimes I don’t think I’ll be happy until I have my name on that trophy.”
“You’re not happy now?”
He pauses. “I know I’ll be happy when I get that trophy.”
“So, simply playing hockey doesn’t make you happy?”
“I never said that,” he says defensively.
“You kind of just did.”
He furrows his brow. “Well, hockey makes me happy because it helps me get what I want. You know, stats and glory.”
I shake my head. “I can’t believe that! You only like hockey because of the wins?”
“Yeah. How does that not make sense to you?”
“You can’t treat something like a means to an end! You’ve got to treat it as an end in itself.”
“Okay?” He raises his eyebrow. “And?”
“Life is more than just the gratification of winning. If you’re always looking forward to the next win, you’ll never enjoy anything. It won’t be enough. You’ll always have another to look forward to, and another. You need to enjoy every step of the way. That’s the only way you’ll ever live in life.”
“And you enjoy every step of the way towards becoming a fancy doctor like your aunt?”
“Yes!”
“Oh right. You like studying. I forgot.” There’s a sarcastic tone in his voice. He pauses. “So are you enjoying this?”
“Criticizing your life’s philosophy? Kind of, yes.”
He laughs and I see a light shine in his eyes as they land on me. I smirk.
“I’m sorry for picking you apart,” I say. “I just thought the amazing Logan Drake would love this game for what it is.”
He watches me with a look of appreciation. His hand grips a bit tighter around my waist as we dance.
“I do,” he says at last. “I guess I’ve been playing this game for so long that I forget why I got into it in the first place.”
I smile. “I admit, I feel the same way sometimes at school. But you’ve got to enjoy every moment.”
The music slows and we’re barely even moving now. His body is tight against mine. My hand is around the back of his neck. There’s nowhere else to look but into his eyes. Those dark, piercing eyes. I could kiss him right now.
I think about what he said earlier about how I need to take action without overthinking. But this is too dangerous a situation to stop thinking. I need to have my wits about me as he holds my waist, as he stands so close I can feel his minty breath on my lips.
“I hope you’re as good a skater as you are a dancer.” He smiles. “We could make a good team on the ice.”
“Oh.” I’m pulled out of my mini-trance. I’m reminded that this is all fake and that we only have a one-night contract. My head spins with confusion. “I just told Balder what he wanted to hear.”
“Oh. I see.” His enthusiasm deflates. He pulls his eyes from mine, looking around.
Did I embarrass him? Or worse—break his heart?
I follow his gaze and look around at the hulking hockey players dancing with their impeccably dressed partners.
“This was a one-night thing, right?” I ask. “That’s what we said when we made the rules earlier.”
“Oh, come on.” His dark, dangerous eyes find me again. “Rules are meant to be broken.”
The deep timbre of his voice lures me to another place for a moment.
“No, they’re not,” I say. “That’s why they’re rules!”
“Didn’t you say you wanted to be more spontaneous?”
I lower my voice. “You really want me to be your fake girlfriend for more than one night?”
“Of course.” Looking around to make sure nobody is within ear-shot, he lowers his voice to a deeper, more dangerous tone that excites something inside me. “Everybody already thinks we’re dating. It’d be perfect.”
“How long would you want to do this for?” I ask.
“How about until the end of the season? We’ll only have to meet up for about six events over the course of four months.”
That wouldn’t be too bad.
“And we’ll keep it boring. No drama.” His dark eyes hold mine. “What do you think? This is your chance to be more impulsive.”
Pulling away from his magnetic eyes, I look around at all the fancy people chatting and dancing around me.
“What are you going to give me in exchange?”
“I’ll pay off your student debt, your dorm fees, your meal cards…”
My jaw falls open but I compose myself quickly. Having read about his multimillion-dollar trade deal with the Blades, I decide to push him a bit. “That’s it?”
“And I’ll give you extra money for whatever you want—books, clothes—”
“—lab equipment?”
“Sure.”
I straighten my posture and smile to myself. “Okay.”
He raises his eyebrows. “Okay? Okay as in… you want to do this?”
“Yes. You need your image cleaned up and I need the money. And like you said, everyone already thinks we’re dating.”
“I thought you didn’t date.” He smirks as if he’s just outwitted me.
“This isn’t really dating,” I say. “If I only have to see you twice a month, and we know we can keep the whole money thing a secret, then the benefits outweigh the risks.”
He sighs. “And just when I thought you were starting to like me for me.”
Another couple bumps into us. They apologize quickly before spinning away.
“Come.” I pull Logan off the dancefloor and across the gallery.
“Where are we going?”
“We’re getting your car from valet so you can drive me home and we can have somewhere private to talk about this.”
“Drive you home? But the night’s just begun.”
I pull my phone out of my clutch. “It’s half past eleven.”
