What are you going to do, Wade?
Yeah, I got Harlow to agree to the full week. But even if she actually gives it to me—and that’s a pretty big if, considering she sort of was under duress—she’s going to be worried about after.
Which is why, after giving my body a workout more intense than any game I’ve played in pro hockey, instead of sleeping, I’m awake, running my fingers through the dark silk of her hair as she sleeps against my chest.
I must finally drift off, because the next time I open my eyes, it’s to a room bright with sunshine streaming in around the drapes and Harlow watching me with sleepy eyes from my chest.
My heart does something I haven’t ever felt before. It’s so good, so full it almost hurts.
“Okay. One week,” she says softly.
Taking her arms, I haul her up my chest.
We’ll start with one. But I’m going to make it so good, no fucking way will she want it to end.
Harlow
For all my resistance, I’m already seeing the benefits of being Wade Grady’s temporarily real, fake girlfriend. The man has been holding back in no small way. But now that he’s not skating the line between real and fake, it’s like some restrictor has come off. And this Wade is undiluted, pure dirty-talking charm and charisma.
This Wade doesn’t keep his hands above my waist or limit our contact.
This Wade doesn’t just wrap his arms around me from behind… he buries his face in that spot between my shoulder and neck and does this low growl thing that has me squirming in his arms and the poor couple in the elevator with us laughing into their hands.
This Wade throws me over his shoulder and carts me, wriggling and squealing, across the hotel lot to the grassy strip where we stretch before our run.
This Wade watches me with the kind of heat and intensity that leaves me a little breathless and a lot hot… and wondering what kind of defense I would have had if he’d shown me this true side of him from the start. Not enough.
“Keep looking at me like that, Good Girl, and you can forget running out to the orchard. The only workout you’re getting today is back in that bed.” He does that lip-biting thing again, but this time there’s nothing scripted about it. It’s authentic as his eyes rake shamelessly over the length of my legs, fixing on my running shorts-covered ass.
I shiver, averting my eyes and grinning down at my shoes.
It isn’t until we start our run that things fall back into place. But now that they have, I’m more focused on what Wade is sharing about his career than I am on the way the boulder-like muscles of his thighs shift and flex with every step he takes.
“I guess I assumed it was a pretty straightforward ascent once you made the move from football to hockey.”
Wade lets out a laugh, keeping pace beside me, his breath even and strong. “Not me. Lots of guys get picked up right out of high school. You know Greg Baxter?”
I read a bit about him while researching the team. “He was your captain but retired because of a concussion, right?”
“Yeah, well, that guy’s career trajectory was like a rocket. Mine was more like those terraced rice fields cut into the mountains in Japan. From a natural talent standpoint, guys like Baxter have me beat hands down.”
I slant him a look, doubtful. “But here you are. Playing at the same level.”
Another laugh. “Because I never fucking quit. Yeah, I got here. But if I’d let up for even a minute, I wouldn’t have.” We round a bend in the gravel road and the big painted sign for the orchard comes into view. “I played in college, but not on a free ride. Coach told me once he’d never expected me to advance past that level.”
“What?”
“Yeah, but I busted my ass, studied every tape, talked my way into more practice, more ice time, more one-on-one. And I made sure that every game I played reminded the decision-makers that they wanted me to play more in the next. I’m not a finesse guy, but I get it done. And that’s how I got myself into the AHL, how I earned the game time there, the chance for Taxi Squad. More time playing up than down.” He shakes his head. “But this was the first full season I’ve played with the Slayers.”
And from the articles, it sounds like he’s impressed everyone. “I read that your contract is up for renewal.”
“They’re hammering it out now. It’ll be finalized in the next couple weeks. Deadline’s at the end of the month.” Wade slows to a walk. Stops and turns to me. “Signing my first endorsement helps too. Good press. Good season for me even if it wasn’t great for the team. The stuff happening now—it’s a big deal for me. No matter how hard I worked, I knew the odds were against me getting here.”
I nod, my throat inexplicably tight. This man is nothing like I’d assumed that first night in the club. He’s driven, intelligent, kind and humble in the most unexpected ways. He knows what it means to work for something you may not get and to keep going anyway.
“But now you have. It must feel amazing.”
He lets out a laugh, kicking at the dirt. “It feels fucking fragile. Like finally, I ought to be able to take a breath, but I can’t. Not if I want to hold on to what I’ve been killing myself to get.”
“Wade.” I want to step into his body, take his face in my hands, and—I don’t even understand what I’m feeling except that it’s a pull I can’t give in to.
“Don’t give me that gentle voice, like you’re sorry for me, Good Girl.” He offers a lopsided smile so different from his sexy smirk, something melts inside me. “I’m exactly where I want to be. This is what I signed up for. And no matter who you are or how you got there, if you’re in the NHL, your clock is ticking. You’re always fighting to keep your spot.”
“Well, I hope you get to keep it for a long time.”
“So,” he drawls, stepping in closer. “You know about my contract. Been studying up on my sport pretty hard?” He picks up a bit of my hair and starts playing with it. The touch is so teasing and light, goose bumps break out across my skin. “Think you’d be interested in seeing a game?”
In this moment, it’s like there’s nothing fake between us. Never has been. It tightens my chest in a way that has nothing to do with the miles we’ve run.
“You could sit in my seats,” he says, voice low and rough.
I swallow. Feel my heart turn over in my chest. I can’t go to his game. We won’t be together.
“Wear my number.”
But even knowing it won’t happen, I can almost see it.
“I’ll knock the glass when I skate by, warming up.”
How did we get this close?
I’d swear he didn’t move, but my head is tipped back and he’s staring down at me.
“I’ll show off for you. Score for you. Take you out after to meet the team.”
But if he wasn’t the one to breach my space then I must have—
His mouth closes over mine, slow and sweet.
When he pulls back, it’s with a smile that makes me ache.
“You’re thinking too hard. It’s just a game, Harlow.” He gives that bit of hair a gentle tug and lets it unravel from his finger.