Logan: An Enemies-to-Lovers Fake Boyfriend Sports Romance (Bad Boys of Hockey Book 1)
Logan: An Enemies-to-Lovers Fake Boyfriend Sports Romance: Chapter 6

Following the directions Spinner sent to my phone, I drive to the library next to the University campus. It’s a strange place to meet for a date but Spinner said that’s the address my mystery date gave.

Rain is coming down and the sky is dark. As I pull along the side of the library, I see a woman holding an umbrella standing under the awning. She’s wearing flats and I can see a dress under her long trench coat. That must be her. She peeks out from under her umbrella. I flash the lights and she hesitantly makes her way over.

This is ridiculous, I think to myself. But if this will clean up my image, then I have no other choice.

The car door opens and the woman looks inside. Striking pale gray eyes connect with mine. She’s not wearing her glasses but I recognize those gray sea-glass eyes anywhere. It’s her. The mystery woman from the locker room.

A flood of thoughts rush through my head: Is this investigative journalism? Is she writing an exposé on me? But why would she do this? Who is she?

This situation is already messy, but leaving her here and driving away won’t make things better.

“So, we meet again,” I say.

The color drains from her face when she recognizes who I am.

“Oh. Umm… I must have the wrong car.” She pulls back.

“Riley?” I hold up my phone, showing her the information Spinner sent me. “Your name is Riley, right?”

“Shh.” She looks around as if someone might recognize us. “I have no clue what you’re talking about.”

“Get in,” I say. “Before you get too wet.”

She hesitates before awkwardly collapsing her umbrella and climbing into the passenger seat. I put the car in park and face her. Her blond hair is half up, half down and although she’s wearing much more makeup tonight than she was the other night, she’s just as cute in a dorky kind of way. She opens her mouth to speak but closes it again. Her gaze darts down and to the side.

“Who are you?” I ask. “Jane, the student journalist from the University? Riley, my fake date? Do you have any other fake jobs I should know about?”

A sarcastic laugh escapes her lips along with the strawberry scent of her lip-balm.

“Okay,” she starts, “first of all, I do not do this all the time. Or ever. This is a one-time thing. I’m not a journalist either. I did that as a favor for a friend. I’m Riley, a student majoring in biomechanics and physio.

“Biomechanics?”

“I study the movement and structure of the body.”

“I could’ve guessed that.”

“How?”

“You know a lot about muscles and movement. I figured you were in physio, or sports medicine, or something medical.”

She smiles.

“What?” I ask.

“I thought you were going to say it was because I’m nerdy.”

I laugh. “Well, you are a bit nerdy.”

“Hey!”

“It’s okay, it’s cute.” I flash a glance at her. She bites her smile back and looks away.

“And you?” She asks, still looking down at her hands. “Why does international hockey star Logan Drake need a fake date? You told me women don’t say no to you.” She looks back up.

I sink back in my seat. “I’m trying to fix my so-called ‘bad boy reputation’. Some really unprofessional and amateur journalist asked me about it the other day and I thought she had a point.”

She raises her eyebrows. “So, your solution is to hire someone to date you?”

“As soon as they see me as just another guy, they’ll focus on what matters—hockey. Everything has to be perfect for me to win the Corazon trophy this season.”

“The Corazon trophy?”

“It’s the trophy for the most valuable player, as determined by all the hockey journalists. They vote at the end of the year, which is why I need to impress them all.”

She rolls her eyes. “Here’s a little insider tip.” She leans in. “Fake dating isn’t going to make your image any better.”

“It’s a good thing nobody will replace out then.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because I’m not going to tell anybody and neither are you.”

She pauses and stares out the window at the other students walking by. Rain is starting to come down harder, trailing down the windows.

“You’re right. Nobody can know I ever did this. On second thought, I should go. This was a stupid idea anyway.” She places her hand on the handle.

“Wait—”

She stops. “What?”

I stare at the beautiful woman sitting next to me. It’s rare for a woman to turn down a date with me (even if it’s a fake date), and it’s even rarer for people to turn down money. Something about her is different.

“Come to the gala with me tonight,” I say.

