Cocky Score (The Hawkeyes Hockey Series)

What the hell just happened out there?

I’m not sure which one surprised me more, the kiss or jumping on me and wrapping her toned legs around my waist.

I can’t deny that the man downstairs perked up to her nearness. But where did the shy and slightly timid Autumn Daughtry of my childhood go?

I guess I shouldn’t be shocked. I get constantly berated every time Autumn shows up at her folk’s house to watch a game. My mom calls to tell me how well Autumn’s grown up. What a delight and a well-accomplished daughter who sees her parents regularly. Unlike her son, who she sees more in the tabloids than in her call history, but I tune my mom out most of the time.

Despite the updates, I wasn’t expecting Autumn to be… this confident… this gorgeous.

Even with all of that and the fact that we spent most of our childhood together, I know that agreeing to this is a mistake. There’s no way this doesn’t blow up in my face, specifically a fist to the face care of Isaac Daughtry, but I don’t see much other option. This is what my team demands from me.

“Will this table work?” the hostess offers, gesturing to a small table in the back corner of the restaurant.

“This is great. Thank you,” Autumn says, and the hostess hands us our menus.

I move around Autumn to pull out her chair because, well, I might be an asshole, but I was raised with a few manners that stuck, and since Autumn’s parents are still good friends with my parents, I don’t need it getting back to my mom that I don’t hold open doors and pull out chairs. Especially when Autumn Daughtry’s perfectly-shaped ass that was just perched in my hands a minute ago is the one that’s going to be sitting in the chair.

Autumn turns her head toward me and gives me a slightly surprised grin as she takes a seat, setting her purse on the ground and under the table and the huge bouquet of flowers and her cell phone on top of the crisp white tablecloth.

The bouquet takes up half the table, but I don’t mind. I’m sort of happy she doesn’t just stick it underneath us with her purse.

“Thanks,” I tell the hostess as she hands me mine, and then she turns to leave.

Her small black cell phone sits almost between us, and I sort of wish she’d eliminate the distraction. I hate when women check their phones during a date, so I leave mine in my front right pocket. Although, this isn’t really a date… right?

She must notice my eyes on her cell. “Does it bother you? It’s on vibrate. I just don’t want to miss it if it’s Erika, my boss, or Tessa text or call with updates.”

Ok well, never mind, that’s understandable.

“No, it’s all right,” I tell her, although I’m not sure if I want to be in a public place when the internet blows up.

Most everyone in the restaurant can see us at this table, but because of the corner spot, it’s less likely our voices will travel as much as in other spots in the restaurant. It’s the most privacy we’re going to get here. Even though I know that Autumn’s PR company and Tessa picked this location for the very public display.

Autumn seems to be taking the task of cleaning up my public opinion seriously. Jumping into my arms and kissing me like we are star-crossed lovers who had been a part for months… maybe years. It took me by surprise, and there isn’t much that shocks me these days.

What surprised me even more?

I kissed her back.

It’s all for show, I keep reminding myself.

But was it?

The kiss was fine, her lips were soft enough, and it wasn’t as if I couldn’t hold her mid-five-foot stature compared to my six-foot-four. None of that is why I kissed her back.

Something in that kiss felt like a world I had forgotten about. A time when my life was simpler. When no one expected me to be the life at the party, when women weren’t trying to blackmail me for shit I didn’t do, and when an entire team wasn’t looking at me to bring them to Stanley Cup victory.

Autumn feels like home. That’s all it was.

That kiss transported me back to a time when the only plans I had for the day were hopping the back fence of my parents’ house with Isaac and spending the day in my neighbors’ cow field, catching frogs in the big pond, and then finding ways to freak Autumn out by stuffing the toads in her backpack or tea set and then hoping she doesn’t tattle on Isaac and get him grounded for a week.

“I thought we could use this time to discuss schedules and discuss the process of us moving in together.”

“Is living together really necessary?” I ask, testing to see if this is her idea or someone else’s.

