Page 17 of Put a Rink on It

Itake my time in the shower, my thoughts reeling with what the hell I’m doing.

Why I can’t tell Nero no.

Why I’m agreeing to this ridiculous farce.

I have no real answers except the man has been a constant force in my life, one who brings joy, fun, and contentment, even when we’re not together. Despite the absurdity of this situation, a part of me is optimistically excited to see what happens. To be with Nero as more than a friend.

I’m sure the bubble will burst once the bunnies and hockey gossip websites get hold of the information, with the one goal of running my reputation through the mud. Not that Nero will allow it. Both he and Ember will do their best to shield me from bad publicity. But people can be cruel, and rabid hockey fans like stirring up drama, whether or not it’s factual.

No matter who it hurts.

I don’t bother drying my hair, allowing it to air dry after running a brush through it. When I emerge from my bedroom, Nero’s changed into his jeans. As much as I shouldn’t be, I’m disappointed. Him in gray sweatpants is almost as lethal as him in a backward hat.

However, now that we’re “together,” I can openly ogle him in both. Especially in public.

Score one for Marina.

“Where do you want me to take you?”

“Not too many places open at this hour in Havenwood, but there’s a small cafe in Dalton. Their coffee cake is to die for.”

“Sold.”

I grab my keys to lock up the house and head for the passenger side of Nero’s car. “I see the Yukon made it to the East Coast in one piece.”

Nero appears at my side, opening the door for me. “Yep, but I’m thinking I might want something newer, but I’m not sure I want to go through the hassle of car shopping.”

“Don’t you have people who could do that for you?” I laugh, climbing up into the seat.

It’s me. I’m one of his people who do these things for him. Not on his payroll, but because the man treats me better than any friend I’ve ever had. As good a hockey player as he is, he can’t be bothered with small, mundane tasks. At least that’s what he’s led me to believe.

“We can go car shopping this weekend for something new.”

I spin toward him. “You’ve got a game on Sunday.”

“It’s home. We can go Saturday after practice.”

“What if I’m busy on Saturday?”

“Are you?”

“Well, no, but how am I going to get to Connecticut?”

“Drive down tomorrow or Saturday morning. Come to my game. Come buy a car with me.” He snaps his fingers. “We should go ring shopping. I’ll ask the guys where’s a good place to go in Connecticut.”

For a brief moment, I forget about the sham of us being married and am confused by the whole “ring shopping.” You’d think it wouldn’t be easy to forget the whole “be my wife” thing, but when I’m around Nero, he renders me a little slow. It’s both a blessing and a curse. I love spending time with him, but being off my game isn’t pleasant.

When I clue in to what he said about the shopping, I exclaim, “You can’t ask your teammates where to buy an engagement ring. Your wife would already have one. Why would she need another one?”

“Excellent point. See why I need you as my wife?”

“Oy vey. I have to keep all your lies straight now? That seems like a lot of work. You’re going to have to write them down in one of your notebooks for me.”

Nero’s the king of filling notebooks with lists of everything. It’s probably my favorite quirk of his I know about.

“You got it.”

I stare skeptically at him because the man is serious. He’s going to write out all the lies I have to keep straight. No doubt he’ll refer to the list as needed, too.