Fake Shot (Boston Rebels Book 2)

When Jameson pulls into the spot behind the back door, Jules and I are standing in the kitchen waiting for him.

“I need a minute,” I say, reaching for the doorknob.

“What? No.” She grasps my forearm as if she could stop me from going out there. “You said I could do the explaining here.”

“And you can. But I need a minute with him first.”

“Colt . . .” She drags my name out like a warning, and I’m tempted to tell her it turns me on when she does that. But even I know that now isn’t the time.

“He’s been my best friend for the last fifteen years, and I just had his little sister wrapped around me up against a wall in an alley. Trust me when I say, I need a minute with him so that he doesn’t kill us both.”

She sighs, but lets go of my arm. Shutting the door behind me, I meet him on the stairs.

“What. The. Fuck?” His words are low and slow, laced with an anger I’ve never seen from him.

I put both hands out in front of me, hoping it helps him slow his roll a bit. “Jules wants to explain the whole situation to you,” I tell him. “But I just need you to know that she was in danger, and I did what I needed to do to protect her.”

That has his head snapping back. “What?”

“You heard me.”

“Who was trying to hurt her?” There’s fire in his eyes, and I’m glad his anger is no longer directed at me.

“She’ll explain. But I just need you to go in there and be reasonable. Don’t lose your shit on her. Don’t make her feel bad,” I say. His eyes narrow, like he’s trying to assess why I care about her feelings when all I’ve ever done is try to annoy her. But before he can ask any questions, I say, “Let’s do this,” and open the back door so he’ll follow me inside.

Five minutes later, Jules has told him the whole story. His response is classic Jameson: “Tell me who this asshole is so I can fucking bury him.”

“No.”

He looks at her like he must have misheard her. “No?”

“No. Boston is a small city. I don’t need you overreacting and doing something that’s going to tarnish my professional reputation.”

“I’m discreet as hell.”

“Uh huh.”

“Well, anyway,” he says, like he knows there’s no point in pushing because she’ll lock up like a damn vault. “This engagement is the most asinine idea I’ve ever heard.”

“Do you have a better one?” she asks, and my chest shakes with silent laughter. It’s the exact question I asked her when she said it was a stupid idea. Now, it feels like we’re on the same team. Us against everyone.

Jameson sighs. “It’s not ideal, but in the circumstances . . . I don’t know. Maybe it is the best move? It’ll certainly help your less-than-stellar reputation”—he looks at me—“and possibly protect yours,” he adds as he looks at Jules.

“Exactly,” she and I say in unison.

“But I’m still not convinced that people are going to believe it, what with you sleeping with a new woman in every city,” Jameson says. “Won’t that just make my sister look like a fool?”

I hate that I have to defend myself to my best friend. I earned my reputation fair and square, but it’s been a long time since I’ve acted like that. Everyone just assumes that nothing’s changed because I continue to let them believe it. I play into it even, because it’s always been my armor—the way I keep women from getting too close while showing everyone back home that I’ve moved on.

I tell him the same thing I told Jules earlier, and he folds his arms across his chest. “And you think your teammates are going to believe this?”

“There hasn’t been another woman all season, and no one on the team could claim otherwise. So yeah, I think it’ll be pretty easy to explain that the reason no one’s seen me take a woman back to my hotel room, or leave a bar or a club with someone, is because I’ve secretly been dating Jules this whole time.”

His jaw ticks as he grinds his teeth together. “But just to be clear, you haven’t been? Right?”

“You already know the answer to that,” I say, folding my arms across my chest.

“AJ wants to meet with you first thing tomorrow morning,” he tells me. It’s never a good thing when your general manager calls you into a meeting on a Sunday.

“Shit. Do you think I need to tell her the truth?” I ask.

His lips press together—it’s his classic thinking face, the one I’ve seen countless times over the years as he’s negotiated contracts and endorsement deals on my behalf. “Yeah. I don’t know if she’ll agree with what you’re doing, but I think you should tell her. Because if somehow it comes out that you two lied about this, she will never, ever trust you again and your career with the Rebels will be over. Maybe even before the end of this contract.”

