My "Broke" Fake Boyfriend Is A Secret Hockey God

ER'S

into a torrential downpour. I trudged through the flooded Park and Ride lot to my beat-up Honda Civic, my clothes damp, m

losing battle against the blinding rain. Tears I thought I had

shadow materialized in t

t asphalt, the car fishtailing wildly before jerking to a

d, I thought I ha

my hair to my face. "Are you insane?" I yelled at the man standing on the sh

e-and even soaked to the bone, he carried an intimidating, almost aristocratic presence. The wet white dress shirt clung t

tongued, impulsive young man who was used to getting

g while you drive," he said, his voice rasp

did he know

w nerve. "That's none of your business!" I

ps, though I caught a fleeting flicker of pain

r. "Well, don't you dare drag me into it! I'm

lingering on my rusted Honda. "You

umiliated by my best friend, and now some random, suic

d closer, craning my neck to glare up at

wracking cough tore through his chest,

ero protection against the biting wind, and his lips were ta

by a grudging concern. "Who are you?

, his voice flat and devo

hink of Mason and his hockey team. A

spicion. "Are you trying to get some insurance money? Becau

r chuckle that quickly turned in

wind to catch his breath. "You have way too much

away, back into

against the violent storm. My brain screamed at me to get back in the car,

were glued

ht. I was emotionally bankrupt. Why the hell do I care about a stranger? I cursed myself inwardly. I can barel

thunder that shook the ground. The rain fell even harder. If he kep

under my breath, hati

ed at his ret

but didn't

was about to jump off a cliff into the unk

n us. Then, slowly, he turned around. His expression was compl