Logan: An Enemies-to-Lovers Fake Boyfriend Sports Romance (Bad Boys of Hockey Book 1)

After a long three hours of class followed by three hours in the lab, I make my way up the stairs to my dorm room. Even though I still have several hours of homework to do, all I want to do is pass out in bed.

One day, I tell myself, one day I’ll graduate and finally have time for a life. I touch the rose pendant on my necklace, my good luck charm. Hopefully soon.

I push my way into my room.

“It’s about time you came home.” Jane, my roommate, is standing in front of the full-length mirror, putting on a pair of diamond earrings. She’s wearing a light pink cocktail dress and her makeup looks Instagram-worthy. Her dark wavy hair and striking blue eyes tend to capture a lot of attention on campus, but all dressed up like this she looks like a supermodel.

“Wow.” I put down my backpack, realizing that I’m wearing stinky day-old clothes that make me look like I’m in a grunge band from the ’90s. “You look great. Got a date tonight?”

“Something like that.” She smirks.

“With the same guy as last week?”

She pulls out a silver tube of lipstick and leans into the mirror as she puts it on. “Mm-hmm.”

Although we share a room, Jane and I are complete opposites. She’s a social butterfly, which is fitting considering she’s a media student who’s always interviewing local celebrities. All my classes are in the sciences and I spend most of my time alone in a lab. Although we’d likely never hang out in the real world, it’s hard not to get to know one another when we sleep ten feet away from each other. That’ll be another benefit of graduating: gaining some privacy and a room to myself.

“Have you checked your phone recently?” Jane places her lipstick inside a glittery clutch.

“No. I’ve been at school all day.” Pulling out my phone, I see multiple messages from her. “Is everything okay?”

“I need a favor.” She’s hopping as she pulls on a pair of black heels.

“Wait… are those Louboutins?”

“Uh-huh.” She smiles wickedly. “Nice huh?”

“They’re more than nice… they’re art!”

Jane smiles. “At least you appreciate them. I doubt Rupert will notice them.”

“Rupert?”

“About that… can you do an interview for me tonight?”

“An interview? I’m a physio student, not a media student—”

“It’s easy. Just a few questions. Please?”

“Easy? Easy for you to say! You’re used to that stuff.”

“I’ve already written out all the questions. You just have to record the answers on your smartphone.”

“Hold on.” I narrow my eyes. “You’re going on a date instead of doing school work?”

“It’s not a date… Well, it is. It’s complicated. I’ll explain later. Please do this for me? I only need three more interviews and I’ll pass this course.”

Looking at my backpack, I let out a slow sigh. “I can’t. I have my own work to do.”

“Can’t you do it tomorrow?” She puts her hands together and gives me her best puppy dog eyes. “Please?”

“I don’t know… I should really study.”

“Come on, you owe me. You haven’t even paid me back for your cafeteria card.”

Guilt churns in my belly. The last time I checked my account I was eighty thousand dollars in debt and sinking thanks to my outrageous tuition fees.

Jane’s phone vibrates. She checks the screen and looks back at me. “So, can you do it?”

“You want me to cover for you so you can go on a date…”

“It’s not really a date. It’s work.”

I furrow my brow. “Work? I didn’t know you had a new job.”

She hesitates. “I can’t really tell you.”

“Why not?”

She bites her lip. “Please will you do this for me without continuing this interrogation? You can borrow my car.”

“Wait… you have a car?”

“Bought it last week!”

“Your new job allows you to afford that?”

“And then some.”

“What the hell are you doing? And are they hiring?”

“They’re always hiring.” She gives me another one of those wicked smiles.

“Wait…” I look at her suspiciously. “What kind of place is this?”

She hesitates.

“Jane, tell me.”

She sighs.

“Fine.” She pulls out her phone. “But if I tell you about this, you can’t tell anyone.”

“Now I’m really worried.”

“Riley.” She looks at me with a pleading glare.

“Come on, you know I won’t tell anyone. Who would I even tell?”

She nods as she taps her screen with her perfectly manicured fingers. The screen on her phone lights up and she clicks on an app that looks like a green circle.

“Oh.” I squint. “So, it’s an app?”

“It’s an app called Green Light,” she says. “You fill out a profile and people bid on you until you get hired as a date.”

I pull back in shock. “Like a sex worker?”

