Hat Trick (Fake Boyfriend 5)

“Welcome back,” I grumble.

“And remember—” Coach says, but I cut him off.

“Yeah, yeah, no vomiting on your ice.”

Oh yeah, I’m home.

Chapter Twenty-Six

JET

I want to go home.

Even my mind is whiny. Apparently, I’ve been an emo little bitch since Soren left. Benji’s words, not mine. And when I call him on being an insensitive asshole, Marty informs me, no, Benji is an accurate insensitive asshole.

It’s not my fault I’m grumpy. I’ve gone back to hardly sleeping because I can’t get comfortable. I don’t know why I have issues sleeping, but it’s been like this ever since we signed with the label. Whether it’s pressure to do well, the unfamiliar surroundings and countless hotel rooms, or maybe it’s that I don’t have something or someone grounding me from the ever-buzzing energy coursing through my veins.

Soren did that for me.

Interviewers are asking how the separation is going seeing as the NHL preseason has started, and that doesn’t help with the grumpiness.

Add that to the fact now that Soren’s gone, Harley has taken it upon himself to be present for soundcheck and watches my set from the wings. For four cities now.

He’s doing what I thought he’d do when he called me back on tour. He’s trying to tempt me with longing glances and warm smiles.

Bless his heart.

A few months ago, I would’ve caved the second he turned up to a soundcheck.

Now? He’s shit outta luck. Harley’s move comes across as desperate, and I can see how little self-respect I had during all those months when I let him back into my life. We both knew it couldn’t happen, but we kept doing it anyway.

If Soren has taught me anything, it’s that love shouldn’t be messy. Sex, yes, definitely messy. Love? It should be selfless and compromising. It shouldn’t leave you cold.

Ooh, song idea.

I go to search for my notebook, but there’s a knock on my door followed by Luce’s voice.

“Soundcheck.”

Damn. I grab my phone off the bedside table of yet another hotel in another city and go to open my notes to get my ideas down in there, only I’m surprised by a notification popping up.

Soren and I have been texting back and forth since he left, but it’s his first preseason game tonight, so I haven’t been expecting to hear from him.

My stomach flips when I see a “Break a leg” text.

I quickly type out a reply: Guess I can’t wish you the same thing without being considered cruel. Good luck tonight. Get in fights and lose some teeth!

His response is immediate: Please watch one of my games. You should know your man doesn’t fight on the ice. Just kicks ass and scores goals.

I laugh as I open the door to meet up with Luce, while internally preening that Soren called himself my man.

Luce steps back. “Whoa, it smiles.”

“Whoa, you’re still an asshole.”

Luce grins. “Please, I’m the nicest person on tour.”

“Sadly true.”

We start toward the elevators to meet the others and go to soundcheck.

“What’s the hockey player saying?”

“He’s got a game tonight. We were wishing each other luck.”

“That’s sweet.” Luce’s words seem genuine, but when his lips turn into a flat line as if he’s forcing himself to say nothing more, I have to know what he’s thinking.

“What’s with your face?”

“My gorgeous, irresistible face? It’s just my face.”

“You’re holding something back.”

Luce averts his gaze.

I stop in my tracks. “Go ahead and say it.”

He keeps avoiding eye contact as he says, “I figured when Soren went back to hockey that you guys would break up. I’m surprised is all.”

“What? Why?”

“When are you even gonna get to see him? For a week or two after the tour while he’s coming and going for away games?”

He’s not saying anything I haven’t thought, but Soren and I haven’t discussed it either. We’re talking about the next time we’ll see each other, not the time after that.

I push my way forward again to the alcove where the elevator banks are. “We’re taking it as it comes. We’ll look forward to the next time we can see each other and put our heads down and focus in between.”

“Okay, but are you allowed to hook up with guys in between or—”

“Why, you and Marty wanna have some fun?” I quip.

“No. I mean—”

“You mean you’re asking about something that doesn’t affect you?” I push the elevator button harder than I need to.

“Fair enough. I’m sorry for caring about you not getting heartbroken again like with Harley, but hey, your life.”

“Exactly. It’s my life.”

Only, I’m scared Luce has a point.

A big one.

Soren and I didn’t specifically say we’re exclusive. I just assumed it’s a given. And if he can’t keep it in his pants for three and a half weeks, then fuck him and his dick.

Still, that doesn’t stop me from reading over Soren’s words again: You should know your man doesn’t fight on the ice.