Fake Dating the Defenseman Next Door (Soltero Beach Scorpions Hockey #1)

8. Diego

eight

Diego

W alking to the restaurant with Angela’s hand in mine while arguing about what our top five favorite K-dramas are feels like something we’ve done a hundred times. I love the feel of her body fitted alongside mine and the way her voice rises in indignation when I purposefully ruffle her feathers by making outrageous ranking claims.

“You’re just wrong,” she tells me, cheeks pink and eyes blazing. “How come you know so many K-dramas anyway?”

I shrug. “Your grandma introduced me to them a few years ago, when I was out of the lineup due to injury and had nothing better to do. I got hooked and just never stopped.”

“You talk to my grandma that much?” She stops short of the restaurant steps, turning to face me with a questioning look.

“I see your grandma regularly. More than I see my own father,” I admit. “In many ways, she’s become family to me. So, when she needs some things from the market, I pick them up for her. When she needs help lifting heavy things or doing some jobs in her house or in the garden, I take care of it. It’s the least I can do.”

She gapes at me as I nudge her through the open door of the restaurant. We get swept off to a booth as soon as I mention my name and our reservation.

When we’re seated and handed menus, I crack mine open out of habit though I already know what I want. But when I glance up, her big brown eyes are locked on me and her expression is guarded.

“What?”

“Are you for real?” she blurts.

I thank the server when he drops off the bread basket and wait until he’s out of earshot before I ask, “What do you mean?”

“I mean… you’re a pro athlete who throws all-night drunken ragers for his buddies.”

“—my teammates,” I clarify.

“Okay, teammates. And you’re also the guy who reportedly jets off all over the world seeking the next big party to be part of. You’re everywhere! Milan, Paris, Ibiza, Mexico City, Glastonbury, Coachella.”

“You looked me up?” I flash a grin at her, but she doesn’t smile back.

“But in your free time, you rope your friends into helping your fake girlfriend fix up her family’s shop, watch rom-coms and K-dramas, and you hang out with my grandma?”

Her brows are knitted together over her puzzled brown eyes.

“Yeah,” I answer carefully, uncertain what kind of response she’s looking for. “I also help out with my family’s foundation, participate in all the team’s charity and community functions, and partner with Leo—the big Russian on our team—on his hockey-inspired street wear clothing line. What else do you want to know?”

She quirks a brow, and I can’t tell if she’s impressed or still evaluating me.

“If you’re this damn good of a person, why are you still single?”

I consider giving her a jokey kind of answer, the sort I’m known for giving about my relationship status, but something about her makes me want to give her the truth.

“Growing up, I didn’t feel like there was a lot of things I could control. My parents married young and had a nasty divorce. As the eldest, I saw the worst of their fights and bore the brunt of their anger toward one another. My mom called it quits because she couldn’t cope with the strain of being a hockey wife. Moving at a moment’s notice, dealing with my father’s… intensity.” I keep my eyes steady on hers as she reaches for my hand. “He can be a lot. It made him a great hockey player, but a terrible husband and a challenging father. So much so that taking the offer to play hockey in Canada as a teen was the better option than staying here for high school. I swore if I ever made it to the national league, I wouldn’t repeat his mistakes.”

“And how does my grandma and donuts factor into all this?” She waves a hand over my body and I bite back a smile.

“Your grandma always let me have a place to get away. Every summer, she let me linger in the shop to talk, kept me and my friends filled up with snacks, and let me continue practicing skating and shooting pucks on the open slab of pavement behind the shop whenever I was avoiding home. She was the one adult in my life that let me be me and didn’t push or judge me for how I coped with the pressures I felt. She—and the donuts she makes—gave me a lot of comfort. Hers are the only ones I need before a game.”

“I get it,” she says, reaching for some bread and buttering it up. “ Halmeoni has been my safe place too. I never knew my dad and my mom’s not the most reliable person in the world.”

“Oh?” I reach across and snag half her buttered roll to keep the rest of my thoughts and observations to myself. From my previous chats with Grandma Grace, I know that tensions between them all were thick but I never really heard the whole story.

“No. From what I understand, she had a specific vision for her life. It didn’t really include having a kid hanging off her.” Angela stares at her plate, mouth tilting sadly. “As soon as she was able to catch the eye of one of the famed Bachelor Beach billionaires, she deposited me at halmeoni ’s and went off to live the life she’d always dreamed of. Far, far away from me.”

My heart cracks in my chest for the hurt that’s buried deep. Hurt I recognize and know, because it’s not dissimilar from the wounds I’ve carried. No one can hurt you the way family can, even if they didn’t mean to.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine. I’m fine. I didn’t need anyone except halmeoni .”

“Are you in contact with your mom now?”

She shakes her head. “Last I heard, they were in Hong Kong or Singapore. I don’t know. It doesn’t matter anyway. She didn’t want me in her life. She doesn’t get to take up space in mine.”

There’s steel underscoring her words and pride rises in me. I have so much respect for the girl that shouldered so much to become the strong, independent woman before me.

