Page 35 of Chips & Checks
“No intimate nicknames. No attending events as a couple. No meeting friends or family…”
“He already broke that one,” Ash muses. She’s pulled her phone out, too, and is poking the screen. Probably stalking Bowen’s social media accounts.
I keep scrolling. It’s a long-ass document. “Unbelievable.”
Not that I expected hearts and flowers, but damn. I didn’t think I was hooking up with a guy who had legalese for emotional intimacy.
According to this interview, Bowen’s father was a hockey player. Also, he seems to have been raised in a ridiculously loving two-parent home. His father, in fact, invented something called ‘the huggle.’ Oh, there’s a video. It’s like a hug, but comfier. And it involves humming. Oh, man, I want to be huggled by a hot man.” Ash lowers her phone. “How did someone who invented the huggle spawn a son who keeps a running tab of all the different ways he refuses to get emotionally involved?”
“No clue.” I hesitate. For exactly half a second. Then I do the thing I swore I wouldn’t.
I Google the huggle.
And now I’m emotionally compromised. Ash is right. It looks comfy as hell. I imagine being huggled by Bowen and have yet another unfortunate flashback to our night together. That’s no good. Although I notice that his list of don’ts makes no mention of huggles. Any chance they’re still on the table?
“Aww.” Ash holds up her phone. “His father is so in love with his mom. Look at them! OMG.”
The more our internet search reveals, the more I have to wonder what Bowen’s deal is. I have to admit, I’d probably give up that no hockey players rule if he were more like his father. Too bad he’s made it clear how much he hates relationships. Damn.
I toss my phone aside and promise myself not to get too attached to the man who just agreed to fake date me. So long as we only have to pretend at work, I’ll be fine. I’ll just do what I’ve always done. I’m a pro at being single.
I don’t need anyone.
I just… wouldn’t mind a huggle.
Just this once.
Chapter Eight
Bowen
Coach Metcalfe spends the first part of morning skate going over our new lineup. “Bowen, you’ll be on a line with Camden and Lenyx. We’ll keep our first line the same with Viktor, Knight, and Tristan.”
I nod once, keeping my face neutral even as my brain starts turning gears. That line makes sense. Camden’s solid, dependable, and I’ve actually talked to him more than anyone else here. Lenyx is a rookie to the NHL, maybe still finding his footing, but there’s hunger in his game. If nothing else, I know he’ll hustle.
And he’s Violet’s little brother. I can’t forget that.
I avoid looking in Chad’s direction, but I can feel his eyes on me like he’s trying to burn a hole in my helmet with pure testosterone.
“Pair up,” Coach calls. “Warm-up drills first. D versus O. One-on-one battle through the neutral zone.”
Of course.
Because the universe has a sense of humor, guess who ends up paired with me?
Chad fucking Hawthorne.
We line up on opposite blue lines. The whistle blows. I cut wide to scoop the puck from the far cone, but Chad meets me halfway with a little too much body for a non-checking drill. His stick gets under mine, lifting it clean, but he “accidentally” clips my hip on the follow-through.
“Easy, Hawthorne,” I mutter. “It’s warm-up, not bloodsport.”
He gives me a shark smile. “My bad. Muscle memory.”
Coach blows the whistle again and switches drills.
“Corner battles next!” he yells. “Let’s see who wants it.”
I drop into a crouch as Camden flips the puck into the corner. Chad and I chase. We both slam into the boards, but this time I’m ready. I get lower, use the wall as leverage, and shoulder him off just long enough to chip the puck back to Cam.
