Page 82 of Rinkmates

His jersey. The one I’m not wearing. Shoot.

Disappointment flickers across his face, and he vanishes from the ice, leaving me to wonder if I’ve made a terrible mistake. Yep. I should have worn it. I guess he’s thinking about our fake dating rules. A real girlfriend would wear it. But having his name on me feels like I want it there. And I think I do, and that is what scared me. I wanted to wear that damn jersey. I wanted to wear his name. That’s why I put it in the drawer. Because I can’t wear it. I can’t be his real girlfriend. Even if he wants it, too, he wouldn’t fit in my life.

“Oh my god, I’ve always had a thing for goalies.” Priya lets out another exaggerated sigh, her eyes lingering on Derek as he stretches, showing off his impossibly flexible body in the corner of the rink. I roll my eyes and let out a snort.

“Since when, Priya? You told me you love centers.” I don’t think she likes hockey in general though, just the players. She’s the exact opposite of me, I only care for the game. I never liked the players since they blocked my rink.

“Since today.” Her doe-eyed gaze makes me lightly box her.

“Stop it. You’re drooling.”

And then her phone buzzes, and I watch her go doe-eyed for a whole other reason. I’m almost begging her to drool over Derekagain because Mason texted her, asking her what she’s doing. “Look! Heisinterested in me!”

And just seconds after, he asks if she can make sure that he has some moments where he dances alone in their next choreo. Gross.

“You’re not considering, right?” I say, frowning at that screen. Aiden and I come up with the dance together. Of course, Mason lets Priya do all the work.

That’s when a commotion ripples through the crowd, and I turn to find Riley striding toward me, his jaw set.

Without thinking, I rise to my feet, my body moving on its own accord. I check if he’s angry with me, but he’s not. Not really. At least he’s not looking like it. No, he’s smiling, and we both rush into an embrace like we haven’t seen each other in years.

I lean in, and my lips find his in a kiss that’s meant to be a show for the cameras but feels all too real. I want to think it’s meant for show because the kiss happened so naturally. I didn’t plan it. I just saw him andhadto kiss him.

He responds instantly, his strong arms pulling me closer. He kisses me again. Just like one wasn’t enough.

Riley breaks the kiss and rests his forehead against mine. “I missed you.”

The words send a twisted kick of something through my chest, and I search his eyes, trying to discern if there’s any truth behind them. Just as naturally as the kiss felt, I push his hair back from where it’s fallen over his green headband.

There’s pure honesty in his eyes and I’m stunned. Unable to even form one word.

No hint of a lie.

Did he mean it? Did he really miss me? There’s no way. Or is he just playing his part to perfection? Yeah. It must be.

“Why aren’t you wearing my jersey?” he asks—a hint of vulnerability in his tone now.

“Maybe I wanted to keep you on your toes.”

Riley clutches his chest like he’s in a soap opera,dramaticallygasping. “Oh, the betrayal!” Then his gaze turns serious again. “Never do this again.”

He lets go of me to reach into his pocket and pulls out a felt pen. With a mischievous grin, he scrawls his full name across my chest, the bold letters standing out against the stark white of my T-shirt. He didn’t just—

“There,” he says, capping the pen. “Fixed it.”

He presses a kiss to my cheek, his stubble grazing my skin. Somewhere in the back, I catch Priya squealing.

“Great. Now I look like I can’t afford your jersey. Thanks.”

He smiles. Oh, that stupid smirk of his. I hate it with all that I’ve got.

“You know what? I’m always here to help a damsel in distress.” And then, Riley fucking Huntington pulls his jersey over his head. Right there. In front of everyone. With a million phones aimed at us.

He stands there in only his white shoulder pads, thegodforsakenshape God and the gym gave him peeking out from underneath it. I gulp, my fingers itching to touch him, but I manage to frown at him instead. How? I don’t know.

He hands me his jersey, his hair even more ruffled than before. “Here, baby.”

I watch as people take photos of us, making videos. I want to throw that damn jersey in his face, but from that look on his face, he knows I can’t turn the offer down. His gaze basically screamsWe have an audience.

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