My "Broke" Fake Boyfriend Is A Secret Hockey God

ER'S

piercing blue eyes studying me through the d

g violently in the biting wind. "Are you

ard the passenger side as I hur

y smell of rain with him. The small Honda Civic actually dipped under his weight. Suddenly, the interio

tossing a clean, dry towel into his lap. "D

terry cloth. "Thanks," he murmured, his r

e dark highway. The wipers swished frantically across the windshie

rhythmic thud of the rain and the hum of the engine. I kept my

ets traced the sharp, aristocratic line of his jaw, sliding down his n

suddenly feeling entirely too w

asked, desperate to break

said simply, not

heel. "You don't know? You have to have a desti

cal, self-deprecating smile playing on h

k down. "You look like the kind of guy they

et out a soft, breathy chuckle that end

ering my name for reasons

lied. Just one na

my skepticism returning.

aning his head back against the seat. "Had a

At least he wasn't wandering the highway

I asked, remembering his earli

s jaw tightening as if cho

n't have heard of them. Di

nly fit his arrogant, defiant attitude. My gu

f gray now, visibility dropping to near z

glancing at the dashboard clock. It was past midn

said, dropping another bombsh

hone, no place to go, and soaking wet in a

living alone. Inviting a massive, muscular, completely unknown man into my apartment in the dead of night was the li

ending to drive him to the nearest 24-hour d

glanced over

stered to his forehead, softening the harsh, intimidating lines of his face. He was staring out th

n't look like a threat anymore. He looked like a massive, soaking-wet stray puppy

nd thrown away tonight. I was bleeding out emotionally, barely holding myself together. I must be ou

flicked my turn signal, taking the e

voice strict, trying to mask my crazy decision with