Page 28 of Bleacher Report
“We tried, maybe Coach Wrenley will let me crash in his basement,” he says, and then laughs to himself as if there’s no shot in hell that the grumpy goalie coach is going to let that happen.
Hunter turns to walk back out past me, but I take a step in front of him to stop him.
My brain is screaming that what I'm about to offer is a monumentally bad idea, and yet I can already hear Abby giggling with glee when she hears about this.
“We can make it work,” I say before I can second-guess myself. “We’ll share the bed. I wouldn’t want you to have to worry about Bethany showing up at The Commons.”
Right, sure, that’s the reason.
Hunter glances at the bed again, then back at me—but something in his eyes has shifted. Lighter. Relieved, even. Like he didn’t actually want to go back to his apartment and deal with the mess waiting for him there.
“Really?” His right eyebrow lifts. “You’re sure about this? It’s only a queen, and I’m not exactly a small guy. It’s going to be tight.”
I follow his gaze toward the bed and realize what he means. It’s been a long time since I’ve shared a bed with anyone—years, actually. A string of bad dates, dead-end relationships, and one too many lonely nights made me realize I’m better off focusing on my career than wasting time on something that’ll only fall apart.
And guys like Hunter Reed? They’re exactly why I stopped trying. Too smooth. Too charming. Too temporary.
Which is why he’s the perfect man to share a bed with.
Because this isn’t real.
And in two months, I’ll barely remember he was here, and he’ll be back to chasing one-night stands.
“Yeah,” I say, keeping my voice light. “It’ll be fine.”
What could possibly go wrong living with a man who just offered to let me “ride the elephant,” after all?
I hope Abby and my brother aren’t right about me being naïve.
I turn on my heel before he can see how hard I’m working to keep my expression neutral.
Behind me, I hear him drop his bags inside the door, footsteps falling in line as he follows me down the hall.
My phone buzzes in my pocket as we make it back toward the living room again. I glance at the screen—another text from Mom:
Mom:You know fake can get real, sweetheart. Careful with that hockey player.
I quickly flip my phone over before Hunter can see it.
“Boyfriend?” he asks, one brow lifted.
“Nope. It’s my mom.” I clear my throat. “No boyfriend.”
He huffs a quiet laugh. “I guess I should’ve asked that before I made the offer.”
I ignore the way my stomach flips at the thought of him caring one way or another.
“I wouldn’t have said yes if I had a boyfriend. I’m not like that—”
He cuts me off quickly. “No, of course you’re not. I’m sorry.” His jaw flexes. “When it comes to you, I tend to put my foot in my mouth.”
I nod, letting his quick backtrack settle for a second. It’s…surprisingly nice to hear him own it.
“Speaking of boyfriends, maybe we should set some ground rules,” I say, leading him toward the kitchen island.
He leans a hip against the counter, folding his arms like he’s settling in for a show. “Hit me.”
“Rule number one—no sex.”