I’m not sure how many more years I’ve got left in me anyway, but I don’t want to piss off my GM or risk ending my career prematurely. I want to go out on my own terms.

“Alright. Should Jules come with me for this meeting?”

“What?” Jules squeaks out. “No way. She’s low-key terrifying.”

Jameson’s laugh is a low rumble. “AJ doesn’t take shit from anyone, but she’s not terrifying. She’s one of Lauren’s best friends, plus, she’d probably really like you. You two are a lot alike, actually.” He pauses, his eyebrows dipping, before he says, “Yeah, I think you should take Jules with you.”

“Nope.” Jules shakes her head adamantly, like a child who’s trying to get out of taking medicine. “Sorry, I can’t. I have plans.”

“Oh yeah?” I ask, thinking about how freaking adorable she is when she’s not getting her way, and how much I love to see her squirm. “What will you be doing?”

“Sleeping. I’m not a morning person.”

Ironic, given her line of work. If the last two days are any indication, she leaves the house before I even wake up. “Come on, Jules. I need you to help me save my career.”

“Just play better and AJ wouldn’t dare get rid of you,” Jules says.

Jameson and I lock eyes and we both laugh. I’m arguably still the best goalie in the league, despite my age. “That’s not how AJ operates,” Jameson says.

Then I add, “She’s all about building a team of responsible, respectful men⁠—”

“And she lets you play for the Rebels?” Jules asks, covering her mouth in mock horror.

“Exactly, so I need you to help me show her how responsible and respectful I am. Come on, Jules. Don’t make me get on my knees and beg in front of your brother.”

She knows I’m teasing, but Jameson practically growls and says, “Don’t make me throat punch you in front of my sister.”

I roll my eyes in his direction and turn back to Jules. “Please, Jules?”

“Alright, fine,” she sighs, like she’s being deeply inconvenienced. “But only because we need this to work. Though, sometime, I would like to see you beg.”

“Fucking enough!” Jameson grinds out the words like he’s in pain. “Save your flirting and innuendos for when you’re trying to sell this fake engagement. And preferably not in front of me.”

I try not to take offense to the way he visibly shudders, like the thought of me tainting his sister is enough to make him want to vomit.

“This is how we’ve always talked to each other,” Jules says.

“Yeah, well, it has a whole new layer now that I’ve had to watch you two make out.” He turns his head toward me. “You’re my best friend, so I’ll tell you this once and once only. When you’re not out in public trying to convince people you’re actually engaged, keep your fucking hands off my sister.”

“Woah,” Jules says before I can even respond. “There’s nothing going on here, but even if there was, that would be none of your business. You don’t get to decide who I date.”

His face softens a bit when he looks at her. “No, but I have a responsibility to make sure you end up with someone capable of treating you right. Preferably someone whose body count isn’t a thousand people deep.”

The way the adrenaline pumps through my system at that statement—equal parts anger and shame—makes me want to tear Jameson in half. But he’s not wrong.

Jules’s hand lands on my forearm, gripping it tight enough that I take a breath. “Again,” she practically growls at her brother. “None. Of. Your. Fucking. Business. You do not have a responsibility to make sure I end up with anyone. Who I end up with is my choice, and mine alone.”

“I just want what’s best for you,” he tells her.

“Which isn’t me.” My comment comes through sounding just as tense as I feel. It’s not a question, but I am looking for him to confirm if that’s what he meant.

“Hey,” he says, his gaze sliding from Jules to me where I stand next to her. “Nothing against you. I just want Jules to end up with someone⁠—”

“Who you trust with her. And you’ve made it perfectly clear that isn’t me.”

I see the confusion in his eyes, and I don’t know why I’m so mad about this. He’s watched me rack up one-night stands—fucking and forgetting women over and over—for a decade and a half. But he’s the only person in Boston who knows about Cheri and Gabriel. So I guess I always assumed he understood why I never dated, why I wouldn’t trust anyone enough to give them more than a night.

