Page 15 of Faking It with my Hockey Crush

And clearly, she’s professional enough to do it well, even if she does hate my guts.

Later that evening, I FaceTime the guys and tell them the news. They already know I managed to get an appointment, but they were both eager to know how it went and told me to let them know.

“All I can say is, it was warmer outside than it was in her office.”

“You only have yourself to blame,” Steve says, shaking his head. “You should have gone to someone else.”

“No. I don’t agree,” John jumps in. “If you want great care, you’re in the right place.”

I chuckle then. “I think we have two definitions of care, man.”

John rolls his eyes. “Stop trying to push her buttons. That might help.”

“I am not—”

But I don’t get to finish that sentence because both of them protest at the same time, talking over each other excitedly and more or less telling me that they know me too well.

*****

My next two appointments go pretty much the same as the first, but taking the guy’s advice, I try to behave. It’s not easy. A part of me is still upset at her blankly refusing to see me over something that happened nearly thirteen years ago. I mean, get over it, woman.

Surprisingly, however, the nicer I am, the warmer Emma becomes. I mean, I nearly fell off the bed this morning when she called me by my name. She even smiled when she saw my shock in her peripheral vision. And okay, I also acknowledged how pretty her eyes were when she did. But I couldn’t help saying something.

“I bet that was hard,” I said.

“No. Not really,” she replied, while at the same time, massaging the side of my knee.

Now, I’m back at the mansion, sitting in my shorts in an ice bath. I thought she was joking when she told me it would be good for the inflammation.

“You’re punishing me, aren’t you?”

She smiled again, which was no less surprising than the first time. “You can’t actually tell me that lying in an ice bath is going to be a hardship? You spend most of your life on the ice.”

“On it,” I qualified as I limped to the door. “Not in it.”

Holding the door open, she smirked. “Maybe it’ll put some hairs on your chest.”

But as I look down at myself now, no longer feeling the excruciating agony that made me gasp when I first slid into the tub, I can state for a fact that I have plenty of hairs on my chest, thanks very much.

When my phone begins to ring, I dry my hands and look at the caller ID. Taking a deep breath in, I answer.

“Hey, Phil,” I say, pretending that I’m glad to take his call.

Phil Breckland is my agent. He’s a very good agent, too, but there’s only one reason he’s calling me. He wants to talk about the mess I’m in.

“Hey, Ryan. How’re you holding up?”

“You mean, in my great big mansion, tucked away from the world?” I say dryly.

“Yes. You’ve got it hard, that’s for sure.”

We both laugh like we usually do. That’s why I like him; we’re nearly always on the same page.

“Listen, man. We’ve got to get on top of this. I’ve tried to give you a few days to gather yourself, but we can’t keep these vultures at bay much longer. Your reputation is on the line here, and we’ve got to pull something out of the bag, and quickly.”

“Okay. Hit me with ideas. What do I need to do?”

“We need a positive spin to distract them from the scandal,” Phil replies. “Maybe a charitable event, something to showcase your generosity.”

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