Page 45 of The Pucking Player

I blink, trying to process. “So...you want to tell Dad that Liam and I are fake dating? For the team?”

Jess nods, grinning. “Exactly. It’s brilliant, right? Dad can’t argue with something that helps the team. And it gives you two cover to figure out...whatever’s going on.”

As the reality of the situation sinks in, I can’t help but laugh. It’s either that or cry. “Oh my God. I’ve become a plot point in a rom-com, haven’t I?”

Jess pats my knee sympathetically. “Welcome to the big leagues, Soph. Now, let’s call Dad before he sees this anddecides to make Liam the official Zamboni driver for the rest of the season.”

As Jess dials, I sink back into the couch, my head spinning. Somehow, in the span of a week, I’ve gone from anonymous pre-med student to Liam O’Connor’s latest love interest.

What have I gotten myself into?

17

THE ART OF DAMAGE CONTROL

LIAM

I’m hovering outside Coach Novak’s office, feeling like I’m about to step onto thin ice. Scratch that, thin ice would be a luxury compared to the minefield I’m walking into. At least on the ice, I know how to stay on my feet. In here, I might as well be wearing roller skates on a tightrope.

I take a deep breath, trying to channel my on-ice confidence. It’s just Coach, right? The same guy who’s had my back for years.

Oh yeah. The same guy whose daughter I’ve deflowered.

But he doesn’t know that yet.

Hopefully.

Yeah, I’m screwed.

I knock on the door, half hoping he won’t answer. Maybe he’s gone home. Maybe he’s been abducted by aliens. Maybe?—

“Come in,” booms his voice.

Damn. No alien abduction today.

I step into the office, my game face on. Coach is behind his desk, looking like he’s about to breathe fire. But there’sJessica, perched on the edge of a chair, cool as a cucumber in a snowstorm.

I might just see to live another day after all. It is not very likely he’ll murder me in front of his eldest.

“Sit down, O’Connor,” Coach growls. I obey, ever so slowly, feeling like I’m lowering myself onto an electric chair.

“Now,” he continues, his voice dangerously low, “want to explain why my baby girl is all over social media, cozied up to your sorry philandering ass?”

I open my mouth, but no words come out. My brain’s too busy cycling through increasingly terrible explanations.

Because your daughter’s smile is more addictive than heroin?

Because I promise to only score on the ice?

Yeah, that’ll go over well.

“Dad,” Jessica interjects smoothly. “Please calm down. Liam was doing exactly what we asked him to do.”

Coach’s eyebrows shoot up so high they nearly leave his face. “We asked him to plaster Sophie all over the internet? I don’t remember that exact conversation, unless I have become old and senile overnight?”

Jessica rolls her eyes. “We asked him to take Sophie to the gala. To improve the team’s image, remember? Well, mission accomplished.”

I watch in awe as Jessica masterfully steers the conversation, her words a precision instrument guiding Coach exactly where she wants him to go. It’s like watching a chess grandmaster at work, and I’m just a pawn grateful to be on her side of the board.

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