Jules moves her hand from my forearm to my abdomen, like she’s holding me back, and then extends her other arm to Jameson’s chest. It’s only then that I realize how close we both are to throwing punches over this.

“Alright, you two clearly need a breather. Jameson, go home to Lauren, and let her explain to you why you’re acting like an asshole.”

“I’m not being an asshole.” He sounds defensive.

“It’s kind of your default. But not normally with either of us,” she says, nodding her chin toward me while her hands remain firmly in place on each of us. “I get that you’re not happy about this, but we’re not asking for your opinion. We’ll handle this.”

Jameson’s eyes flick back and forth between the two of us. “Fine.” Then he looks back at me. “You better not hurt her.”

“No one’s going to get hurt,” I say, with more certainty than I feel. Because if I’ve learned anything tonight, it’s that I like Jules Flynn a whole lot more than I realized.

“I really might throw up,” Jules says as we walk down the hallway of the office suite at the Rebels’ practice facility early on Sunday morning.

“I tried to take you out to breakfast first,” I remind her. “Coffee on an empty stomach is never a good idea.”

“You don’t even drink coffee,” she reminds me. “And I’m not going to throw up because of the caffeine. It’s nerves.”

I take her hand, lacing our fingers together and giving her a little squeeze as we walk down the hallway. I’m so relieved when she doesn’t pull her hand away that I stop walking and tug her back toward me. Her free hand flies up and lands on my chest as she spins around in surprise.

“Hey.” I bend my head so I’m looking her in the eyes as she stares up at me. “Are you having second thoughts about this?”

“What? No.” She shakes her head slightly, eyebrows scrunched up like she doesn’t understand why I’m asking this.

“Jules, I know my reputation will come up again and again,” I say, thinking about Jameson’s reaction last night and imagining how fans will take this news. Will she be the one who finally tamed Colt, or will she be painted as the poor soul who was last in a long line of women? “I’m not sure how people will talk about you as a result, and if you don’t want to do this, it’s not too late to back out.”

“As long as you’re willing to stand up for me whenever necessary, and I do the same for you, we’ll be fine.” Her words are certain, her face is anything but.

“Us against the world?”

She lets out a small laugh, and it’s so good to see a genuine smile from her that I can’t hold mine in either. “Something like that,” she says as her eyes search mine for a moment that ends too quickly. “Come on, we don’t want to be late.”

We approach the only open door, with the light streaming through into the somewhat dim hallway. I don’t spend a lot of time up here in the offices, but the times I’ve been here, it’s bustling. The whole space feels desolate right now, and that is a little intimidating, if I’m being honest.

AJ is sitting at her desk, her long dark hair obscuring her face as she looks at her phone. When I knock twice on the open door, her head snaps up, and she stands immediately, walking toward her couch area as she ushers us in. I introduce Jules, and AJ smiles as she extends her hand. “Alessandra Jones,” she says, “but please, call me AJ.”

As they shake hands, Jules tells her how much she likes her office. It’s always amused me that AJ—who is literally the most powerful woman in hockey and whose entire reputation is based on being a complete ball-buster—has such a feminine office. There’s a low cream-colored couch running along the glass wall that overlooks the practice rink. In front of it is a coffee table, and cushioned armchairs with frilly pillows are on either side.

Jules and I take a seat on the couch, and AJ sits in the chair on my other side. Next to me, Jules slides her hand back into mine, and I give her another supportive squeeze as I look over at AJ, waiting for her to say something.

“So the funny thing about being the only female GM in the league,” she says, looking straight past me at Jules, “is that I tend to do things a little differently than some of my male counterparts. For example, I pride myself on knowing my players well—not just as players, but as people. I like to think one of the reasons I’ve been able to build the team I have here in Boston is because I inherited some great players, like Colt, who predated me. And I’ve been able to bring in the type of men I want, not for their skill on the ice, but because I know they’ll have each other’s backs.”

