Page 26 of The Puck Contract

I roll my eyes. "It's not what it looks like."

"So you're not wearing your hot hockey boyfriend's clothes after spending the night at his place?"

"Okay, it's exactly what it looks like, but not for the reasons you think."

Carlos raises an eyebrow. "You mean you didn't have wild, athletic sex with Chicago's most eligible bachelor?"

"No!" I feel my face heating up. "It’s the PR thing. Sophia wanted me to be seen leaving his place in the morning for the optics."

"Uh-huh." Carlos looks supremely unconvinced. "And the sleepover was, what, a business meeting?"

"We slept. That's it." I head to the kitchen to avoid his knowing gaze. "Separately. Well, in the same bed, but with a respectful distance maintained at all times."

"Right," Carlos says, drawing out the word. "Very professional."

"It was!" I grab a water bottle from our perpetually empty fridge. "This is all just part of the job."

"The job where you pretend to date a hot guy who makes you breakfast and lends you his clothes."

Put like that, it does sound ridiculous. "It's complicated."

"Doesn't seem complicated to me," Carlos says, turning back to his game. "Seems like you're enjoying playing boyfriend a little too much."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

He shrugs without looking away from the screen. "Just that I've never seen you this invested in a job before. You talk about him all the time, you know."

"I do not!"

"Dude, yesterday you spent fifteen minutes telling me about how he organizes his hockey gear in a specific patternbefore games. Fifteen minutes. About someone else's sock arrangement."

I open my mouth to argue, then close it again. Did I really do that?

"Whatever," I mutter, retreating toward my bedroom. "I'm going to shower and change."

"Into your own clothes, or are you keeping the boyfriend uniform?" Carlos calls after me. "Because it's a good look on you!"

I slam my door a little harder than necessary, then immediately feel bad about it. Carlos isn't wrong—I have been talking about Groover a lot. But that's just because this whole situation is so bizarre, right? Anyone would want to process it by talking it through.

As I change out of Groover's clothes, my phone buzzes with a text.

Groover:Did you make it home alive, or should I alert the authorities?

I smile despite myself.

Me:Survived the treacherous journey. Your clothes made it safely too.

Groover:Keep them if you want. They look better on you anyway.

I stare at the text, unsure how to interpret it. Is he just being nice? Is this part of the boyfriend act?

Before I can overthink it further, another text comes through.

Groover:Team dinner tomorrow, Cap’s house. The guys asked if you're coming. No pressure, but Becker said he'd teach you the secret hockey handshake if you do.

Me:There's a secret hockey handshake?

Groover:No. That's the joke. But Leila’s cooking is legitimately worth the trip.

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