Autumn glances around to see if anyone is listening in on our conversation… of course, they’re trying, but the closest table is several arm’s lengths away. I can see the flashes from cameras snapping photos left and right in my peripheral. She uses her menu to slightly cover her mouth while she speaks, “We’re trying to sell an image here. A reformed party boy settles down with a hometown girl. The Hawkeyes rented us an apartment to make us seem serious. Tessa said that The Commons gets paparazzi during game days since so many players live there. She’s hoping we get photographed coming and going like a regular couple. It’s only for the duration of the project.”

“Project?” I scoff, snatching the black cloth napkin from the white tablecloth and putting it up to my mouth to hide my words. “My life is now considered a project?”

“Some people are calling it Operation De-sleaze Conley,” she says, attempting to hide her smirk behind the menu, but I caught it. Is she enjoying this?

“Some people?” I ask, likely looking at the ‘some people’ right now.

“Not me!” Autumn says, putting her hand against her chest, faking insult that I’d accuse her of it. “Not this loving and loyal girlfriend of eight whole mind-blowing weeks of bliss.”

“Eight weeks? Why the short timeline if we’re faking it, anyway? Wouldn’t a longer-term relationship look better?”

“Yes, it would, but if this fake story about you getting a ‘special’ lap dance gets out”—she says, looking around again to make sure no one can hear her—“and we’re out here pushing the narrative that you’re a loyal boyfriend, but pictures are surfacing of a stripper giving you a lap dance at a club… it might make a bad situation worse if people start thinking of you as a cheater too,” she explains in hushed tones with the menu still blocking her mouth. “Better to say you’ve reformed since going home to reflect and running into the girl next door and falling madly in love with her.” She flutters her eyelashes at me. I know she’s doing it as a joke, but my chest tightens anyway.

“Technically, you are the girl next door.” I discard the cloth napkin and lean forward.

“Exactly! That’s why my firm picked me.” She opens up her menu and glances down at the options. “I came up with the idea to get you a girlfriend to brighten up your image, and I was going to suggest an actress or maybe someone inside of The Hawkeyes franchise that would commit to a month or two, but then my boss found out that I’m actually the girl next door and now I’m stuck with you,” she says with a slight groan in her voice.

“Stuck with me?!” I ask with a cocked brow, forcing my lips not to tilt up like they want to.

“You know what I mean.” She rolls her eyes like she used to when we were kids.

“So, you’re the one I have to thank for the fake girlfriend idea?”

She looks up from her menu, her eyes wide at my question, and her mouth drops open just a little like she just got caught.

“Yes, but I can assure you… it’s going to work.”

“And you offered yourself up as the sacrificial lamb to fake date me?”

She looks back down at her menu, almost seeming as though she’d rather ignore me but answers anyway.

“God, no. That was Derek’s idea.”

‘Is Derek the guy who was sitting next to you during the meeting in The Hawkeyes’s conference room?’

‘Yeah, how did you know?’

So the asshole has a name.

Derek.

I shake off her question. A dude fucking knows when another man already wants to kill him for taking his girl. Not that I’m taking her in the typical sense.

So then, if Derek came up with the idea and she didn’t have some ulterior motive to date me, what’s in it for her?

“That seems like a lot of pressure for your firm to ask you to do that. Put your life on hold to fake date a client.”

“And my brother’s best friend,” she quickly adds.

Shit… yeah.

I rub the back of my neck, thinking about the impending reunion between her brother and me once he finds out about this. “That’s true. Of which I’m waiting to get sucker-punched while walking around a corner. Isaac’s going to be waiting in some dark alley to pummel me into the ground when this comes out.”

“It’s going to be fine. We’ll think of something, and we should probably break this news to him before he finds out from someone else.”

