Hat Trick (Fake Boyfriend 5)

I even want to be mad at him for it, but I don’t think he’s doing it on purpose. It’s practically routine with us at this point, which just makes this whole situation sad.

And I’ve moved past it.

This time apart where we haven’t fallen into old patterns has made me step back and see the bigger picture. There’s nothing other than regret with a side of heartache toward him now. The kind you can’t and don’t even want to try to recover from. There are no ill feelings. There’s … nothing.

The fan is moved along by security, and I turn to Harley.

People are taking photos of our interaction, so I keep my expression friendly.

“Shouldn’t you be on your side of the room?”

He waves to the crowd and does the whole Hey, it’s you! to someone who clearly thinks they should be recognized. Security keeps the next in line back while Harley and I talk, but we’re totally on display. “I came over to make sure you’re okay. You’re at a meet and greet.”

“I’d be a lot better if you were on your side of the room like you promised.”

“What, friends can’t show concern for other friends?”

“On what planet are we friends?”

“Easy there.” His fake smile never falters. “Getting a bit loud.”

Someone yells from the line of VIPs waiting for their photos. “Can you two stand closer together? That duet was awesome. You should work together.”

Harley steps closer and throws his arm around my shoulder.

We’re the same height and similar build, and I remember I used to like that. Now? I miss Soren’s bigger body. He’s not as big as Miller or Ollie, or even Talon, but he’s bigger than me in all the ways that count, and when he touches me or wraps me in his arms, I can’t help melting into him.

And I already miss it.

More than I ever missed this with Harley.

“Working together sounds like a great idea,” Harley mutters under his breath. “And it’s actually what I’ve been trying to talk to you about.”

“Is that why you’ve been watching my sets again?”

We continue to smile for the cameras, talking through gritted teeth.

“Well, that, and I’m wondering what’s happening with the hockey player now he’s gone.”

“He’s at training camp. He’s not gone. We’re still together and happy.” I think …

“Okay fine. Just thought I’d ask. What I actually want is for you to think about your career. Ryder says he’s gonna do it. Eleven’s breaking up, and I need Radioactive on my solo album. I can be professional if you can.”

Flashes continue to go off in our eyes.

“You can’t afford me,” I say.

Harley laughs. “We have boy band money. We could probably buy the whole label if we wanted to. Which would mean I’d own you.”

“Not collabbing with you either way, so don’t even try. We need to get back to the fans. You’re holding everything up.”

“This conversation’s not over.” Harley finally stalks away to let me get back to the job, when my phone vibrates in my pocket.

Finally, Soren’s replied, but his words don’t bring me any comfort:

Do you want me to?

Wait, I ask him if he’s fucking anyone else, and he asks if I want him to? Why in the hell would I want him to be with someone else? Unless he wants to be with someone else.

Do you want me to want you to? I reply.

“Jay,” Luce says. “Phone away.”

I do as I’m told. “Fifteen more minutes, and then I’m gone.”

I knew staying away from these things was a good idea.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Soren

I read over Jet’s text for about the billionth time, while I ice my knee and my side.

First preseason game? A fucking bloodbath. If I wasn’t killing myself trying to keep up with the new kid, I was trying to keep Tommy Novak—still a legend in the league and pushing thirty-seven—and his impressive line from scoring.

News flash: it didn’t go well.

We lost, and even though preseason doesn’t count for standings, superstition and the fact we got our asses kicked 4–0 doesn’t bode well for what’s to come.

I’m achy and exhausted, feeling old as I stare at my phone again.

Do you want me to want you to?

What does that even mean?

Is he seriously asking if I’m fucking anyone, or is this some roundabout way to ask if he can fuck someone?

The first text was confusing enough. Now I have no idea what’s going on.

I had a feeling when I was leaving that we should’ve talked about rules and stuff—that maybe it’s unfair of me to demand exclusivity when we’re going to be apart for long stretches—but I figured it’s only three and a half weeks this time, and the thought of letting Jet be with someone else makes me want to both vomit and hurl things across the room. Maybe beat the shit out of my pillow with a hockey stick.