Chapter 7

Bishop

There have been nerve-racking moments in my life.

The NHL entry draft, waiting to see when I’d be picked and where I’d go.

First time I stepped onto the ice as a professional hockey player.

The last few minutes of the gold medal game in Sochi.

Walking into a team event with Brooke Perron on my arm.

Honestly, I’m not sure which one is the worst, but my stomach is in knots. It’s not only because people are going to be shocked as shit to see us together and the lies are going to unfold as our fake story is brought out, but also because she and I haven’t seen each other or talked in three days.

We’ve completed training camp, and our first preseason game is day after tomorrow. The new team owner—a rich dude named Dominik Carlson who also owns a professional basketball team in LA—rented out the swankest restaurant in Phoenix for us and gave the team carte blanche to eat and drink whatever we wanted. The invitation included spouses, kids, significant others, and even arm candy that I was sure many of the players would show up with tonight.

This get-together was purely to celebrate this new team as a whole and bring us together as a family. It would be the first time all of the players, coaches, team staff and front office staff, plus their extended families, would come together under one roof to get to know each other. I expect Mr. Carlson is going to be picking up a six-figure bill tonight, but I’m sure he can easily afford it.

“Is it your hand that’s sweaty or mine?” Brooke asks as we walk into the restaurant. I had grabbed her hand as soon as I met her on the other side of the car where the valet was helping her out.

“Shit,” I say as I drop her hand like a hot potato and wipe my hands on the bottom of my suit jacket. Brooke does the same, although she runs her hands down her hips. I’m not sure that slinky black material is going to help much, though.

“It’s fine,” she murmurs, taking my hand again, and I’m thankful to feel cool, dry palm against cool, dry palm. “We’ll be fine, I’m sure.”

I sure as shit hope we will. This is as disconcerting as sitting down at her father’s table earlier this week to face his scrutiny and potential wrath. Neither Brooke nor I made any effort this week to see each other, and I’m not really sure why. I know I demanded that we engage in a whole lot of fucking to get to know each other so we could carry this off without a hitch, but that wasn’t really necessary. Let’s be honest, that was totally self-serving to me, but if she didn’t complain or tell me no, I had to assume she was just as into it. I think the number of orgasms she had that last night together, as well as the completely satisfied yet sleepy smile on her face when I left, speaks volumes.

I actually held back in part to see what Brooke would do. Would she call me and ask to get together? I have to admit, the fact she didn’t dinged my ego a bit. She’s totally into sex with me, there’s no doubt. But maybe she’s just too shy to initiate? Or maybe once a week is good for her or something? Or perhaps she needs something more from me before she gives it up, and that right there would definitely mean we were in a relationship.

I guess.

Not sure.

Regardless, we lost three days we could have been getting to know each other to help solidify this ruse. Even more important, due to inaction on both our parts, we lost out on a whole lot of great sex. Now we’re both getting ready to walk together in front of the entire team and eyebrows are going to be shooting skyward everywhere.

This is going to be especially so, since just last night, a large group of the players—including significant others—met for dinner and drinks. I did not ask Brooke, although I thought about it quite a bit. In the end, I just sort of chickened out putting off the inevitable awkwardness that would come with questions when we were seen together.

The player and the coach’s daughter.

It was going to be portrayed like a fucking episode of the Kardashians, and there were going to be questions upon questions from everyone.

Speaking of which, I better bring Brooke up to speed. “So…there was a get-together last night. A bunch of the players and their wives and girlfriends.”

“Okay,” she drawls.

“Well…we didn’t go together,” I add as I reach the door and open it for her.

“That would be a true statement,” she replies tartly as she walks through and I follow.

I reach out, grab her hand, and pull her off to the side. A few of the players and their guests come in, casting curious glances at Brooke and me. “People are going to wonder why you weren’t there last night, so I figure we should get our stories straight.”

“You’re just now worrying about us having our stories straight?” she asks with a cocked eyebrow. “Right before we’re walking into a team event together as a couple for the first time?”

I ignore the pointed jab. “So what should we say to people who might ask why you didn’t come out last night?”

“Tell them the truth,” she says with a casual shrug. “I was working.”

“You were working?” I repeat dumbly.

“Yeah…I was working.”

“Why would you be working at night?” I ask her, now completely interested in her on a different level. “You’re assistant to the director of team services. I know exactly what that job entails, and I doubt it’s much more than a forty-hour-a-week job.”

Brooke’s chin tucks in and she crosses her arms defensively over her chest. “I suggest you not malign my job if you want this relationship to last more than the next ten seconds.”

I’m duly chagrined, but before I can apologize or explain my curiosity in a more tactful way, she continues. “As it happens, I’m also working part-time in the merchandising department. There wasn’t a position available when I first applied, and yes, they did create this job for me as an accommodation to my dad, but it’s not what I’d like to be doing with my time. My background is in merchandising, and I’m hoping I can slide full-time over there.”

Now that’s interesting. “Merchandising. What does that mean? Did you go to school for it?”

Her eyebrow arches higher. “Seriously, Bishop? You want to get my life story down right now?”

