Page 16 of The Pucking Fake Marriage

He’s living his dream. Exactly like Ken.

I’m the only failure of the formerly golden trio.

Finally, the performance rounds up and Haley switches the channel, yawning widely.

“I’ve got to crash,” she says, leaping to her feet. She turns to me quizzically one last time, and I feel a thrill of foreboding.

“I’m not going to ask,” she says, obviously reading the look in my eyes. “But I would like to know why you can’t stand Ken Edwards. I mean, he’s scorching hot, sweet as pie, and you used to be friends. And you fancied him enough to fuck him. But you still sort of hate him. I can’t figure it out.”

I maintain my face in a passive expression as she wedges herself between the recliner and the wall and slips into her room. I switch the channel back and keep my gaze glued on the TV—on the ballet dancers, who are now taking a final bow. Tears sting my eyes as the phantom pain in my ankle grows stronger.

I still can’t figure out why you hate him.

Of course she can’t. No one can. When anyone else looks at Ken, all they see is the dashing, handsome hockey player.

Not the guy responsible for the accident that crushed my dream.

FIVE

POWER PLAY (KEN)

“So…what are we doing here?”

I roll my eyes and march into the gym, Blake following a few paces behind. His face is twisted in suspicion, as if he knows exactly why we’re here and is merely waiting for me to say it out loud.

And that’s one thing I’m definitelynotgoing to do.

“This place looks good,” I say instead. Blake casts a reluctant glance around. At least I’m not lying about that. With large, airy windows, rows and rows of equipment, and a general sense of calm and ease, this place rivals the gym at the Philly Titans’ arena.

“Not what I asked.” Trust Blake not to be deterred by me trying to throw him off.

I opt for the next best option: ignoring him. Stepping onto the nearest treadmill, I fling my towel across the handlebar and adjust the settings. Blake slides up to me, jamming his body into the space between my treadmill and the next.

“So, this girl lets you down hard when you’re eighteen,tenfreaking years ago, and you still think it’s the best use of your time to stalk her?”

I bite back a mocking smile. “Thanks for the warm-up, dick.”

“That’s what we’re doing here, isn’t it?” He nods toward the window where we can catch a clear view of the building housing Charlie’s restaurant. “Hanging around this neighborhood, so you can hopefully catch a glimpse of the only woman in this entire city that dislikes you?”

Ouch.

I debated whether telling Blake and Alex about my past with Charlie was a good idea. But then, I didn’t have much of a choice. They were beyond confused about her attitude, more so by my need to defend her.

Some things never change.

But some things do,I remind myself, determination forming a large boulder in the pit of my stomach. Meeting her like that threw me off, and I hated the way that man was treating her. But I am no longer filled with the aching pangs that almost led to my destruction as a teenager.

She’s just a chick I want to fuck.

Badly.

My hands grip the handlebar more tightly as I pick up speed. My need for her has grown exponentially over the past few days, and I can’t quite figure out why. Because I’m pissed she ran off in Las Vegas and want to get back at her? Because I want her even more now that I know where she is?

“Forget it, bro,” Blake says, apparently reading my silence as acquiescence. He steps onto the next treadmill and starts a light jog. “She’s never going to go for you.”

I turn to him, my attention diverted. “How do you know that?”

Blake looks like I’m foolish for even asking the question. “Remember the story you told me?”

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