The Faker: A Marriage of Convenience Hockey Romance (Boston Hawks Hockey), Gina Azzi [pocket ebook reader .TXT] 📗

I lament to my best friend Abbi, as I kick my feet up on my bedroom wall. My bedroom wall in my parents new house in Boston because at the ripe age of thirty, I’ve moved back in.

“It’s just temporary, Chlo. Just until you get back on your feet,” she reassures me.

I sigh, staring up the ceiling fan which turns lazily, breaking the streams of light that flicker across the room. “I’m back in my childhood hometown, in a house eerily similar to my childhood home, being treated like a child, all because I —”

“Stop,” Abbi cuts me off. “Don’t go there. You didn’t do anything wrong. Steve deserves the blame, not you.”

Just hearing my ex-fiancé’s name feels like a hot, fire iron is being plunged into my chest. Two months ago, Steve blew up our lives and the tidy, perfect future I’d envisioned for us. I never thought he’d cheat on me and most certainly not with Brittney, one of my most trusted and beloved friends, who rounded out the trio along with Abbi and me.

“And Brittney,” Abbi adds, as if reading my thoughts. The disgust in her voice alleviates some of the ache in my chest.

At least I still have Abbi, who was quick to cut Steve and Brittney off despite my delusional desire to make things okay between us all. It’s just the hurt talking, Abbi said. She was right. As the weeks passed and Brittney moved into the airy, inviting, farmhouse-styled apartment I decorated in Hoboken, New Jersey, my hurt seeped into anger. Anger tinged with humiliation.

How dare my fiancé and friend have an affair behind my back? Were they planning to keep it up after Steve and I wed? Would I have ever caught on if Abbi didn’t surprise me with a day of pampering for my birthday and I forgot my flip-flops for my pedicure at home?

The thought of Steve and Brittney going at it like rabbits on my bed, with the wood paneled headboard and white coverlet from Pottery Barn, flares in my mind like a trumpet. I groan.

Abbi sighs. “Babe, I know you’re hurt.”

“I’m not hurt. I’m furious,” I correct her, wishing I could bleach my eyeballs to unsee everything I saw. “I’m so angry and pissed off and —” tears well in my eyes — “hurt.” I agree with Abbi’s assessment. “I don’t know what to do with all these dumb feelings.” I swipe the tears away with the backs of my knuckles. “I hate that they’re living their best lives in my home while I’ve been banished to Boston.”

Abbi clucks at my dramatics and I know she’s gearing up to give me some tough love. I bang my heels against the bedroom wall. I’m in desperate need of tough love but that doesn’t mean I want to hear it.

“Chloe,” Abbi says patiently and in this moment, I love my best friend for helping me navigate these murky waters for the past few months, “you’re not banished anywhere. You’re taking a break from your life to sort out your next moves. You love Boston. Now, you get to spend the summer with your family in your old stomping grounds. You can visit your mimi and take her out to brunch. And when I come to visit, we’ll go clubbing and do a bunch of touristy shit.”

“You’ll really come?” My voice is small and that’s another thing I hate. Since I learned the truth about Steve and Brittney, everything I thought I knew shifted. My perspective changed and in a matter of minutes, I lost some of my confidence. Instead, I feel shaky, like the ground beneath my feet is constantly moving. In short, I’ve become a less-than-independent, needier version of myself who I simultaneously despise and cling to. I’m blaming that on Steve too.

“Of course I’ll come. I hate that I’m missing the engagement party but I’ll see you at Marissa’s bachelorette next month and I’ll extend my Boston visit then.”

“Shit.” My breath lodges in my throat at the reminder. How did I forget that Marissa Swanson, one of mine and Brittney’s and Abbi’s friends, is marrying Adam Wright, one of Steve’s closest friends, at the end of the summer? “Shit, shit, shit.” I bang my heels again.

“You forgot about Marissa’s bachelorette? Don’t worry, I’ll —”

“I forgot about the engagement party!” It’s next weekend in Martha’s Vineyard. After my relationship imploded, Marissa begged me to stay on as a bridesmaid, despite the awkward tension between Brittney and me. Not wanting to sacrifice another friend, I agreed and now I am majorly regretting that decision. “I need a date.”

“You need a hot, hulking, sexy —”

“Where do I find one of those?” I cut Abbi off, panic edging my tone. How did I forget about Marissa’s engagement party? My entire summer pretty much revolves around her wedding festivities.

When the daughter of a hotel tycoon and the son of a New York City hedgefund CEO decide they don’t want to wait for their marital bliss, people spring into action. In a mere week, venues magically become available and designers personally called Marissa about her wedding dress. At first, when I was still engaged to Steve, I found my friend’s ability to cram an engagement party, a bachelorette bash, and a high profile wedding into ten weeks, exciting and romantic.

Now that I’m painfully single, I’m furious with Marissa for forcing me to find a date to two separate events — her engagement party next week and her wedding at the end of the summer. How am I going to face Steve and Brittney not once, but twice?

“We can rent one,” Abbi tosses out.

I roll my eyes. “I doubt that. Besides, I’d need to rent the same one twice if I want people to think I have a real relationship and not a pity date.”

“Do you want people to think you’re in a real relationship?”

“More than I want them to think it’s a pity date,” I say, exasperated.

“Fair enough.” Abbi is silent for a long moment.