Faking It with the Forward: Wittmore U Hockey

I stare at Reese’s big, manly hands and try not to remember how incredible they felt against my bare skin.

How needy and hungry they were, even after he pulled back and put some much needed distance between us. He’d held onto me like he didn’t want to let go.

So obviously, in typical Twyler Perkins fashion, I snuck out under the cover of dark. I’d barely made it to the sidewalk before I texted Ruby: “I just spent the night in Reese Cain’s bed,” because someone had to know even if she wouldn’t get it until she woke up.

Even though I’m still angry with her, I would’ve caved and told Nadia too, but she wasn’t at the house when I got there. Her bed empty and bag gone. Guess I wasn’t the only one running away.

“Afraid I’m going to bite?” he asks, running his tongue over his bottom lip. “Because if I’m remembering correctly, you were the one gnawing on my lip last night.”

Oh, he’s remembering correctly.

I’d pretty much mauled him after he flipped me onto his lap. He was the one that stopped. Not me.

Giving him my hand, because there’s no way I can stand up in this mess on my own, I let Reese help me off the floor. He lifts me easily, but my foot slips on the packets. I don’t fall because he’s got his hands on me, holding me steady. We’re chest to chest in the tiny space and he’s clean from the shower and smells intoxicating.

“Are you okay?” he asks, pushing a loose strand of hair behind my ear.

“I’m fine,” I say looking past his muscular arms at the mess I made. “According to Coach Green, the closet is an abomination and needs to be rearranged immediately. I heard Bryant going off on you, too.” Which is really unfair after the amazing game they had the day before. “I have no idea what got the coaching staff riled up today, but they’re taking no prisoners.”

“Preseason makes everyone nervous. Especially when the team’s clicking. There’s more on the line—more to lose.” He looks down at me, his gray eyes inquisitive. “How about you? Am I making you nervous?”

The implication is clear. We were clicking last night. Hard.

“Will you make fun of me if I say yes?”

“No,” one of his hands flattens on my back, drawing me closer, “because you make me fucking nervous too.”

“I do not.” I never know when Reese is being serious or just obnoxious, but there’s no world in this universe where I make Reese Cain nervous.

“You do,” he argues. “I woke up and found no half-naked girl in my bed this morning. Then I texted the last girl that was in my bed, to see if we were good and she didn’t answer the question.” He swallows, and I’m mesmerized by the movement. How delicate his features can be when he’s so incredibly strong. “I’ve been convinced all day that I fucked something up and I really don’t want to fuck this up.”

Right. Because he let his libido get mixed up in our deal.

“We’re fine,” I tell him, bending to start cleaning up the colossal mess I made. He shifts to help me, and together we’re squeezed in the tight space on the floor tossing packets back into the box. “I told you, I got up early and wanted to try to catch Nadia.”

He grabs a handful of wipes, and eyes me, like he thinks I’m lying. Which, fair, that’s definitely not the only reason I left. I was in Reese Cain’s bed, and I’d been grinding on his very hard erection.

Not a good look for a fake girlfriend.

Remembering my place, I ask, “So how’s it going with Shanna anyway, heard anything from her?”

Saying her name draws a grimace. “No, thank goodness. I think she got the message.”

“Good.” I focus on cleaning up and not the way my chest tightens. If Shanna’s out of the picture, then we can wrap this sham up sooner than later and that’s probably what he wants. He can get back to his non-committal one-night stands and fulfill puck bunny dreams everywhere.

“It is good,” he says with a sense of relief, “but I feel like maybe I haven’t done enough to help you with your end of the bargain.”

“In what way?”

“Well, we’ve been to a hockey bar, and you absolutely obliterated everyone last night at quarters, but those are with guys from the team—no one you’re interested in actually dating.”

“True.”

“We need to find a place where you can find a variety of guys, learn how to talk to them, get flirty, show them how amazing you are.”