“Really? Whoa. Time flies when you’re having fun.”
I look at him, trying to figure out if he’s trying to be cute.
“Come on.” We make our way to the entrance where we get our coats from the coat check. Logan hands his ticket to the heavily tattooed valet attendant. When the attendant disappears, Logan turns to me.
“So what do we need to talk about?”
“If we do this, we need rules.”
We make our way outside where the rain has finally eased up.
“More rules?” He raises his eyebrows.
“A contract.” Opening my glittery clutch, I pull out a folded piece of paper and a pen. “We have to make sure there’s a line so we don’t cross it.”
“You carry pens and paper around with you?”
“They’re study notes.” I show him the opposite side of the page which covered in tiny biochemistry notes. “I study them whenever I have free time.”
“I don’t know what else I expected.” He watches me as I write our initials at the top: RJ + LD. “I’m sure you know exactly what the rules will be.”
“Rule number one,” I say as I scribble everything onto the piece of paper. “This only lasts until the end of the season, when the awards are given out.”
“Agreed.”
The black luxury car drives up to the door and the attendant hops out, pulling Logan and me out of our conversation. The attendant hands Logan the keys while Logan hands back a one-hundred-dollar bill.
“Did you just—” I stare in shock as the attendant pockets the bill. “You know what, never mind. Come on.”
We climb into the car as Logan fires up the car and starts driving.
“So,” Logan says. “I’m guessing there’s a second rule?”
I clear my throat and start writing again. “Rule two: everything we do must be in public, especially any PDA.”
“PDA?”
“Public displays of affection. You know, any hand-holding, dancing, kissing.” Looking up, I see he’s smiling.
“I know,” he says smugly. “I just wanted to hear you explain it.”
I roll my eyes. “You’re super annoying, you know that, right?”
“Is there a rule three?”
“Rule three.” I swallow. “No falling in love.”
“Was that a possibility for you?” He takes his eyes off the road to give me a self-assured smirk.
“Of course not! You and I would never work for a whole number of reasons.”
“Why do you need rule three then if you don’t think it’ll ever happen?”
“Because I don’t trust you,” I say bluntly.
“Me?” He acts surprised.
“Yeah, you clearly like me.”
He laughs. “You’re direct, I like that.”
“Don’t start with that.” I hold up the contract. “It’s number three in the contract.”
He holds up a hand. “I’m not doing anything! Besides, liking you is not the same as loving you.”
“It’s a slippery slope. Besides, you’re flirting with me. That breaks rule number two too.”
“It’s part of my personality. And it seems hypocritical of you to accuse me of this when you like me way more than I like you.”
“What? No, I don’t! If anything, you like me. I’ve seen the way you look at me!”
He casts a glance in my direction as he pulls onto the highway. “How do I look at you?”
“Like you’re looking at me right now.”
He’s smirking. “The lady doth protest too much.”
“Now you’re quoting Shakespeare? Who are you?”
“That’s from Shakespeare? I thought it was from The Simpsons.”
“Of course you did. Oh boy” I laugh as I rub my face. “What the hell did I get myself into?”
Pulling off the highway, he pulls onto campus and parks next to the library.
I hand him the pen. “Shall we make this official?”
“In a hurry to be my fake girlfriend, aren’t we?”
“You know, I’m suddenly having second thoughts.” I make a gesture as if I’m about to rip up the contract.
“Okay, I’m sorry! I’ll stop with the teasing.”
Casting a sharp gaze in his direction, I hand him the contract. My eyes linger as he signs his name.
I’m getting Logan Drake’s signature.
The hockey fan in me is freaking out while the feminist in me is dying a little. I try to remember what Jane told me back in the dorms: this is acting, this is theater. None of it is real.
Logan hands me the pen. I stare at the blank space next to his name. This is it. This is my chance to be spontaneous. Adrenaline rushes through me as I sign my name.
“I guess it’s official,” he says.
“I guess so.”
We sit in the car in silence.
I fold the contract and put it carefully in my clutch. I place my hand on the door handle. “I guess I’ll see you at the skating event.”
“I’ll send you the details.”
“Great.” Unsure what the protocol is for saying goodbye to a fake boyfriend, I give him a tight-lipped smile as I open my door. “See you around.”
“Riley?”
“Yes?” I look back at him.
“Thanks for a fun night.” He smiles and this time it’s genuine, momentarily taking my breath away. I catch myself smiling back.
I can resist him.
I can resist that infectious laugh, his seductive words, the charm in his gaze. Right? I remind myself this is about business. Even though he’s hot as hell and I can’t stop staring into his mesmerizing eyes, I can’t let my feelings—or my libido—get involved. This is purely business.
“Good night, Logan.”
Trying to keep it cool, I get out of the car and rush back to my dorm as quickly as I can.
What the eff did I get myself into?