I nod in agreement, but that’s going to be tough since we’re not allowed to tell a single soul outside of the franchise, although I have no intentions of telling a single one of my teammates. This is pretty humiliating as it is to have a franchise-appointed girlfriend help me clean up my reputation. I’ll keep this mess to myself for as long as I can with this group of gossips.

The waitress stops by to take our order, asking Autumn for her order first.

“I’ll take the mac ‘n’ cheese cheeseburger, please.”

Her order takes me by surprise.

I’m used to women ordering a light meal while out on a date with me due to anticipation for the main event to follow after, going back to their place because I never invite them to mine.

But unlike most of the women I take on a date, Autumn bringing up that I’m her brother’s best friend suggests she already knows that I’m not planning on taking her home tonight.

“That’s our best-seller,” the older female waitress says, dressed in a black button-up and black slacks, like all of the other staff. ” And what side, dear? Salad, soup, french fries or a fruit cup?” she asks Autumn.

“Do you have curly fries?” Autumn asks.

Really, curly fries too? Not that I’m food shaming, she can eat whatever she wants, I just figured she would bend a little and order a salad. But I’m glad she doesn’t because I have every intention of sniping a french fry or two as long as Autumn isn’t going to rat me out to the team’s dietitian next time she’s in the office.

“Sure do.” The waitress’s graying ponytail nods along with her in agreement to Autumn’s order.

The waitress evidently approves.

“And for you, sir?” She turns to me, clicking the end of her pen on her notepad as she waits for my order.

Probably an anxious tick she does subconsciously when she wants someone to get on with their order so she can rush back to the kitchen and put in the order while rushing out other impatiently waiting customers.

Not that they warrant being impatient. So far the staff seems to be working quickly. They seated us lightning fast, and the waitress came for our order quickly, but people these days feel they are owed instant gratification, and that’s just unrealistic to attain.

I worked for the college cafeteria in between classes and practice every year for four years to pay for summer hockey camps with big league trainers, so I know a thing or two about impatient jerks. College kids are the worst. But the experience was worth it and made the difference in how I got a rookie spot with a pro league team right out of college.

I sacrificed and put in the work. Is that the kind of sacrifice Phil Carlton was referring to in order to reach the highest success?

“I’ll take the lemon garlic grilled salmon and grilled veggie for the side,” I tell her and then hand the waitress my menu, then so does Autumn.

The waitress takes our menus and hightails them out of there on hot pursuit of an order that is probably ready to be delivered.

I turn back to her, crossing my arms over each other and resting them on the table, leaning in to keep our conversation a little more private.

Is it weird I want her attention all to myself?

“Okay, so besides the fact that we have history, and since I doubt you’re doing this just to save your brother’s best friend’s ass, what’s in this for you?”

“Like…?” she asks, playing dumb.

Fine, I’ll play along.

“Like, are they paying you a bonus for this shit?”

She looks down at the table and sucks in her lower lip while her hand reaches up to her ear to fiddle with her diamond stud earring. It’s funny how no matter how many years go by, Autumn’s nervous ticks come back to me. I can’t stop looking at her plump lower lip slowly slipping out behind her teeth. The contrast between her pink lips and her bright white teeth is hard to ignore. My mom was right. She certainly has grown up since we were kids.

“It comes with a promotion,” she admits.

Is that a look of guilt I catch across her face? It changes so quickly that I’m not sure.

The nervous tick was because she didn’t want to tell me that she’s using me for a promotion. She shouldn’t feel guilty about it. In the world of pro sports, I’m used to being used… and I’ve done my fair share of using too. Plus, it makes me feel better to know that she is actually getting something out of this shitty situation.

“Really? What kind of promotion?” I ask, intrigued and also feeling stupid to think Autumn still only plays with Barbies and fills her teacups with the hose water from the spigot out in the backyard.

She’s now a woman with a grown-up job, edging for a grown-up promotion. I guess a lot has changed because up until this moment, Autumn has remained in my memory as a seven-year-old with her missing two front teeth and a scowl.