“Seriously? You still want me to go with you? Even after I asked you that dumb question in the locker room?”

“Sure. We’re already all dressed up, aren’t we? Just pretend you’re my girlfriend long enough to impress the journalist that’s going to be there tonight, Jake Turner. Make him think I’m more than just a party guy so that he’ll warm up to me. You’ll get your money. Everybody wins. It’s foolproof.”

“It’s not foolproof, it’s stupid. If we get found out, it’d be a huge scandal! You’ll get dragged by the press and I won’t get accepted or hired anywhere. Schools and hospitals are going to search my name before they hire me, you know. The risks outweigh the benefits.”

I chuckle.

“Why are you laughing?” She sits back, eyes wide and arms crossed.

“Not many people usually tell me I’m wrong.”

“Well, maybe they should start!”

I smirk. “Okay, how about I write a check for double what you originally wanted.”

“Holy crap, are you serious?”

I pull my checkbook out of the glove compartment.

“Yeah, why not? You need the money and I need to impress that journalist.” I write the amount onto the check.

“Here.” I hold it out to her. “This is yours if you help fool Turner into thinking I’m some soft, sensitive soul who always thinks twice before doing anything impulsive.” I laugh. “Yeah right.”

Her gaze moves from the check to my eyes. Her stoic expression continues to elude me.

“Come on,” I say. “We’ll eat good food and you can hang off the arm of the most handsome and skilled player in the league.”

She rolls her eyes. “It’s a good thing you’re not full of yourself.”

I smirk. “So, what do you think?”

Her eyes linger on the check. She exhales deeply. “Oh boy, I can’t believe I’m considering this. If this gets out—”

“It won’t.”

She stares at me for a moment with those stunning sea-glass eyes. “Fine, I’ll do it. Under several conditions… First, no kissing.”

“Got it, no kissing.”

“Second, this is only a one-night thing. This fake date lasts until midnight.”

“Aww, it’s like our very own fairy tale.”

She sends me a venomous look before continuing. “And, lastly, if this check bounces and you’re lying to me, I want twice the amount in cash.”

I smile. “Is that all?”

Her forehead wrinkles. “I think so.”

“Great, so it’s a date. Should we go, then?”

She nods hesitantly. “I can’t believe I’m doing this.”

“You’re steaming up the windows.”

“Oh.” Her hands touch her cheeks. “Sorry.”

I laugh. “I was referring to the rain on your clothes but it’s good to know that you’re blushing.” I turn the air conditioning on.

She looks down at her damp coat. “I knew that.”

I smirk as I put the car in drive. “Let’s do this.”

***

Once we arrive at the gala, I hand the keys to the valet and help Riley out of the car. We check our coats and I catch a glimpse of her in an elegant black cocktail dress. A dainty necklace with a rose pendant hangs delicately on her neck.

I reach for her hand but she pulls back abruptly.

“Oh,” she says. “I didn’t expect us to hold hands.

“Your rules said no kissing but there was nothing about holding hands.”

“Is it necessary?”

“I just thought if we’re dating, it’s more believable if I’m holding your hand. That’s just the type of guy I am.”

“Oh. Right.” She awkwardly puts her hand out and I interlace my fingers with hers.

“Are you ready?”

She nods. “As ready as one can be.” She’s still stiff as a board.

“You can relax, you know.”

She gives me a tight smile.

Squeezing her hand, I pull her into the gala. People in suits and dresses are socializing all around us—hockey players, sponsors, politicians, journalists. Waiters are weaving in and out of the crowd, serving drinks and appetizers. A string quartet plays jazz standards in the corner.

Riley tugs on my hand, stopping me as she shrinks back.

“Is everything okay?” I ask.

“It’s just… I’m not used to big crowds and parties. I spend a lot of time alone.”

“Let me guess—studying?”

She gives a quick nod. She looks around the gallery but it’s clear she’s lost in thought.

“You were never a social kid, were you?”

Looking at me, she sharpens her gaze. “I was a very timorous child growing up.”

“Tim…berous?”