“Did you just say ‘get flirty?’” I snort and glance over at him. His face is inches away, those gray eyes earnest and sincere.

“Face it, Sunshine, your flirting needs a little work.” He scoops up the last of the packets in one hand and dumps them into the box. He tucks the box under one arm and again offers me his free hand to help me off the floor.

“And you have an idea of where we can do this?” I ask skeptically.

He grins, bright enough to light up the room. “I know just the place.”

I have six missed calls when I finally open my phone, all from my sister. After helping me straighten up the mess in the supply closet, Reese invited me to dinner with him and the guys. I begged off, citing a long day and a pile of homework to tackle. The truth is that standing in that tiny storage closet and inhaling his addictive scent made me question my sanity.

There’s no other reason I would agree to let him take me somewhere to “get flirty.”

I start my walk across campus and press call on my phone. Ruby doesn’t even say hello, just launches into, “What the hell do you mean you slept in Reese Cain’s bed?”

“Exactly what I said. I slept in his bed—although, for the majority of the night he didn’t.”

“Explain, and I mean everything. All the details.”

I tell her what happened. Well, sort of. I start with running into Ethan, to finding out that Nadia screwed up the tickets, and then thinking that Reese had known about it. I tell her that he was a gentleman, offering to sleep on the chair until he fell, and I was worried he’d injured himself. I leave out the finer details of how this is all just a ruse; fake dating to get Shanna off his back, and in exchange he’ll give me confidence lessons.

“Did anything else happen?” she asks, knowing me well enough to assume I’m hiding something.

I look around, making sure no one is nearby, and whisper, “He kissed me.”

She sighs, clearly not impressed. “Well, it’s not the first time, right?”

No, but… “It was different, and then things kind of escalated.”

“Twy,” she says, her tone cautious, “did you have sex with him?”

“Oh my God, no!”

“I mean, I wouldn’t blame you, it’s just…”

“I know,” I say, fully aware that sex was part of why my relationship with Ethan ended up disastrous. “It didn’t get that far. And again, he was a gentleman and stopped it before it went too far.”

But what if he hadn’t stopped? Because I sure as hell didn’t have any plans to, or at least, my body didn’t. I was into the kissing. Because fuck, Reese Cain can kiss with the same level of skill that he can handle a hockey stick. Absolute precision. And then there’s his body, which is unreal. Not just the muscles, although those are ridiculous, but the way he moves. He’s confident. Determined. Powerful. Since when am I into commanding, muscular men?

I’m not. Reese isn’t my type.

Temporary insanity is the only excuse.

“Wow, really?” Ruby says as I cross into Shotgun. “And by too far you mean… a hand job? Blow job? Oh shit, did he go down on you?” She’s basically vibrating through the phone waiting for confirmation.

“I’m hanging up,” I threaten, trying desperately not to think of Reese between my legs.

“So no oral.” She sighs again. “Too bad, with that strong jaw, I bet it’s spectacular.”

He’s good at everything. Why wouldn’t he be good at pleasing a woman?

“Goodbye, Ruby,” I say, walking up to the teal house.

“Keep me posted!” she shouts before I hang up on her.

Entering the house, it’s immediately obvious that Nadia came back at some point. There’s a mess in the kitchen sink and protein powder all over the counter. Anxiety fills my chest, not sure if I want to see her yet. I suck it up and peek in her room. Nothing about it has changed since I was there that morning.

Obviously, she doesn’t want to see me.

I exhale, realizing that for the first time in years, I don’t want to see her either.

It’s not until the next weekend that Reese tells me to set aside the afternoon for whatever he has planned. He told me to dress casually, and that he’d pick me up at ten. Casual isn’t a problem for me, but I’ve made one notable change to my wardrobe since the night I slept over. No more athletic bras and boy shorts. If my goal is a boyfriend, I need to at least dress the part. Well, at least under my clothes. Not that Reese seemed to have a problem with it, but… yeah, it’s time to break out one of the matching sets Nadia forced me to buy when I was dating Ethan.