“Good for you, baby. Knowing your worth and setting your own boundaries.”

Her eyes lock on mine, the inscrutable expression in them hard as the server returns to take our order. When they’ve left us again, I lift my arm over the top of the booth, creating an open, inviting space for her to sidle up close to me.

Things are getting too serious. Better to lighten them up.

“Come closer, girlfriend. Let’s get a photo for the ‘Gram. You know what they say, pics or it didn’t happen.”

She laughs as I snap a photo and make a face at the results.

“Scooch in and don’t be afraid to get comfortable and touch me a little. It’ll only help your cause if you look like you like me.”

She rolls her eyes at me and scoots in, mouth twitching.

“I like you just fine.”

“Can you say it louder for the people in the back?”

She does grin now, tucking her hair behind her ear and shaking her head.

“I don’t think we’ll be able to walk out of this restaurant later if I inflate your ego any.”

I snort, curling my hand around her shoulder and trailing my fingers up and down her soft skin. Then I take more photos, prompting her to kissing me before I post them on the internet with a celebratory caption.

“My ego can take it. Besides,”—my brain whirs as I think of how else I can rattle her. She’s so damn beautiful all the time, but especially when she’s slightly off-balance and pressed just enough to bring out her sass— “I’m not sure you’re making a case for most convincing girlfriend right now.”

“What? Why not?”

“Because, Angie, I think maybe you’ve been avoiding me ever since we struck that deal. I’ve tried to visit you when I get home in the evening, but you never answer your door when I knock—”

“I go to bed early,” she counters, eyebrow arching as I reach up and twirl my finger through a lock of her hair. “When I reopen the bakery, it’ll be even earlier.”

“You haven’t turned up at the rink, so I’ve had to bring the boys around to meet you—”

“I’m planning on coming tomorrow after I make your donuts—”

“You’re gone before I can even get my coffee brewed in the morning—”

“To surf. I go to the beach to catch some waves, clear my head,” she whispers as I lean in and inhale her sweet scent.

Her eyes dart back and forth before finally settling on my face. Not quite my eyes, but fixated on my cheek, where an inch-long faded scar rests thanks to a particularly nasty high stick I caught once.

“And that. Sometimes, you avoid looking at me directly. What’s that about? Does my scar bother you that much?”

“No, it doesn’t bother me.” Her gaze flicks up to mine as she traces the gash with her fingertip. “But I’ve always wondered how you got it.”

“An accidental stick to the face,” I murmur. “Courtesy of my sister Cassie.”

My eyes drift shut as her hands cup my cheeks, the warmth of her touch seeping into me.

“Ouch,” she murmurs, inching closer. “Must’ve hurt, but I think she might’ve done you a favor. It gives you a sexy edge. Scars are hot, you know.”

“In that case, you should see the rest of my body. I got a few more I could show you.”

“Yeah? Maybe I’ll check it out sometime.” Her hands drift over my chest, her gaze is fixed on my mouth.

“Maybe I’ll let you.”

Then she meets my eyes and those brown depths are big, round, and swirling with want.

I groan, gathering her up and settling her on my lap, letting her feel the evidence of my desire for her against the curve of her ass. I don’t care that we’re in a public restaurant, that any one of the surrounding diners might recognize me and snap photos of video of me nuzzling against the curve of her neck.

Hell, I hope someone will snap a pic and let it fly.

Then the whole world would know she’s mine.

Before I can lean down and kiss her, a deep, male voice cuts in causing me to bite back a curse as Angela slides off my lap.

“Ah, Big D. Sorry to interrupt your dinner.” The man is dressed in an expensive navy blue suit with a golden tie. He extends his hand clear across the table so the diamonds in his watch glint in the light. “Big fan.”

Angela stiffens under my arm as I look up into the broad, smiling face of Grant Reed, a local businessman I’ve had to mingle with at a variety of team fundraising events. He’s a whale of a corporate sponsor with his various businesses plastered along the side of the boards all around the rink.

I can’t shake the impression he gives off. That he’s a shot caller, used to getting his own way whenever and however he likes it. He’s slick and wily in a way that makes me feel uneasy. Distrustful and cautious.

Never liked the man, but his timing is total shit.

“Mr. Reed,” I say, taking his extended hand and giving it a shake. “What a surprise.”

“Saw you were here and I wanted to ask after your health.”

I blink, uncomprehending.

“I caught a few preseason games this week. If you don’t mind me saying, your form is a little… off.”

My jaw tightens. “Just getting back into the swing of things. I’ll be ready when the season starts.”

“Good man. That’s what I like to hear. Need you and the boys to keep filling those seats, right? Putting on a great show for the fans.” He claps me on the shoulder jovially, like we’re old friends and not distant acquaintances. Then, his gaze sweeps over Angela before swinging back to me. “See you on the ice, then, Diego. I’ll let you get back to your dinner.”

“Thanks,” I say, giving Angela’s knee a squeeze under the table. “We’re celebrating our anniversary.”

“Congratulations,” he says dismissively before raising his arms in the air and calling out, “Go, Scorpions!”