“Timorous,” she repeats. “It means I was a bit hesitant, fearful. I lacked confidence.” She clears her throat.

“Well, on my arm, you don’t have to feel that way.” I give her a quick wink and instantly regret it. Why am I like this?

She rolls her eyes. “I guess you were never lacking in the self-confidence department.”

“Not really, no. But come on, you don’t have to be afraid.”

“I’m not afraid. I’d just rather be studying.”

“No studying,” I say. “Tonight is for relaxing.”

“Studying is relaxing. This?” She looks around at all the people chatting. “This is stressful.”

I laugh. “And you were offended that I called you a bit nerdy.”

“Only I’m allowed to call myself nerdy.”

I smile. “Noted. Look, this doesn’t have to be intimidating. Just do what I do.” I let go of her hand. “Shake out your shoulders like this, then roll them back.”

I shake my shoulders and she mimics my movements.

“And then stretch your neck like this.” I tilt my head to one side.

She copies me, tilting her head to one side, then the other. She closes her eyes.

“Oh, that feels good,” she says.

“See?” I watch as she sinks into the feeling. I can’t help but admire her long, slender neck and her smooth flawless skin.

Among all the hockey players and older men in the room, Riley stands out like a peach in a pile of pineapples.

Her pale gray eyes flash up and catch me staring. Looking down and away, she leans in, bringing that sweet strawberry scent with her. “You’re staring at me, Mr. Drake.”

“I can’t help it. You look beautiful.”

Her cheeks grow pink and she averts her gaze.

“I know this is all an act,” she says, “but you can tone it down when we’re alone.”

“I’ll reign it in. It’s just weird being a—” I look around and lower my voice, “a fake couple.”

“I know. I’m not used to it either, but let’s save the couple stuff for when we’re actually around other people.”

“Noted. Come, let’s look at the paintings.” I take her hand again and I can’t help but notice how comfortable it fits in mine.

As we walk through the gallery, the chatter fills the room and waiters weave through the crowd with drinks. I grab two gin and tonics and hand one to Riley as we walk toward the art pieces.

“So, why biomechanics?” I ask.

“It’s what my Aunt Mary did.” She touches her necklace. “She was very important to me growing up. She was an incredibly smart woman who ran the biomechanics lab here at the university for twenty-five years.”

“That’s very impressive.”

She nods. “She used technology to help a lot of people learn to walk again.”

“Suddenly being a hockey player doesn’t seem that impressive.”

“Hockey is still impressive. Maybe not as impressive. But still impressive.” She gives me a devilish smirk and I suddenly feel something unexpected stir deep inside me.

Pushing my thoughts aside, I clear my throat. “So once you get your degree, what do you want to do?”

“I want to work in the biomechanics lab here in Seattle, just like Aunt Mary did. As long as I make her proud, I’ll be happy.”

“I’m sure she’s very proud of you.’

Riley gives me a tight smile. “Thanks.”

I notice her hand is on her necklace again.

“Did she give you that necklace?”

Riley puts her hand down, as if not even realizing she was touching it. “Yes. She got it as a gift when she first got accepted into college. She said it was her good luck necklace. Good things happened when she wore it. She gave it to me when I graduated high school, a few months before she died.’

“I’m so sorry.”

“Thanks.” She gives me an awkward smile. “I never know what to say when people say that.” She looks down and takes a sip of her cocktail.

“So, what happens after school?” I ask.

“I’m applying for internships this summer.”

“Any preferences?”

“Somewhere here in Seattle,” she says without hesitation.

“Of course. Following in Aunt Mary’s footsteps.”

“That’s right.” She smiles and for the first time all night, I see her glowing. “I’ve thought about moving again, the way you do, but I don’ t know… It would be so nice to stay here in Seattle, in the city that Aunt Mary loved.”

“Moving is exciting the first time around. After doing it several times, you start to get sick of it.”

“Does that mean you’re staying in Seattle for good?” There’s a bit too much excitement behind her question. I smile to myself.

“I’m staying as long as the team decides to extend my contract. And as long as nobody picks a fight with me on the ice.”