“No, not like that. Everything is PG. I’m just his fake date.”

“Fake date?”

“We’re just pretending. It’s like we’re creating theater for the media. And you know how much I love to put on a show.” She looks back at the mirror and flirts with her reflection.

“So, you’re a media student participating in false media?”

“Talk about fake news, huh? It’s great. I’ve been learning about the media firsthand from Rupert and getting a nice chunk of change in the process.”

“Rupert, huh?”

She bats her eyelashes. “He’s kind of a stud.”

“Who is he?”

“He’s an actor from England. The media there is insane and they’ve been harassing him about not being over his famous ex. He moved here to get away but the paparazzi followed him. He needed a boring American girlfriend or at least the appearance of one.”

“Why?”

“The media only really cares when celebrities date other celebrities. The paparazzi backed off a bit when they realized he was just dating a lowly journalism student.”

“I guess that makes sense,” I say hesitantly, not really sure if it does make sense. “What do you guys do together?”

“I mainly tag along during award shows or film premieres. Tonight, we’re going to an award show. It’s great. I get to eat amazing meals, wear beautiful dresses, and I get ten thousand dollars a date.”

“Ten thou—” I nearly choke.

“Right?” She fluffs her hair in the mirror. “I finally went to that hairdresser on Fifth that costs a fortune. Looks good, huh?”

“How am I only learning about this now?”

She shrugs. “He’s not famous enough for America, I guess. And I figure the less I talk about him here on campus, the better. It’s easier to keep my story straight.”

“What if someone finds out?”

“No one knows, except for you.” She turns and looks at me with her sharp blue eyes. “But you won’t tell anyone, right?”

“Of course not!” I’m still trying to process all this. None of the physio students I know have nearly as colorful a life as Jane does. “How many other people out there need fake dates anyway?”

She shrugs. “You’d be surprised by how common it is. There are people who need to fool their family or friends, politicians or famous people who do it for good publicity, gay people who aren’t out of the closet yet, that kind of stuff. All sorts of people are on this app.”

“Ten thousand dollars a date,” I say to myself.

She watches me with a devilish smile.

“What?” I’m caught off guard by her pointed eyebrow.

“You’re thinking about doing it, aren’t you?” She asks.

“No, I’m not! I’m not getting paid to be someone’s fake date! It’s absurd!”

She shrugs. “Your loss. I’ve already paid off my entire student debt.”

“Wait… seriously?”

Her eyes flash. “I know you’re tempted.”

I shake my head. “No. This isn’t for me.”

“Why not? It’s not like you’re dating anyone in real life anyway. You can at least get some money out of it, pay your bills, rent, food, debt. I mean, considering you want to get one of those fancy internships next year, I don’t think you have a lot of money coming to you any time soon. Just think of all those zeroes in your bank account.”

She’s right. But I’m not thinking of multiple zeroes, I just want one. If I could be debt-free, I’d be able to get a coveted internship next year. They don’t pay much, but the experience is invaluable. That’s the life of a millennial: bust your ass at school to get a minimum wage dream job.

Sigh.

At least if I do something like this, I wouldn’t have to worry about all that student debt. The thought is extremely enticing. However, being found out and losing my chance at a career is not.

“It’s too… insane,” I say as I pull the textbooks out of my backpack. “Besides, I’m supposed to be focusing on school, not men.”

“You know what’s insane?” Jane asks as she fluffs her hair in the mirror. “Being eighty thousand dollars in debt.”

“Hear, hear, sister,” I mumble.

“And it’s not about men. It’s about money. You can’t focus on your career when you’re too broke to put food on the table.”

Her phone buzzes again. “So, will you do this for me? If you do, I’ll give you half of what I make… that’s five thousand dollars.”

“Oh my god, are you serious?”

“Will you do it?” Her striking blue eyes plead with mine.

Five thousand dollars would put a huge dent in my debt situation. I sigh and let go of my backpack. “Okay, fine.”

“Great!”

“Who am I interviewing?”

Jane grabs a laminated VIP pass and tosses it to me. “The star of tonight’s hockey game.”

“Campus hockey? That could be fun.” I look at the pass.

“Nope!” She chirps. “Major League.”

My jaw drops. “You want me to interview professionals? Oh, I definitely can’t do this.” I hold the pass back out to her.

“You’ll be fine. You know about hockey, right?”