“If I nail this project, I’ll get promoted to head of client relations, and I’ll get my own team to work on my own projects.”

“Oh shit.” I nod, surprised at how far she is in her profession. “So after you nail me, you get a promotion.” I smirk.

She laughs and then rolls her eyes. I laugh, too, because that was damn perfect, and I forgot how much fun it is to tease her.

“No, smart ass, I have no plans to nail you. They won’t pay me extra for that.” She snickers.

I break eye contact and glance over at the bouquet on the table and then eye one of the perfect white roses nestled among the rest. I slide my thumb and pointer finger between one of its rose petals, rolling its softness delicately against my fingertips.

This is what I imagine Autumn’s skin feels like.

“Damn… too bad,” I tease, sending her a devilish grin because I can’t help it.

She pretends to ignore what I said, but she heard it.

Her phone lights up on the table, but she has it on silent, so the only alert is the screen illuminating. I don’t mean to, but I look, too. After all, it could have been Erika or Tessa.

She quickly hits the hibernation button on the side of her cell to hide the evidence, but it’s too late.

I pegged him as an ass the first second I saw him in The Hawkeyes conference room, and I was spot on.

She seems a little embarrassed and clears her throat.

“Besides, I’m sort of seeing someone.”

Wait… hold up. Aren’t we supposed to be exclusively fake dating?

“You’re seeing someone? And they’re okay with you dating me?” I don’t like that my stomach flips with uncertainty at how her announcement hits me. I mean, I didn’t figure we’d fuck, considering I value my life, and Isaac will end me, no questions asked, if he knows I’m sleeping with his sister.

“It’s not serious. We’ve only been on a few dates. And yes, he’s fine with it. He’s actually…”

“He’s what?”

“My boss, so he understands what I’m doing and why I’m doing it. Plus, he’s the one who offered me up. We put everything on hold while you and I are… doing whatever we’re doing,” she says with air quotes.

I look at her with confusion. “I thought Erika was your boss.”

“She’s the owner.”

“And Derek is the dick who looked at me in The Hawkeyes conference room like I ran over his puppy,” I say, piecing it all together.

“He was looking at you funny?” She shakes her head, deciding against the question. “Yeah, that’s Derek, my boss. But he’s not in charge of who gets what projects or if we get promotions. He just oversees our work and keeps us from missing deadlines. Erika is the one that makes the big decisions. And even so, there isn’t anything in the employee handbook that disallows office romance.”

She’s really been considering a relationship with him.

I instantly don’t like this.

“He’s not going to have a problem with us living together?”

Anything she says besides, “Yes, he’s very uncomfortable about it and is making me wear a chastity belt,” is a downright lie.

“We never had the talk about exclusivity before this, and we haven’t…”

“You haven’t what…?”

She breaks eye contact with me and looks on toward the kitchen. Lucky for her, our waitress is headed our way with our food.

I lean closer across the table, her eyes locking on mine, and I see the unconscious way she bites down on her lip when I do. Then I whisper, “You haven’t slept with him yet, have you?”

Her eyes widen, and she shushes me, glancing quickly around the dining room again to see if anyone is watching us… they are but not as many as before. I find that people want to be entertained. If you have nothing to entertain them with, they’ll move on. Her eyebrows furrow, but she can’t tell me to mind my own business like I know she wants to because our waitress is now standing in front of us with our food.

I smirk to myself. This guy has no claim on her whatsoever, not that I plan to do anything with Autumn anyway, but since we’re going to be living together, it’s nice to know that she’s free and clear.

Her trying to tell me that she’s seeing someone is a load of shit. She was seeing someone, went on a handful of dates, didn’t fuck him, and now the dumb fuck let her go off and date a pro hockey player. A hockey player that is also not allowed to sleep with anyone else until this situation all plays out.

I take back everything I said before…

Two horny adults in a two-bedroom apartment who can’t see anyone but each other.

Isaac might as well clobber me now.

I’m a dead man walking.