She laughs. “At least you can poke fun of yourself.” Her gray eyes twinkle.

I can’t help but smile as I watch her. We smile at each other for a few seconds too long, causing her to look away.

“So, do you like art?” She asks.

“I’m more of a sports guy.”

“Really? I haven’t noticed?” She laughs and it feels like a light has been turned on.

“You?”

“I go to the odd museum here and there. I like this one.” She points at a large painting that is split down the middle—the left half is blue and the right half is red and fiery. “I like the contrast between the two. The calm blue and the jarring red. It reminds me of the brain.”

I laugh. “The brain?”

“Yeah! The left side of the brain is the cool, calm hemisphere. It deals with logic, math, facts. And the right side is the wild half—that’s where creativity and imagination come in. Where passion comes from. Though they’re separate, they work in harmony. It reflects the duality of life. Sometimes it’s calm, sometimes it’s wild. Yesterday I was a student in dirty sweatpants, now I’m at an art gala rubbing elbows with millionaires. Sometimes life is boring and other times you meet a hockey player twice in one week. Life is full of dualities like that.” Her lips curl into a smile.

I admire her for a moment. “You’re smart. I like that.”

Her cheeks pinken but she stands tall, lifting her chin up as she looks back at the painting.

A large burly man with a beard appears next to us.

“Marcus,” I say. “I want you to meet Riley. Riley, this is Marcus—”

“—Marcus Rock,” she says, finishing my sentence. She gives him a rigid handshake.

I raise my eyebrows as I stare at her, surprised.

“Nice to meet you,” Marcus says. He flashes me a devious glance and I instantly know that he’ll grill me about her later. Although we’ve only really known each other for a few months, he’s become my closest friend here in Seattle.

“What’re you doing there, champ?” I ask, noticing the paper in his hand.

Marcus straightens up, showing off his large frame. “Bidding on paintings, what else does it look like? It’s a silent auction, after all. Do you guys like this one?” He points at the red and blue painting we were just looking at.

“I love it,” Riley says. She looks at me.

“Oh, me too,” I add. “I like that it represents the duality life. The red and blue represent opposites, like passion and logic, you know? The wild and calm.”

“Wow, man. I didn’t realize you were such a poet.” Marcus gives me a knowing smile. There’s a look in his eye as if he knows I’m trying to impress Riley.

Meanwhile, Riley is staring at me with an annoyed glance. She gives me a playful shove.

“What?” I ask.

“You’re so annoying,” she says. “You stole my homework!”

I laugh.

Marcus holds up the piece of paper. “Do you think that’s too much?”

Riley’s eyes widen. “Wow!”

Marcus scratches his head. “Not enough?”

“No, that’s… a lot.”

Marcus looks down at his bid. “Oops. I’ve been guessing this for every painting.”

“Every painting?” Riley can’t hide her shock as she looks at me, then back to Marcus. “What if you win them all?”

“Then I’ll have a really decorated apartment, I guess.” He laughs, then pauses as realization dawns on his face. “Shit, I really didn’t think this through.”

I laugh. “Oh, boy. Better go talk to someone, buddy.”

“Yeah… I’ll catch you two later.” Marcus disappears.

I turn to Riley. “He’s great on the ice. Not so smart off of it.”

“He’s much taller in real life than I expected,” she says.

“Wait, does that mean I’m not as tall as you expected?”

She shrugs, smirks, and looks away. I smile to myself.

She really is something.

“So, you really like this painting?” I ask.

“I do.” She takes another sip of her gin and tonic as she looks up at the piece of art.

I grab a paper from the display.

“What are you doing?” She looks at me with a shocked stare. “You’re not actually going to bid on anything are you?”

“It’s a charity gala and I’ve got money to spare. Isn’t that the point?” I scribble down a number.

Her mouth falls open. “That’s twice what Marcus put!”

Dropping the paper into the box, I grin. “Oops.”

“I can’t believe you did that!”

“I guess the red side of my brain took over.”

“How can you be so impulsive?”

“I’m guessing you don’t make decisions without making an extensive pros and cons list first?”

She gives a quick laugh. “No… okay, maybe.”

