Deke (Fake Boyfriend, #3)

by Eden Finley

“I’m guessing you belong to the giant Norse gods out by the bar?”

What kind of person introduces themselves as not a serial killer?

Sweet Neil Patrick Harris, I’m fucked. Ollie looks like he’s going to throw up, and I’m kicking myself for not recognizing him sooner. I should’ve known he was a jock with the way I immediately wanted to climb him like a tree. If he really was waiting in the bathroom for a hookup, I wouldn’t have hesitated. Closeted meatheads are my kryptonite, and apparently, I don’t even need to know that fact anymore before being drawn to them.

After we settle in, dinner becomes a quiet affair, probably because it’s feeding time at Jurassic Park.

“So, Mom’s there, telling me how if I’m straight she’ll accept me and love me anyway.”

Stupid closeted jock magnet.

“Don’t sweat it. It’s not every day I have a hot guy’s hands on me.” The corners of his mouth tip up ever so slightly. The quick response is on the tip of my tongue. “That can’t be true. You’re hot.” Fuck, I shouldn’t be doing this. Why the fuck not? a little voice says. I think it’s coming from my dick.

the next day, I had a phone call from Harry asking why I’d never expressed my interest in covering hockey before. Because I’d never had a hockey player’s tongue down my throat before.

What is wrong with me? He looks like he wants to kill me, and here I am wondering what he tastes like?

Learn how to talk to an angry hot guy, Lennon, for fuck’s sake.

He’s like a poison apple from all those fairy tales. Pretty on the outside but can destroy me if I take a bite.

When Noah told me Jet was Matt’s little brother, I expected a mini, younger, broody Matt. Turns out, he’s an adorable twink with attention deficit disorder.

The burn of staring follows me to the line at the bar, and I know exactly where it’s coming from. Ollie’s gaze is locked on me, as if trying to kill me with the Force. I’m tempted to fake choke, but I don’t want to make a fool of myself when no one will understand what I’m doing. This crowd doesn’t seem like the Star Wars type.

“You know who never has to point out they’re an adult? Actual adults.”

“The doubt that started with your article.” I hang my head. “That wasn’t my intention. At all.” I wanted his star to shine brighter.

“Your mouth’s going to get you into trouble one day.” “I’m betting on it.”

Can’t I be cool once in my life?

It’s as if I can hear Lennon’s voice in my head: Hey, look at that, the hockey player can do math.

“When are you going to tell them the truth about me?” he whispers. I shrug. “At our engagement party?”

Seriously, if there were human equivalents of dogs, Jet would be a chocolate lab puppy with his rich brown hair and crazy energy.

Oh, holy Gretzky, those glasses.

Even though I’m being condescending, he has this weird smile on his face as if I just told him he’s won the Hottest Man on Earth competition.

I think I want him more than I’ve ever wanted anything in my life. Including the NHL.

Now I’m in a room with all the Strömberg brothers, trying not to get a hard-on.

I’m legitimately beginning to worry that topping for the first time means he lost a severe amount of brain cells when he came. Sex makes you dumb, people.

He was only Clark to me that very first night I met him. In the six months following, he was the random guy who gave me hope, and now … now he’s the guy I want to have a future with

I will not vomit. I will not vomit … Okay, I’m probably gonna vomit.

“This isn’t the way I wanted this to happen, but now that it is, we can only look forward, and when I see my future, I see you.”

And I know if it was me being the one forced out today, I would kill for someone to stand behind me and say ‘me too.’ I can’t let Soren do it on his own. It’s lonely enough as it is in this industry.”

“Even if Sports Illustrated is my dream job, you’re my actual dream. Giving us a real shot is what I want.”