Nadia finally came home about forty-eight hours after our fight. We didn’t speak, and all she did was shower and change before packing a bag and walking out again. She hasn’t blocked me on social media yet, and it’s obvious where she’s spending all her time: Brent Reynolds’ house.

I sit on the front step tying my shoes when I see Reese at the end of the sidewalk. He pauses, watching me for a moment, and I see the muscle in the back of his jaw flex.

“Hey,” I say, rising.

“I was wondering where that went.” His eyebrow is raised and he’s looking at my sweatshirt. Well, his sweatshirt. The number fifteen is imprinted over the chest and again on the back along with his name. I’d taken it with me when I’d absconded from his house before dawn. It’s soft and has that scent I can’t get enough of. His scent.

“Oh,” I reach for the hem. “Do you want it back? I can chan—”

“Nope.” Something dark flickers in his eyes. “Keep it on.”

He leads us to the street that runs adjacent to Shotgun, and I see a dark blue, vintage Dodge Challenger parked by the curb. He walks up to it and opens the passenger side door for me.

“Is this yours?” I ask, after he gets in the driver’s seat.

“Since I learned to drive,” he replies, cranking the engine. It’s loud and the car vibrates in a way newer vehicles don’t, but the interior is immaculate. Clean, black leather seats, shiny chrome details. “It’s the first thing my dad bought with his signing bonus. It was his dream car.”

“And he gave it to you?” I run my hands over the dash. “Seems foolish to give a sixteen-year-old boy your prized possession.”

He grins over at me. “The caveat was that when I get my signing bonus, I buy him a new one.”

“I see now where you get your cocky confidence–from your dad.”

The car is as flashy as his persona, drawing eyes as we cut through campus.

“So, what’s your dad like?” I ask, noting he takes the turn off campus to a road I know leads away from town.

“As a dad or a coach?”

I think on it. “Both?”

“Before my parents got divorced, he acted more like a dad. She’d do all the mom stuff, take me to appointments, come to school conferences, while he worked with his team. But once they split and I decided to stay with him, he pretty much went full coach mode all the time.”

“Well, that kind of sucks.”

“I guess,” he shrugs. “We both had the same goal, so it kind of worked. I lived and breathed hockey, so it didn’t seem strange.”

“Do you get to see your mom a lot?”

“Not really. She was ready for warm weather and moved south. Got remarried to an accountant—like the most polar opposite kind of guy from my dad. We stayed where he could keep coaching and the hockey is more competitive. He wanted me to have the best chance of getting a scholarship on a nationally ranked team.”

“Makes sense.” As a southerner we have hockey leagues, but the culture isn’t the same. It’s not a way of life like it is up here.

“I go down to see her during the summer, and she’ll come up a few times a year to watch my games.” He shrugs. “It’s not a lot, but we’re good.”

I can’t imagine splitting time with my parents. Both were involved—overly involved at times if you ask me. But they’d been high school sweethearts and operated like a cohesive unit. Even when they had disagreements there was never any question they were still in sync. Now there are times where the three of us just feel aimless, like we’re floating around without the thing that always tied us together.

We’ve lost our anchor.

“So,” I say, watching the landscape grow more rural, “feel like telling me where we’re going?”

He grins, but keeps his eyes on the road. “You’ll see soon enough.”

“Really? Because we haven’t passed anything but farmland for the last five miles.” I cut him a look. “You’re not driving me out here to kill me and dump my body, are you?

His hands grip the steering wheel. “What’s with everyone accusing me of being a serial killer lately?”

“Sorry, I watch too much true crime.” I grin, finding his horror amusing. “Although my mom, Ruby, and I all have trackers on our phones so we can search for the bodies if one of us goes missing.”

Reese looks over, eyebrow raised. “You’ve really thought this through.”