“Well, next time you see something that might be fun, don’t think twice about it. Just do it.”

She pauses as if considering the pros of cons of my statement.

I laugh. “You’re already thinking too much!”

“You have very poor money management skills, you know.”

“Seeing your reaction was well worth the price.”

She smirks as she brings her drink to her lips.

“I like that you’re honest,” I say. “And smart.”

She gives me a subtle smile. “Thank you, I work hard at both those things.”

“But you’re still hiding something.”

She furrows her brow. “What?”

“You’re a hockey fan.”

“Well, sure. I saw the game the other day…”

“You’ve seen more than that. You knew Marcus Rock’s name.”

“Everyone knows Marcus Rock’s name. He’s the most famous defenseman on the Blades! There are billboards of his face all over the city.”

“See? You know he’s a defenseman.”

She looks away. “Okay, maybe I’m a bit of a fan.”

“I knew it!”

“I watch games every once in a while. So what?”

“Are you also a fan of mine?”

“We don’t have to talk about that.” She turns away and starts walking toward the next painting.

“Ooh, this is fun.” I pursue her. “How long have you dreamed about meeting me?”

“I’m not doing this with you.” She points at a painting of a river. “How about this one?”

“Oh no, I’m not letting you off that easy.” I step into her line of sight.

But before I have a chance to bug her some more, I see someone approaching us.

“Look who decided to show up!” A deep, boisterous voice calls out. It can only be one person.

Turning around, I see that my suspicions are confirmed. Mike Balder waddles over to us, his round face red as usual. He sees Riley and his demeanor automatically changes. “And who is this young lady?”

“This is my girlfriend, Riley.”

“Girlfriend? How lovely!” Balder’s face softens.

Riley gives me a sharp look and I know she’s mad that I’m already using the word ‘girlfriend’. I give her a convincing look. Just go with it.

“Riley, this is the owner of the Seattle Blades, Mike Balder.”

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Balder.” She shakes his hand.

“So how long have you two been dating?” He asks.

We speak at the same time:

“One week—”

“One month—”

We exchange a look. Crap. We should have gone over our story first.

Riley smiles. “It’s complicated.”

“I see.” Balder watches us suspiciously.

“Mr. Balder,” Riley jumps in. “I’ve been a big fan of your team since the beginning. I think the Blades have a real shot of winning the cup this year.”

Yes! So, she admits it. As if sensing my glee, she gives me a dangerous glance. I clear my throat.

Balder’s ruddy face lights up. He turns to me. “You’ve got a good one here, Drake. She’s definitely got the brains in this relationship.”

“Blue brains,” I say. I can’t help but stifle a chuckle. She gives a quick smirk.

“So,” Balder says. “How did you two meet?”

“Umm…” Riley looks at me for help.

“Riley interviewed me for the university paper.”

“A sports columnist?” Balder raises an eyebrow.

“No,” she says. “I’m in physio and biomechanics. I had questions about his routine so that I could collect data for a motor learning experiment I’m hoping to do.”

I look at her, shocked that she came up with this story with such ease.

“Oh, I see,” Balder says hesitantly. Uh-oh, I think. He looks suspicious. “What’s your study?”

“Well… I’d like to use three-dimensional video and analog data to analyze an athlete’s range of motion. By doing this, I hope to identify problem areas, especially areas that have been previously affected by an injury. Once those areas are identified, I can help provide solutions to healing those areas in the most optimal way using a mix of physiotherapy and biotechnology.”

Balder’s eyes widen and the suspicion disappears. “That’s quite fascinating. You have the technology to do that?”

“Yes,” she says. “I am currently taking a biomechanics and motor learning lab at Seattle University. We have the equipment at the school lab.”

Impressed, I watch as she turns on the charm and loses the rigidity.

Balder is lost in his own thoughts for a moment. The jazz is still playing in the background as people chat and glasses clink.

“I like this,” he says finally. “Once you finish your project, would you mind sending it to me?” Balder asks.

“Sure.”

Balder digs into his wallet and pulls out a card. “My email address is there. I’d love to learn more about this.”