“Umm…” I play dumb. “Face-offs. Hockey sticks…umm…”

Jane rolls her eyes. “I’ve seen you watching games in the student lounge before.”

I sigh. “Fine. Yes, I know hockey. And I know the Seattle Blades.”

“See? You’ll do great! Follow your instincts and remember to ask Logan Drake at least one of these questions.” She hands me a paper with three questions on it.

“Logan Drake?”

“He’s the team’s new golden boy, right? The one who’s been in the news?”

“Yeah, but…”

“Ask one of those questions. And I want you to ask the star of the game a question too.”

“Okay, but…”

“You’ll be fine! Fuck, I’m late.” Her gold watch glints in the light as she checks the time. Another new present, I’m guessing. “Don’t forget to ask those questions. And remember to record everything! I need sound-bites otherwise Mr. Pearson is going to freak out on me again.”

I shake my head. “I can’t believe I’m doing this.”

She smiles wickedly at me. “Enjoy the game.”

***

After changing into freshly washed jeans and a plain black t-shirt, I make my way to the stadium. I flash my VIP pass so someone can usher me to the media box overlooking the ice. There are several other journalists already there. They’ve all found seats and have their journals and recording devices ready.

Feeling extremely out of place sitting up here with these big-time journalists, I take a seat next to an older man with a pointy white beard. I give him a polite smile and he acknowledges me with a curt nod.

To avoid being found out as the imposter that I am, I busy myself on my phone. I pretend I’m concentrating on something important when I’m actually looking up the Green Light app. I read through the terms and conditions and I even go as far as signing up before realizing how crazy the whole thing is and swiping it away.

Crazy Jane, I think to myself.

I instead focus all my attention on a video of a cat playing with a crow.

Before I become curious enough to reopen the app, the announcer’s voice fills the stadium and introduces the team. One by one, he announces their names as they skate out onto the ice: Rory Edgar, Marcus Rock, James Cornelli, Logan Drake…

My eyes automatically fall onto Logan as he skates down the ice. Logan Drake. Number thirteen. The Seattle Blades’ newest and most notorious player.

It’s only been a few months since he was kicked off the Cleveland Crushers for a fight during the game. Fighting is fairly common in hockey but not when it’s with your own teammate. Logan Drake and Harrison Cooper were a dynamic duo on the ice and best friends off of it. They could’ve won the Cup this year if he hadn’t gotten himself kicked off the team. The rumor was that Logan slept with Harrison’s girlfriend. It seemed pretty believable considering pictures of them in bed were all over the news. It wasn’t the first time Logan’s complicated reputation got him trouble. A month earlier his ex shared nearly nude photos of him on Instagram. His reputation is debaucherous to say the least.

The Blades picked him up to boost their position in the standings. After all, he’s been a top scorer since he joined the league. Although I don’t care for his drama or bad behavior, I couldn’t help but join the city in excitement when news broke that he was coming to Seattle. His skills are second to no-one. And there hasn’t been any drama… so far.

The puck drops and I’m focused on the players weaving around the crisp white ice. From up here, I have a bird’s eye view of the game. I’m instantly entranced with the players gliding and zigzagging across the ice. They pass the puck to one another with accuracy and ease. Jordan Edgar gets a shot off. No score. The teams change players.

Number thirteen hops over the boards and onto the ice. It instantly feels like everyone is holding their breath and watching him as he works his magic.

The players skate up the ice into the offensive zone. Number forty, an older player named Marcus Rock, passes to Drake. I instinctively touch the rose pendant on my necklace. Drake fakes a shot to the left and swings around to the right… Logan scores!

The crowd erupts with cheers. Music pumps through the speakers and lights flash around the arena. The stadium shakes and is alive with electricity. I join the celebration, sharing a smile with Pointy Beard next to me.

When the puck drops, Rock wins the face-off and passes it to Drake, who skates faster than anyone else to score another goal in less than ten seconds. The crowd cheers even louder this time.

‘Incredible!’ I cheer again, drawing the attention of the journalists around me. I sheepishly sit back in my seat.

Logan skates towards the bench. The jumbo-tron focuses on his boyishly handsome face, his dark eyes—he’s laughing, showing off a devilish smile.

Logan Drake, I write in my notebook. Two goals. And it’s only been five minutes.

There’s my star for the night.