“I have,” I admit. “And I know it seems weird, but there are studies about the psychology behind our cultural obsession with dangerous things. I guess people like to feel like they have some understanding of what could happen, or like, that you can somehow be prepared in a situation so that you aren’t a victim.”

“Like keeping your phone tracker on.” He reaches across the center console, his big hand gripping my knee, and squeezes. “Sorry to disappoint you, but no, I’m not planning on tossing your body out here.” I haven’t been paying attention to the road or the fact he’s slowed down, taking a sharp turn into a gravel driveway. Up ahead is a farmhouse, with a large red barn set behind it. A sign says, “Second Chance Animal Shelter.”

 “You brought me to an animal shelter? To ‘get flirty?’ With what? A dog?”

“No.” He laughs and turns off the car. “One of the conditions for being part of the hockey team is we have to sign up for campus-coordinated volunteer events.” He nods at the barn in front of us. “This is the one I chose.”

I narrow my eyes. “I thought today was about me learning to meet guys and building confidence. Instead, you brought me on a volunteer project—to fulfill your obligations?”

“Two birds, one stone, Sunshine.”

He opens the door and hops out. I don’t move, too stunned to process what kind of trickery Reese Cain has gotten me into. He walks around and opens my door, offering his hand to help me out of the low car. I eye it skeptically.

He sighs. “This is a school-wide event. People from all over campus come to volunteer, so it’s not just jocks, but frat boys, science nerds, ag kids, and any other group you’re into. Skinny philosophy majors, too.” He points to a group of boys walking toward the barn. They’re all in black skinny jeans and have shaggy hair. Definitely my type. “Also, don’t pretend you’re not an animal lover. I saw the picture of the black cat in your house.”

I grin. “Bertha. She’s my baby.”

“I love animals, too. The reason I chose this project is because before my mom left, we would foster dogs. The last one that we took in was George. When my mom moved out, George was the one that was there for me after school and on the nights my dad worked late.”

Well, way to soften me up with that story. Jeez. When he offers me his hand again, I take it. He drags me close and I look up into his gray eyes.  “So how are we doing this,” I ask, “are we here as a couple?”

“I think we have to keep up the act, but I’ll give you a little space to mingle.” He tugs at one of the drawstrings on the hoodie. “Plus, you’ve got my name and number stamped on your shirt. I’m pretty sure that’s sending a message.”

My heart pounds. “I wasn’t trying to imply anything. It’s just really soft. Like perfectly soft. I can take it off.”

“Keep it,” he says, tossing his arm over my shoulder and squeezing me against his hard side. “Never underestimate a man wanting what belongs to another man, Sunshine.”

“That’s so gross.”

He shrugs. “It’s biology. The better you understand that deep down, all guys are animals, the better off you’ll be.”

I’ve always shied away from any of the volunteer activities at school—partially because my training activities keep me so busy and I’m already doing them for free—but also because I just feel too awkward to jump into a social setting cold. But, as much as I hate to admit it, Reese is right. There are tons of students here from all kinds of groups. We get an opportunity to pet some of the animals at the shelter. Reese drags me to each one, getting down on his knees to greet the dogs and give them a lot of love.

A student photographer roams around, clumping people into groups and taking photos for the university. After posing together, Reese and I get dragged in different directions. There’s a little panic at first, not having him next to me for support, but since we’re all here for the same purpose, my anxiety quickly diminishes. Of course, people immediately recognize Reese. Why wouldn’t they? That poster in his bedroom is hanging on banners outside of the arena and on half the lampposts around campus. He’s friendly to everyone, although the emo boys look thoroughly unimpressed.

“Everyone gather around!”

Reese finds me in the group circled around the volunteer coordinator, who passes around a clipboard for us to sign and get a name tag. He’s really good at playing the boyfriend. His hands never leave me, touching my lower back, taking my hand in his, fussing with my hair. I guess he had years of practice with Shanna, but he leaves no doubt to everyone involved that we’re a couple.

