The Game That Breaks Us (Us 3)

She sighs. “I know,” she grumbles under her breath, her shoulders sagging.

“Hey,” I say softly, grabbing her elbow to halt her. “If you don’t want to do this, you don’t have to. We can forget the whole thing.”

She nibbles on her bottom lip nervously for a second and quickly releases it when she realizes what she’s doing. “No, no,” she stutters. “I want to help you.” I smile. “This is just weird for me,” she explains. “I’ve never actually had a boyfriend,” she admits. My jaw drops. “Don’t look at me like that,” she hisses. “With an overprotective dad and two brothers, it was pretty impossible. I mean, I’ve been on dates with a few guys, but pretty much all of those ended in disaster,” she admits, wrinkling her nose. “This one time my dad hid in the movie theater and threw popcorn at my date’s head. My mom found out what he was up to when my brother spilled the beans, and she came storming into the middle of the movie—chased by ushers—grabbed my dad by the ear and hauled him out of there. It was mortifying. After a while, guys stopped asking me out.” She shrugs.

I swallow thickly. “Their loss.”

She gives me a small half-smile. “It is what it is.”

We start walking again. “Grace,” I say hesitantly.

“Yes?” She glances up at me when I don’t continue.

“I’d understand if you didn’t want to do this. I mean, this is like your chance to meet someone and have a real boyfriend, right? It’s not fair of me to tie you up in this.”

She shakes her head. “I don’t mind, Bennett. Besides, I don’t have the time to really date. My course load is packed so the chance for much of a social life is slim to none. I might as well help you out.” She shrugs, adjusting the strap of her backpack.

“Are you sure?” I can tell Grace is the kind of person that goes out of her way to help people. I don’t want her to do this because she feels like it’s the right thing to do.

“Yes.” She laughs. “I’m in, I promise.”

“Okay. I won’t pester you about it anymore.” I nod, resolute.

She smiles up at me, and my lips quirk in response.

“This is me.” She nods at the building we stand outside of. “Thanks again for the coffee and the cupcakes.”

“You’re welcome.” She starts to leave, and I grab her hand, pulling her to me. She lets out a little sound of surprise and I duck my head, kissing her cheek—dangerously close to her lips because I like to live life on the edge.

“W-What was that for?” she stutters.

“Because you’re my girlfriend.” I wink.

“R-Right,” she stutters again. “I-I have to go.”

She practically runs into the building.

I laugh, shaking my head.

Grace Wentworth is highly amusing, and I’m thoroughly going to enjoy messing with her.

She might be my fake girlfriend, but that doesn’t mean I can’t have some fun.

I run.

I run, and I run, and I fucking run.

I lift weights. I even try some yoga shit. I do everything Coach tells me to do, and he still won’t let me on the ice.

“Coach,” I cry, clasping my hands together as I beg. “Please. I need to get out there.” I point to the ice where the team glides around, doing warm ups.

Coach glares at me, hands on his hips. “You know I don’t tolerate whininess. Get back in the gym and run another five miles.”

My hands clench into fists at my sides. I would never admit this out loud but I’m close to tears. I need to get out there on the ice. I feel like a fucking drug addict needing their next hit. The passion I feel for hockey outweighs everything else, and to not be able to do it for months is torture. I lift my hands to my hair, pulling on the short strands.

“I’m losing my fucking mind, Coach.”

His eyes narrow on me further. “Don’t make me make it ten miles, James.”