Page 13 of Perfect Score

“Okay, that’s not true,” I say.

She smacks my arm, and then looks away, crossing her arms over her chest like she’s annoyed that she fell for that.

I lower my voice to a whisper and lean in closer.

“But if you really think about it, they’re kind of like clowns,” I tell her, remembering that she screamed bloody murder once when a clown came into Mrs. Sharp’s Spanish class with balloons from her husband on her birthday.

Zoey shivers in disgust at the memory.

I sat next to her in class, and she jumped into my lap that day for protection. That was the instant start of a four-year crush I had for Zoey all through high school, and the first time I got an erection in class from Zoey sitting in my lap.

The problem with being well-endowed is having a hard-on in public. When your cock is big enough to push past the waistband of your jeans, it can be challenging to keep others from noticing when it gets hard.

A few upperclassman hockey players saw my excitement too and decided I deserved a nickname. I would forever be known from then on as “Stiffy Longstocking.”

When Liam asked what girl in school conjured up that much interest, I stupidly told him Zoey Kloss. That would turn out to be the biggest mistake of my life.

I didn’t know it at the time, but Liam didn’t see me as a teammate and a brother like I saw him. He saw me as his competition for keeping the “C” on his jersey.

He was never going to make it to the NHL, and we all knew it. The only reason the coach didn’t give me the captain’s spot until Liam graduated is because it would kill morale. So, Liam kept me close and took the one thing I wanted as much as I wanted to play pro sports.

Zoey.

Zoey shakes her head and clears her throat.

“I don’t need a date anyway. Everything’s fine,” she lies.

“It doesn’t sound fine. It sounds like your sister has you by the nut sack and is making you take a male stripper to her wedding.” I smirk down at her.

“He got you there,” the passenger in front of us pipes up.

I chuckle as she scowls at the back of the man’s head through the slits of the seats in front of us.

“I’ll be your fake boyfriend for the weekend. Or at least until Christmas Eve. I have to head back right after the wedding,” I say, tossing it out there.

She whips a look at me.

For once in the last ten years, I have her full attention.

“What? Why would you pretend to be my boyfriend? What would you get out of it?”

“I need a similar favor. Only, I don’t need you to make this woman jealous. I just need you to make her think that we’re dating. I told my gran I’m seeing someone. I need you to be my fake girlfriend and come to her birthday party with me tomorrow so she'll stop trying to set me up.”

Her face scrunches in disbelief. “You couldn’t have found someone to pretend to be your fake girlfriend for a weekend? I find that hard to believe.”

I eye her carefully.

Was that a compliment?

From Zoey Kloss?

If it was… it wasn’t intentional.

“I didn’t know I needed someone to pretend to date me to get my gran off my case until I boarded this plane. And trust me, if there was anyone else available, I wouldn’t ask. But as you just heard, the flight attendant is working all weekend, and I need someone to come with me to the birthday party tomorrow.”

Her eyes narrow, her lips press into a tight line. She’s not happy with something I said. “Wow, Brent, you really know how to make a girl feel special—calling her your last resort. Charming.” She crosses her arms, the sarcasm dripping from every word. “Why don’t you just tell Gran you can’t make itbecause you have to practice your slapshot? That excuse worked wonders the last time you bailed.”

Okay, I deserved that.

---