Page 30 of Faking It with my Hockey Crush

“I have worse news,” he says, looking me dead in the eye. “Phil is really eager for us to be able to sell this. I haven’t been in a serious relationship in a while, and you’re not used to being under scrutiny, so he’s enrolled us in a crash course in romance.”

My eyes fly wide open. “What?!”

11

Ryan

I knew the coursewas going to go down like a lead balloon with Emma, but Phil’s determined that we both attend, and so, here we are, making our way to some remote island in the Caribbean off the coast of the Bahamas. It’s a secluded location where people with a big bank balance pay someone else to tell them how to be in love.

Granted, it sounds idyllic. Well, apart from the fact that we’ll be spending the weekend jumping through hoops and pretending to be a couple. It’s not how I would choose to spend my weekend, but there are some perks. Like watching Emma’s face earlier when we stepped onto my private jet.

“Holy cow,” she gasped as we settled into the plush leather seats.

I couldn’t help but smile as her head spun one way and then the next, scanning the expensive interior of the plane.

“How the other half lives, huh?”

“We could always have gone coach,” I quipped back.

“No, I think I’m good. If I have to sacrifice my weekend, you better believe I’m taking the good with the bad.”

An hour and a half and several glasses of champagne later, we arrive at the resort after being picked up and driven from the airport in a limousine. Check-in is pretty painless, and we’re quickly shown to our suite.

While I’m perusing the balcony that looks out over the rolling ocean, Emma’s looking around the place. When I turn, I catch her surveying a brochure that’s sitting on a low, dark wood table.

“What is it?” I say, walking over to see.

She shows me the magazine. The title’s written in curlicue letters across the top, each letter bubbling with hearts.

“A Crash Course in Romance,” she says dramatically, rolling her eyes.

“You never know,” I say, grinning at her obvious disdain. “It might be fun.”

“Sure,” she smirks. “I think I’d prefer bullfighting.”

“Wrong continent,” I quip.

“Funny.” She curls her lip in a fake smile.

Yes. This is going to be just swell.

An hour later, I’m back on the balcony waiting for Emma to finish getting ready for dinner. We have separate rooms in our suite, something I demanded and knew she would want. This course is a stretch too far for her already. If we’d arrived and been expected to share a bed, I think she might have internally combusted.

“Shall we go?” she says from behind me.

“Sure,” I say, spinning around.

Thankfully, she’s no longer looking at me because I flounder when I see her. She looks stunning in a full-length, mint green dress that hugs her body. It shimmers when she moves, lightly brushing her curves. Not to mention, the color really suits herlong red hair that currently hangs over her shoulder as she bends to lift the room key off the table.

Taking a swift breath in, I straighten my dinner jacket and reach the door just as she does. When I open it for her, she looks up and gives me a soft smile.

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” I reply.

The restaurant is small and intimate, with a large oblong table situated right in the middle. There’s a whole side of it open, giving us a view of the ocean rolling onto the white sandy beach not fifty feet away.

“Wow,” Emma breathes.

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