Her eyes flick to me. “Which is why I find it absolutely shocking that I had to find out you’re engaged from a goddamn fan website. You’re a leader on this team, someone I’ve trusted from day one, despite how you’re portrayed in the media. So being blindsided like this . . . either I’m fucking terrible at my job, or this”—she gestures between me and Jules—“is not what it seems.”

Jules’s fingers twitch, so I lean back against the couch cushions and pull our clasped hands into my lap, using my thumb to stroke circles on the back of her hand. I don’t miss the way AJ’s eyes track that movement before she glances up at me, eyebrows raised.

“You’re not terrible at your job, and you know it.” I’m so glad we decided not to lie to her, because that wouldn’t have gone over well. As I explain what happened, and what we’ve decided to do, I watch her observe both of us closely and wonder what she sees.

When I’m done explaining the last eighteen hours, she gives a quick nod and says, “Okay, here are my initial thoughts.” She looks at Jules. “First, at some point, I want to hear more details about this mentoring program because it sounds amazing and necessary. Second,” she says, looking back at me, “there’s obviously a reason you said you two were engaged, and I look forward to you figuring out what that was. Third, I agree with Jameson that the idea of continuing to fake this engagement is completely asinine, but also with both of you that there isn’t a better alternative given the situation. And fourth, in order for this to work, you are going to have to convince a lot of people that you’re in love. There are probably already too many people who know the truth, and I appreciate being one of them. But I assume you’re planning on telling the rest of the team, and Wilcott,” she says, referring to our coach, “that you’re really engaged?”

“Yeah,” I say decisively, “I don’t think anyone except you and Jules’s family can know the truth. The more people who know, the more likely it is to get out.”

“And the only thing that can make us look worse than we already do in this situation,” Jules says with a sigh, “is if the actual truth was out there.”

“I’m sorry you’re in this position,” AJ says, her voice uncharacteristically sympathetic. “But I agree with you on both accounts.” Her eyes narrow in on us, sitting together, still holding hands. “Do you really think you can fake this, though?”

Jules and I glance at each other, and the memories of us in that alley come flooding back—the way she felt with her legs wrapped around my hips, pressed up against my body as she fucking devoured my mouth. Not a single thing about that moment felt like faking it. But unfortunately, I also can’t shake the memory of Jameson making it clear that I’m not the kind of person he wants to be with his sister.

“Yeah, I think we can convince people,” I say.

“Me too,” Jules tells AJ.

“Well, good. Because that charity event for the pediatric hospital is this coming Saturday, and I expect you’re now attending together,” AJ says. “Which will give you the perfect opportunity to be seen out as a couple, at a team event. Plus, I assume Jules will be at the first playoff home game on Friday night?”

We leave tonight for our first two games in Florida, and then we’re back at the end of the week for a home game on Friday. I’d forgotten about that charity event on Saturday until right now. I’m about to tell AJ that Jules and I haven’t discussed this yet, when she says, “Of course I’ll be at both. Just like a good little fiancée would be.”

I glance over at her. “You’re going to have to tone down the sarcasm if you want people to believe you’re marrying me.”

“Well, luckily, I’m not,” she says, her voice teasing. “But I can pretend in public.”

“Be very careful,” AJ warns, “because, given his reputation, people will be looking for any excuse to prove that Colt can’t settle down. And if Colt looks like an idiot, this organization will too.”

Jules nods as she pulls the side of her cheek into her mouth, creating a line beneath her strong cheekbones to stop herself from replying. As I try to imagine all the things she’s not saying, it really sinks in what Jameson was trying to tell me last night . . .  My reputation is incredibly tainted.

There’s no way that’s not going to come back to bite me in the ass the minute we officially announce this engagement—and Jules is the one who’s going to be made to look stupid for falling for me.

But I can do things differently moving forward. I can be the man she deserves, even if it’s only for appearance’s sake.