Page 12 of The Fake Date Agreement

“So now he thinks we’re going to lose the championship. Hence, him practicing for the next eternity.” Reid crosses his arms as he observes me. “Anyhoo, what’s your story?”

“Mystory?”

Javier and Reid nod.

I shift from foot to foot, uncomfortable under their scrutiny. “Um, I don’t have one.”

“You’re in here with us, so you must have one,” Reid says.

I give one section of the stand a fleeting glance when my public humiliation reasserts itself in my mind. “Uh, not really.”

“For fuck’s sake, let the girl go home,” Caleb calls out as Reid narrows his eyes and lifts his finger in anahagesture.

“It’s you.”

I back up, not liking where this is going. “Uh…”

Reid nods as he waves his hands. “The girl from before. I glanced up at the screen earlier, and you were on it. The kiss cam, I think.”

Shit.

“It, uh… it technically wasn’t me,” I stutter.

“I don’t get it.” A line appears between Javier’s dark brows.

“My boyfriend. That’s, uh… itwasmy boyfriend. Now my ex. I was just the girl holding the hotdogs.”

I mentally wince at my word salad. Have I never spoken to a person a day in my life?

Caleb stops slamming the pucks into the net to look at me. “What’s the hotdog got to do with it?”

“What happened to letting the girl go home?” Reid glances at Caleb.

Caleb immediately turns away. “I just asked so she would then go home. That’s all.”

Reid snorts a laugh. “Yeah, right. So, Tobie. What’s the deal?”

I have never been on the receiving end of so much attention from such hot guys before. “Uh, it’s not that interesting. Neither am I.”

“I have my doubts about that,” Caleb mutters, shooting me an intense, focused stare on his way to collect more pucks from an open bag near the rink’s entrance.

I consider lying, but I figure, whynottell them? They won’t even remember me tomorrow, so why not talk out this humiliation with someone before I go home and get started on pretending none of it happened?

“I came to surprise my boyfriend for our sixth anniversary. He likes hockey, and I, well, I don’t, so I?—”

“What do you mean you don’t like hockey?” Caleb interrupts, frowning.

“Let her tell the story, man,” Reid says. “Not everyone has to love it.”

“There must be a reason.” Caleb narrows his eyes at me. “You get hit with a puck or something?”

“Nothing like that. It just isn’t something I enjoy. Anyway, I was?—”

“Butwhy? Do you not understand it?”

Javier shakes his head. “Welcome to the world of Division 1 hockey, where the only people who don’t like hockey must have gotten hit with a puck. And my family. My ex too.” He whistles between his teeth. “The list was longer than I realized. Who knew?”

I glance at the plexiglass, concerned with the way Caleb has been hammering those pucks into the net. “Is it something that happens often?”

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