Page 16 of One Steamy Pucking Meet Cute

“Is it, though?” Caroline squints and tilts her head as she asks.

“Yes,” I laugh.

“But is it?” she repeats.

I push the room door open, pick up Walker, and wait for Caroline to go in. “Yes. It’s a bad idea. We pretend it’s real, and everybody is happy at first. But what happens after the wedding when we split? We’re just putting off the bad part until the end.”

“I thought that was the plan the whole time?” she asks.

“Well, sort of,” I admit. “But seeing their reactions and how excited they are… it feels different.”

“You said yourself that the team needs to think it’s real. Can we really tell all our friends and hope it never gets out to anybody? Even if they keep the secret, don’t you think it will be a little obvious that they’re all faking being happy for us? Can you picture Carter trying to act?”

“No,” I admit. “He can’t even act like an adult half the time.”

“See?”

I give her a long look as she sits down and idly runs her palms over the plush white comforter. The room is beautiful, with huge windows and views of downtown, but she hardly seems to be paying attention right now. I can’t say I blame her. We sort of just dropped a nuclear bomb on our social circles.

“You sure you’re not pushing so hard for this because you’re enjoying pretending we’re engaged?” I ask. I mean it to come out as a tease, but part of me honestly wonders. Part of me is enjoying it, too, if I’m being totally honest.

I know I’m not the kind of guy to settle down with a woman. But I can’t lie. There’s something I enjoy about pampering Caroline and going through the motions I’m enjoying. We picked out a huge ass ring at Tiffany’s. It wasn’t the biggest, but she seemed to take the selection process very seriously despite trying to act like it was stupid. Ultimately, she seemed to love what she picked, and I was surprised by how much I liked letting her get exactly what she wanted. I’m even looking forward to being the one to slide the ring on her finger when it comes in. As part of the act, of course.

Caroline is giving me a dirty look.

“What?” I ask.

“I’m just trying to think about what’s best for everyone,” she says, sounding defensive. “I don’t want us to go through all this trouble for nothing. If the secret gets out and Peter catches word, maybe it screws up the contract. If your people find out, maybe it screws up your contract. I know it’s not perfect, but maybe it’s a secret we need to keep. For now.”

I give her a long look. “Alright. Yeah. I guess you’re right. But I don’t like lying to my teammates.”

“They’ll understand once we can explain our reasoning. And if anybody gets too close or sniffs us out, we’ll just bring them into the fold. Only on an absolutely-need-to-know basis.”

“If you say so,” I say. I pause, sniffing the air. Something foul hits my nostrils. “I think Walker may have… taken a shit.”

She laughs. “Babies do that. Do you want the honors?”

I can’t help flinching a little. “You want me to change his diaper?” I ask.

“If we’re going to fool anybody, you probably should look like you know how to care for a baby. It’s going to be suspicious if you can’t.”

I steel my nerves. I can do this. I’ve played in the Stanley Cup finals. I’ve faced off against some of the most badass athletes on the planet and come out on top. I can handle a poopy fucking diaper. “Alright. Let’s do it,” I say firmly.

She gives me an amused look and unclips Walker from the carrier, lifting him up, kissing him, and rubbing her nose against his. He giggles at the attention as she carefully lays him on his back on the bed.

“The diapers are in that bag,” she says, pointing. “Side pouch.”

The hotel staff already brought our stuff up to the room, so I find the diaper bag in the closest and bring out a diaper. “Do I need baby powder, or something?”

“Walker doesn’t seem to need it. Just get that package of wipes.”

“How many do I get?”

“The whole package,” she says with a little humor twinkling in her eyes.

I push down a slight jab of fear at the certainty that I’ll need so many wipes. How much poop does this baby produce, anyway?

“Oh, and grab that,” she says, pointing. I pick up what seems like a washable little baby-changing blanket. It’s slick and covered in dinosaur print. “Put him on top of it so we don’t get poop on the bed.”

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