Okay, so perhaps I should have put in some more effort this week getting to know her rather than obsessing about sex with her and waiting for her to call me like a petulant kid.

I blow out a long breath. “Okay…sorry. We should have made some time this week to discuss these things.”

“Yes, you should have,” she says, throwing a tiny jab of her own.

I hold my hands up. “Whoa, I didn’t see you reaching out to me. You know, you’re the one that got us into this mess. Why didn’t you call me and ask that we get together to discuss these things?”

Brooke’s eyes flash with amusement rather than the anger I thought I’d get. Her arms drop, only for her finger to come up and poke me lightly in the chest. “Because I know your idea of a get-together and mine are two totally different things. You made it clear that you want the sex benefits, and I didn’t want to call you and have you thinking that’s all I was after.”

“I wouldn’t have thought that,” I assure her.

Another cock of the eyebrow. Damn, she’s not believing much of what I say.

“Look,” I say softly as I step in closer to her. I snag her hand and bring it up between us, squeezing it gently. “Let’s get through dinner and we’ll stay for a bit to be sociable. But then let’s get out of here and go somewhere and talk. We can go to a coffee shop or something, okay?”

That’s apparently all she needed to hear, because her face softens and she squeezes my hand back. “I won’t say I’m sorry, because you told me not to say it again, but I very much understand day in and day out it’s my fault we’re in this situation. I don’t want to make things difficult for you. And to be honest, I didn’t reach out to you because I didn’t want to bother you. I’m sure you have a lot on your plate and would rather be doing anything other than playing ‘fake relationship’ with me.”

“If I had to play ‘fake relationship’ with someone, I’m glad it’s with you,” I tell her earnestly.

That’s no shit.

“You’re sweet,” she says with an exaggerated flutter of her eyelashes, and it makes me laugh. “Ready to get this over with?”

“Ready,” I tell her as I turn for the hostess podium. But then another thought strikes and I turn back toward Brooke, backing her into the corner. Bending my face down to get near hers, I say, “We don’t have to have sex. You know that, right?”

“I know,” she says in a breathless whisper.

“I mean…I want to have it,” I quickly say so she doesn’t think otherwise. “And you seem very much into it with me. But if I’m wrong about that…well, just know that’s not my priority. It’s getting through this charade with your relationship intact with your dad and without him throwing me off the team.”

“He can’t do that,” she says dryly.

“I know that,” I return with a grin. “But he can make my life hell.”

“We want the same things, Bishop.” Her words brush across me light as a feather, her voice is so soft, yet their meaning punches me in the gut.

She knows what I want. That’s her.

She wants the same thing, which means she wants me.

If that’s the case, then fuck if I’m going to stand back from her. I think in this moment there’s no need to use the excuse we need to get to know each other to put on a good show, but rather it’s more we can get through this fiasco and also have a good time doing it.

At least that’s the way I’m reading it, and I’m sticking to that.

“Let’s start the show then,” I tell her, and lean down to brush my lips across hers. Her breath comes out in a shaky pant across my lips, and when I pull back, her eyes are bright and promising.

Without another word, I tuck her hand into the crook of my arm, then turn to lead her into the restaurant. At that same moment, Erik comes through the doors with the type of woman I’ve seen him with on a few occasions. She looks like she came straight from sunny California with a mass of bleached blond hair and huge tits that practically spill out over the top of her dress, the hem of which barely covers her ass.

I shake my head in amusement as he walks toward us, his arm around the woman and hanging low enough I’m betting his hand is on her ass.

“What’s up?” Erik says, and starts to hold a fist out for a bump when he notices Brooke standing close to me with our arms linked. His eyes get big and his mouth drops open. “Whoa.”

I know exactly what he’s thinking. It’s what everyone else in there is going to think too.

Bishop Scott is banging the coach’s daughter and nothing good will ever come of that.

“Brooke, have you met Erik Dalhbeck yet?” I twist my neck and drop my gaze down to her.

The smile she bestows on me makes me want to pull her in closer. She shakes her head. “I haven’t had the pleasure.”

“Erik joined the Vengeance from the Los Angeles Demons. He’s a premier defenseman, one of the toughest enforcers in the league, and we’re lucky to have him.” I glance back at Erik, who is still looking dumbfounded. I give a slight nod of my head toward my girl and tell the lie for the very first time. “This is Brooke Perron. She and I have been dating for a few months.”

“What the what?” Erik mutters, and then seems to get that he’s not handling this in the most professional way. He sort of shakes his head and then holds his hand out to Brooke. “Pleasure to meet you.”

“Welcome to the team,” she says back with a smile.

Erik turns his gaze back to me and gives me a very pointed look that says, Dude…you and I…we have some talking to do.

Pulling his date along, Erik makes his way in without even bothering to introduce her. This is not strange behavior. Lots of players—myself included at times—have had one-night-only dates. Hot, gorgeous women you show a good time with a bunch of famous people, then you bang their brains out and go on your way. There’s no sense in really making introductions because she won’t be around for the next event, so why even bother.

The fact that I just introduced Brooke to Erik as a woman I’ve been dating a few months will send a message to the team that she’s not just arm candy.