When he wraps his arms around my body and rests his chin on my shoulder, it’s hard for me not to buy into it too.

“That guy over there keeps looking at you,” he says, mouth next to my ear. His breath is warm and a shiver runs down my spine.

“I think he’s looking at you,” I joke, but can’t help seeing for myself. Across the circle I check out one of the guys dressed in black, his hands shoved into his pockets. He’s cute, with messy light brown hair. Our eyes meet and he gives me a quick grin.

“See?” Reese says. “Guys always want what they can’t have.”

For the record, men suck, but I’m here for a purpose and I’m trying not to forget that.

“We’ve got a lot of work to do,” the volunteer coordinator, Henry, says once everyone has signed his clipboard. “We’ll divide up into different groups for efficiency.”

Reese gets tapped to repair the outdoor enclosure, while I get sent over to a large plastic tub.

“What’s this for?” I ask, although when I get closer, I see the industrial sized jug of shampoo.

“It’s bath day!” Miranda, another volunteer, says. “First up is Winston.”

“I’m more of a cat person,” I say, eyeing the cozy cat cabin a yard away.

“The beauty of cats is that they clean themselves,” Miranda says. “Dogs? Not so much. We need them nice and clean so that when potential families come in, they’re looking their best.”

I take off Reese’s sweatshirt, hanging it on the nearby fence post, leaving me in an old, threadbare shirt from my high school training program. The neck has holes in it and at some point, I ripped the hem. Not something I normally wear in public, but at least it’s not something I’m worried about getting ruined.

The name Winston feels like it should belong to an eight pound, tiny dog that fits in a purse. The dog they bring out? A squat, barrel-chested basset hound mix.

Who, let me tell you, makes it clear he is not interested in a bath.

“Okay, Winnie, let’s make this happen,” I say after my initial efforts are thwarted. Finally, I just bend and pick him up, leg by leg, and heave him into the tub. By the time I get the water running, I’m out of breath. “Damn, you’re powerful for an animal with such stumpy legs,” I mutter. I manage to get the dog wet by running the hose over his body, while keeping one hand on his collar. “Ready for a shampoo?”

 I rest the hose on the edge of the tub, allowing the water to continue to fill the tub, and reach for the soap. Unfortunately, at that moment I spot Reese across the yard.

Oh, man.

He’s stripped out of his jacket and is in a tight Wittmore Hockey T-shirt and a snug pair of worn jeans that hang perfectly on his ass. He’s lifting heavy two-by-fours, putting his muscles on full display. I’m not the only girl that notices. I hear a “Damn” from a girl putting fresh paper in one of the kennels.

Damn is right.

Winston shakes in the tub, spraying a fine coat of water across my skin. “Hey, sorry pup, I got distracted.” But my attention comes too late, because he shakes again, this time knocking the hose off the ledge. The stream shoots into the air and I grab for it, trying to get it under control, but the dog has other plans. His stumpy, thick body makes a run for it.

“Winston!” I cry, as the cold water douses my face. “Help! Please!”

“Hey! I’ve got you!”

Peering through my wet bangs, I see one of the emo boys grab the hose and fold it in half, cutting off the flow. Miranda captures Winston and drags him back. He’s covered in mud. “Seriously, dude?” I say to the dog, wagging his tail at me. “Why you gotta make this harder than it already is?”

“Logan, why don’t you assist Twyler? Seems like she could use an extra set of hands.”

Her tone is just condescending enough to make it sound like I’m incapable of washing a dog. Which, at this point, is fair.

“Sure,” Logan says, pushing his sleeves up and taking Winston by the collar.

I suck in a breath. He’s got a tattoo on his forearm. The design is a crown, specific to the New Kings. Similar to one of the ones on my thigh.

“Sorry about that,” I say, wiping my face with the hem of my damp shirt.

