Page 3 of He Has Game (Boston Brawlers Hockey)
Chapter 1
Finn
“We need to come up with something fast to convince the Boylston Charitable Foundation that you’ve turned over a new leaf, that you’re not a degenerate fuckboy Something visible—like an engagement announcement.” Mary the Ballbuster Delaney looks pleased with the idea.
Ignoring the degenerate fuckboy comment is easy. But the wordengagementcatches me off-guard, though I keep my trepidation to myself. Mary is no joke. She may only be the PR lady for the Boston Brawlers, but I know for a fact she carries a lot of clout. I knew there was trouble as soon as I was summoned to her office after the morning skate. I’m not even sure why this is such a big deal. I mean I know Mrs. Boylston told her husband I made a play for her, supposedly suggesting “unwanted and illicit acts” and he complained to Moroni. But since we were in the middle of the dance floor and it was plain to see that I didn’t cross any lines, I don’t get it.
When Moroni asked me point blank what happened, all I could say was nothing. I told him I never propositioned her, but I couldn’t bring myself to rat her out, to accuse her of propositioningme. Though I figure Moroni gets the score.
“Engagement?”I say. “Ain’t happening. Not even close.” I cross my arms over my chest as I lounge sprawled in a fucking comfortable executive chair. What is she thinking? I’m frigging twenty-five years old and haven’t dated anyone more than once in my entire life.
Waving her hand in dismissal, Mary stands and starts pacing around her spacious office. We’re in the basement of the Boston Garden, so there are no windows. I sit at the conference table, afraid to hear what she’s cooking up in her sick, devious mind.
The mouse sitting in the corner—in the form of a nerdy girl—looks up from her tablet. I don’t know who she is, but I’m guessing maybe she’s Mary’s teenage daughter—or niece, because I can’t imagine Mary having a daughter or a husband. The girl looks like she’s doing homework or some shit.
“I’m not talking about a real engagement—how about an understanding, an arrangement for a temporary situation—do you have any women friends who might—?”
I laugh. “Women friends? Are you fucking with me? I ask any womanIknow to pretend to be my fiancée and we’re asking for trouble. Not going there. All I know are puck bunnies and starry-eyed innocents.”
“Don’t you know any reasonable woman who might go along—?”
“No. Fucking. Way.”
The mouse in the corner flinches, pushes her glasses up on her pert little nose in a classic nerd move.
“Pardon my French,” I say to her reflexively, then she surprises me.
Standing, she speaks up, albeit quietly.
“Excuse me.” She clears her throat and Mary turns around to look at her. “I’ll do it,” she says. “I’ll pose as Mr. Reed’s fiancée.”
Who the fuck is this girl? Mr. Reed? Really? She can’t be old enough—
“This is Vivian Frost, Finn,” Mary says, reading the question on my face. “She’s the new college intern for the team. The front office assigned her to me to do whatever I want with.” She sighs. “But even I’m not that evil. Nice of you to volunteer, Viv, but—”
“Why not?” Her voice is shaky with determination. “I’m a reasonable woman who understands this as a business strategy.”
“You’re an employee. People will suspect it’s a setup right away.“
“No one knows me,” the reasonable little mouse says, getting less mousey by the second.“I’ve only started today. I can go undercover. We can create a background for me as a girl he met in . . .”
Watching the conversational ping-pong would be more fun if they weren’t discussing my fucking life.
“Where exactly would we have met?” I ask, amused in spite of the absurdity. And surprised by her spunk. “At the library?”
She blushes a pretty pink and my balls tighten. Shit. I’m a pervert. She’s not close to my type. No signs of cleavage or leg or an ounce of passion. Unless you count that blush.
“We’ll figure that out,” Mary says to me, tapping her fingers on her chin and circling around for another bout of pacing. Like a shark, she has to keep moving.
“Wait a minute,” I say, not liking that she’s even considering the mouse’s suggestion. The whole thing is absurd.Me engaged?
“No one will believe it for a second,” I say. “They’ll assume I knocked her up.” I glance at Miss Mouse, satisfied at the crimson color of her cheeks, the color she’d be after I make her wet with—hell.Don’t go there. She’s further off-limits than a nun. Fuck, maybe sheisa nun.
Mary stops pacing and gives me her no-nonsense prison warden look. I’ve seen it before and it’s scarier than hell. She could give Coach lessons.
“You don’t have a choice if you want to keep playing for this team.”
My heart stutters. She goes on.
