As if that news just sinks in, Dex’s face falls. “Shit. I guess it’s time to get reacquainted with my first-ever girlfriend.” He holds up his hand.

“Well, hey, if you’re ever desperate enough …” I waggle my eyebrows. “I am your husband.”

It’s a joke, but I don’t think Dex takes it as one.

His eyebrows shoot up. “Really?”

God, say yes. Just … let the offer linger.

But I can’t. Our friendship is already going through too much awkwardness over this marriage thing to add sex to the mix.

So instead of telling him what I want, I play it off instead. “You wish.”

My phone starts ringing, and my immediate thought is that it’s already reporters trying to get ahold of us for a quote, but when I pull it out, it’s even worse than that.

It’s the queer collective. And it’s a group video call.

“If Graham comes back in, let him know we’re doing this for real. I need to put out this fire.” I hold up my phone.

I go into one of the spare bedrooms and hit Answer on the call. Great. They’re all here.

“It’s a fake marriage, huh?” Oskar smirks.

“Wait, so this is actually true? You guys got married?” Foster asks.

I take a deep breath and put on the performance of a lifetime. “I’d … love … chat.” I make sure I pause movement in between words too. “Dealing … crisis. Hello? I think … bad … reception.” I quickly hit the End button.

Oh no. The call dropped out.

Shame.

Real shame.

I wonder how long I can play that game. Sooner or later, I’m going to have to face the Collective, but today is not that day. I already know what they’ll tell me anyway.

You’re only hurting yourself.

But the alternative is hurting Dex, and that’s something I’m not willing to do. Ever.

Eleven

DEX

I barely know what I’ve actually agreed to when things start to move fast. By the end of the week, my place is up for lease, and I’m moving all my worldly possessions into Tripp’s apartment. Our PR team released a statement about us that was in line with what Jessica had already said: we hid our relationship so it wouldn’t affect the team, but we couldn’t keep the secret any longer.

The story isn’t rock solid, and my biggest fear is someone calling us out, but I’m not going to complain.

If it stops one of us from being traded, I don’t care what it is, I’ll do it.

I have no problem with pretending to be married to Tripp, because showing public affection for him is something I can do in my sleep. In fact, I’m a thousand times better now than when I was avoiding him. He has a way of making me believe everything will be okay and that I’m invincible when I have him.

There’s just one thing I can’t stop stressing over: the messages.

Graham has someone managing a joint social media account for us, and between that and my own private ones, I’ve had a flood of messages and notifications. The homophobic dickwads I can brush off easily enough because I know what they have to say is bullshit; it’s the supportive ones that are messing with my head.

People congratulating me for coming out and living my truth. Guys across the NHL, some I’ve met and some I only know in passing, all declaring support for us. Most of our team have posted fun jokes about how unsubtle we were while texting us in private to find out what’s actually going on, and the outpouring of love and support … makes me feel like a horrible person.

It’s completely misplaced.

I remember when Anton came out publicly and announced his relationship with Ezra. Tripp and I watched the press conference, and when I noticed Tripp starting to get choked up, I asked what was wrong.

“I still remember the day I came out. It was the most freeing moment of my life.”

I’ll never relate to that, and the thought of someone getting choked up over this story of two best friends falling in love and getting married makes me feel like a phony.

I’m an idiot.

But I’ve always been an honest idiot.

I wish I could go back and smack past Dex upside the head, because ever since I suggested that dumb wedding, everything has snowballed.

My first night in Tripp’s place is spent tossing and turning. When I stay here, I’m usually in his bed, with him, chilling and hanging out.

In the guest bed, I can’t get comfortable, so I’m awake ridiculously early and make my way into Tripp’s living room. I’m scrolling through too many messages to keep track of when Tripp stumbles sleepily from his room. He’s only wearing sleep shorts, and his entire torso is covered in freckles.

“Morning.” I drink in the sight of him eagerly, because just like he did, I missed him during our days apart.

Tags: Eden Finley Puckboys Romance
Source: readsnovelonline.net