“No problem, I wasn’t into my assignment anyway.”

I pour a glob of shampoo into my hand and start rubbing it on Winston’s back. “What were you doing before?”

“I was over at the shelter with Captain America.” He jerks his chin in Reese’s direction. To be fair, in those jeans his ass does rival Chris Evans’. “He’s just showing off and making everyone look bad.”

I snort. “That’s what I call him, too. Mostly to annoy him.”

“You’re with him, right?”

For some reason, I give a half nod, half shrug. “We work together on the hockey team. I’m the trainer.”

“Oh,” he gives me a relieved smile and hoses down Winston’s back while I lather his legs. “That makes sense.”

Wait. I look over at him. “What makes sense?”

“You seem cool—not like the type of girl that would be simping for an athlete.”

He’s right. I don’t seem like that type of girl, but the athletes I know are all pretty great. Sure, they’re overly confident and obnoxious at times, but they’re also pretty cool. I look across the yard where Reese has reached over one of the wire kennel walls with his long arm to pet a dog. He spots me and waggles his eyebrows at Logan, followed with a thumbs up.

Ugh, that one is definitely pretty great.

I remember why I’m here—to work on my social skills. Logan may be judgmental against jocks, but that’s not the biggest red flag.

“So why did you come here today?” I ask, changing the subject.

“Honestly?” He smiles. “My friend over there got a speeding ticket and the options were service hours or an expensive fine. He picked this and a couple of us came with him.”

“Hey,” I look down at Winston’s sad, droopy eyes and wet face, “I don’t think the dogs care why you’re here.”

We talk a little, and I even muster the courage to ask about his tattoo.

“You’re into the New Kings?” he asks.

“I’d show you my tattoos but they’re, uh, covered up.”

His eyebrow arches, curious. “Did you get tickets to the show?”

“Ugh. No.” I bite back on my drama with Nadia. I’m still too bitter about it. “We had an away game and I missed out.”

“Damn.” His face crumples in sympathy. “That sucks.”

“Tell me about it.”

We talk about our favorite songs and past concerts. Somehow, I manage to get even wetter helping Winston out of the pool, the big oaf dragging half the tub with him and then shaking off before we can wrap him in a towel. Logan captures him, wrapping him up, just as a gust of wind blows through.

“Burr,” I shiver, skin pebbling with goosebumps. “I’m not ready for winter.”

“Don’t you work in the arena all the time?” He looks up from Winston and his smile widens.

“Yeah, and I’m always freezing there too. I’m from the south, we don’t get cold weather in Tennessee until at least December. At least when I leave the arena now, it’s warmer outside than inside.”

I rub my arms, and Logan’s eyes follow the movement, his mouth parting. Oh shit. What a day to ditch the full-coverage athletic bra.

A quick glance down and I see that the thin, wet fabric of my shirt is plastered to my chest. The white lace on the bra is visible as well as the outline of my peaked nipples. Instinctively, I cover my chest. My body may be cold, but my cheeks are flaming hot.

Logan gapes for a moment more, then shrugs out of his hoodie. “Here, you can wear this.”

“Thanks,” I say, reaching for the jacket, but a six-foot-four wall of muscle steps between us. He’s got his sweatshirt, the one I wore today, in his hands.

“Cold, Sunshine?” His eyes are unabashedly zeroed in on my chest, which only makes my nipples tighten. He gently lowers the shirt over my head, engulfing me in his scent.

Before I can speak, he bends and kisses me. Not a simple brush, not a flirty graze. No, a full-on, tongue pushing between my lips, jaw-working kiss.

My knees threaten to give.

He pulls back and winks, leaving my lips burning and my heart pounding, before walking off with a swagger.

I wrap my arms around me and see Logan watching me with a scowl on his face. “Did he just metaphorically piss on you?”

I glance over at Reese’s retreating figure, dazed and confused. “Yeah, I think he did.”