“Of course, Mr. Balder.” She takes his card.

“Please, call me Mike.”

“Oh, you don’t have to say that—”

“Yes, I do. The Blades aren’t just an institution, we’re a family. If you’re Logan Drake’s girlfriend, you’re a part of our family, our team.”

She shifts uncomfortably against me. “That’s kind of you.”

“Say, Drake. How’d you convince such a smart, capable woman to date you?”

“I don’t know.” I smile at her. “I guess I’m the red to her blue, complementary opposites.”

“Well don’t mess this up. She’s got a good head on her shoulders.”

“Thank you, Mr. Bal—I mean Mike.” Riley gives me a smug smile.

“What’s going on here?” A nasal voice says.

I lean into Riley and whisper, “It’s him. The journalist.”

The tall lanky man joins our circle.

“Logan.” He nods. “Mr. Balder.” He shakes Mr. Balder’s hand. His eyes turn to Riley. “And this is?”

“Riley Jamieson.” She puts out her hand. “Logan’s girlfriend.”

She says it with confidence. The sound of it feels good.

“Jake Turner of Seattle Sports Talk,” the lanky man says.

“Pleasure.” Riley shakes his hand.

“Ms. Jamieson is a med student at Seattle University,” Mr. Balder says.

“Is that right?” Jake Turner raises his eyebrows rather unenthusiastically. He looks at me, unimpressed. “What happened, you bumped your head and end up in the ER?”

“Funny,” I mumble.

“I’m not a med student,” Riley corrects. “I’m a biomechanics student with a minor in sports injuries.”

Jake turns away, clearly bored by this interaction.

“Great article the other day, Turner,” I say. “Interesting insight into our team’s power play dynamic.”

He gives me a hesitant stare before getting distracted by our team captain, Rory Edgar. “Excuse me.”

And just like that, he’s gone. I exhale.

“Damn.”

Riley takes my hand and gives it a gentle squeeze. The small gesture is oddly reassuring.

“That man is so strange,” Mr. Balder says. “I need to continue making my rounds but you kids have fun. Make sure to try the cannolis. The vanilla ones taste like heaven… just like my Nona Sophia used to make!”

“Will do.”

“It was a pleasure meeting you,” Riley says.

He pulls away.

“Oh!” Balder turns back. “Our next big event is the family skate in a few weeks. I look forward to seeing you there! And don’t forget to email me!”

“Oh…” Riley shoots me a worried glance.

This could complicate things.

To my surprise, she looks at Balder and smiles. “I’ll do my best to be there.”

She will? That weird hopeful feeling rises up inside me again.

“Excellent! Don’t forget your skates.” Balder pulls away and is already greeting the next couple.

Once he’s out of earshot, I turn to Riley.

“I’ve never seen him light up like that around me,” I say. “Usually he’s suspicious that I’m about to do something wrong.”

“Well, he’s got good reason…” She plays with the lip of her glass.

Ignoring her jab, I stare at Jake Turner who is scribbling in his notebook.

“I hope he’s writing something good about me.”

“I didn’t realize you were such a sycophant,” Riley says.

I raise my brows. “Syco-what?”

“Sycophant. Someone who gains attention by flattering powerful or influential people.”

“So, a brown-noser?”

“You can put it that way.”

I chuckle. “Yeah, that sounds like me. Anything for that Corazon trophy.”

Staring at Balder, I see that he’s asking one of the hockey wives to join him on the dancefloor. Jake Turner is standing near the dancefloor chatting with Coach Murphy.

“Would you like to dance?” I ask.

“What?”

“It’s a thing people do when there’s music and alcohol.” I point to the dancefloor where several couples are dancing to smooth jazz.

“You’re such a smart ass.”

“Better than being a dumb ass.” I smirk.

She rolls her eyes and looks out at the dance floor. “I’m not much of a dancer”

“Back and forth, side to side. It’s easy. Come on.” I take our glasses and set them down on a nearby table. “Follow me. It’ll be fun.”

She hesitates but her lips curl into a smile and I know I’ve got her. Taking her hand, I pull her onto the dance floor.