Page 10 of Pucks, Lies, and Sticktape

“What?”

“The yellowfork?” he repeated, laughing harder. “Wrong sport.”

“You play sports?”

“That’s what I was trying to tell you. I’m a goalie.”

“Okay?”

“Ahockeygoalie?”

“Yay for you? Do you do ninja moves like that… on the goal?” – and Matthieu threw back his head laughing wildly.

It was tempting to get up and leave him sitting there. She still had his car keys and was about to stand when he finally took a deep breath, smiled at her, and sighed heavily. It was like his whole being sighed and that was probably the only thing that stopped her.

“I needed that laugh – thank you,” he admitted, smiling. “I’ve had a heckuva day and could use a bit of relief.”

“Me too,” she muttered. “I’ll let you know when I find mine.”

“What do you think about Quebec?” he said quietly, watching her with that infernal half-smile, waiting.

“It’s on the other side of the continent,” she shrugged.

“Well, yes. But have you ever wanted to see it?”

“I guess so. Maybe? I’ve got a lot of places I’d love to see eventually…”

“Would you want to see it… with me?”

“Come again?” she blurted out and leaned forward. “Can you repeat that once more because I could have sworn that you said something about going to Quebec…with you?”

“I did,” he smirked, leaning forward, mimicking her posture and holding her gaze. “I’m taking a new position with a new hockey team – and I need someone to come with me, be at my side, and pretend to be my wife.”

Jeannie lurched to her feet slightly, still contained awkwardly within the booth, and looked over the back to see if someone was sitting there with a microphone recording this. She hung her head out the side, again looking around, and then nearly dove under the table before looking at Matthieu.

“You’re wearing a wire, aren’t you?”

“A…a wire?”

“A recording device,” she clarified, squinting her eyes skeptically at him. “You are recording me. You know you have to disclose that to someone prior to using it, and you do not have my permission to use my voice recording,” she finished loudly.

“I’m not recording you,” he whispered, looking confused. “Why would you think that?”

“Because you just asked me to move across the country with you, pretending to be your wife.”

“Yes,” he said simply, watching her. “Do you want the position?”

“Are youinterviewingme?”

“No. I’m asking if you want to be my sort-of wife.”

“Why not your real one?”

“Well, I kinda like being single, and I don’t want to commit myself to a stranger – no offense,” he said quickly, holding up an apologetic hand. “I’m just being truthful. We don’t know each other.”

“No, we don’t – and I understand. I don’t want to be trapped with someone that I barely know because what if you turn out to be some sort of creep like that other guy… no offense,” she replied just as candidly.

“None taken,” he said easily, watching her. “I get it – we don’t know each other – but you need a place to stay, and I need a wife to land this job. If we have to make it real on paper, I’ll pay for any annulment or divorce that is needed in the future.”

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