The Game That Breaks Us (11 page)

“Come to my dorm. We can talk in private.”

“You’re staying in a dorm?”

He shrugs. “It was part of the deal.”

“If I go with you to your dorm aren’t people only going to talk
more?
” I argue. 

“People will always talk, but I don’t want anyone overhearing what I have to say.”

I wrinkle my nose. “This sounds dangerous. You’re not going to cut me up into a million pieces in your bathtub, are you?”

He cracks a smile and holds up a finger. “One, I don’t have a bathtub.” He lifts another finger. “Two, I thought we’d established that I’m not a killer. What’s your obsession with that anyway?”

“Better safe than sorry,” I argue.

“True.” He stands. “So, my dorm?”

I sigh and look around. I know I should tell him no and head to the food court like I’d originally been doing before my dad called, but I know the curiosity will kill me if I don’t go.

“Sure.” I finally agree. “Lead the way.” I swish my arm through the air.

Bennett grins, pleased to have finally worn me down. “It’s this way.” He nods with his head to the right, shoving his hands into the pockets of his worn jeans. He’s probably loaded with money—at least, with my understanding of professional athletes—but he dresses like a bum. I’d love to get ahold of him and show him that there’s more in the world to wear than ripped jeans and old t-shirts that have been washed so many times they’re practically see-through. Although, those shirts give an excellent view of his muscular chest and stomach, so maybe I’m jumping the gun.

Bennett leads me up the steps of the dorm and swipes his keycard.

“Please tell me you have a single,” I whisper-hiss as I follow him to the elevator. He chuckles, his eyes twinkling, and I smack his arm. “That’s
not
why I was asking. Get your head out of the gutter. Pig,” I groan as we step into the elevator.

He laughs, shaking his head, and pushes the button for the fourth floor. “You’re amusing.”

“No, I’m not,” I argue.

“You’re
different
,” he amends.

I shrug. “You’re probably right.”

“Oh, I know I am. Most girls drop to their knees when they meet me, but not you.” My mouth pops open. He grins crookedly. “Yeah, they usually open their mouth just like that too.” He uses his index finger to push my jaw up and closed.

“You’re … you’re …
Ugh
.” 

He laughs. “I didn’t say I
asked
them to do it. I was just being honest.”

The doors slide open to an empty hall and I follow Bennett to his room. He opens the door and lets me in first.

“Ew, it’s so
plain
,” I groan. I’ve spent the last two weeks making my dorm my
home
. Heck, even Elle’s side of the room is decorated. But Bennett has done nothing except put sheets on his bed. There’s not even a comforter or quilt. The walls are bare, the floors are bare, everything is just … blank. There’s no personality, nothing that says this is Bennett’s space except for the hockey gear piled at the foot of the bed on the floor. That’s
it
.

He chuckles and closes the door, pulling the chair at the provided desk out for me to sit on. “Sorry it’s not up to your standards, Princess.”

I cringe. When my dad calls me Princess it’s sweet, but Bennett says it like it’s a bad thing. “It’s just boring,” I explain. “Nothing in here is personal.”

“It’s only temporary,” he reasons, sitting on the edge of the bed across from me.

“Still,” I say, looking around. “I’d think you’d want it to feel homey. Now, what was it that we needed to talk about in private?”

“I need your help,” he starts.

“My help?” I laugh. “What could you possibly need my help with?”

He bites his lip, and for a moment, he looks adorably boyish. “My manager is beyond pissed with me,” he explains, gesturing with his hands, “and he said that this time it’s up to me to fix it.”

“And how exactly am I supposed to do that?” My eyes narrow. 

He raises his hands innocently in front of his chest, like he’s surrendering. “I want you to be my girlfriend.” I laugh. “My
fake
girlfriend.” He looks at me pleadingly with puppy dog eyes. 

I glare at him, my mouth popping open. “Oh, my God, you’re serious?”

“As a heart attack.” He presses his hands together like he’s praying. “I
need
you.”

“Why me?” I ask, sitting on the edge of the rickety wooden chair. “You could’ve asked any girl on campus and I’m sure she would’ve jumped at the chance.”

“For starters, we’ve already been pictured together,” he reasons. “It’s the perfect setup. Secondly, you’re a good girl, Grace. That whole goody two-shoes vibe you have going on is exactly what I need.” I glare at him, conveying with my eyes that I’m about two seconds away from strangling him. “Fuck, Grace, I don’t mean it in a
bad
way. It’s cute that you’re so …
girly
.”

I roll my eyes. “Why should I help you?”

He appears thoughtful, pressing his lips together. “Because hockey means the world to me, and I’m going to lose it if you don’t do this. I have to prove to the media, to my manager, to my coach, to
everyone
that I’m not up to all my old antics.”

“And what do I get in exchange?” I tilt my head to the side.

He sits up straighter, brightening now that I’m contemplating this. “Anything you want. Money?”

I glare at him. “I don’t need your money.”

“Sorry,” he says sheepishly. “Whatever you want, name it, and it’s yours if you do this.”

I bite my lip. “I’ll have to think about it.” His shoulders sag. “About what you’ll
owe
me,” I amend.

He grins, his eyes lighting up. “You’ll do it?”

“Yes,” I say on a sigh, “but you better not make me regret this.”

“Never,” he vows.

I stand up. “I better go,
boyfriend
.”

He grins. “See you later,
girlfriend.
”

I haven’t seen Grace all weekend, and I’m sweating bullets that she’s changed her mind. I stupidly didn’t even get her fucking phone number.

Good one, Bennett
.

So now, I stand outside her dorm at the ass crack of dawn with coffee and cupcakes—because that’s what a good boyfriend would do, right?

I’ve only ever had one serious girlfriend, and that was in high school. It lasted two years and ended badly—bad enough that it left a sour taste in my mouth when it came to relationships.

I see Grace through the glass door, but she hasn’t spotted me yet. Elle has, though, and her mouth pops open. She smacks Grace in the arm and points. Grace turns and looks, her perfectly-curled hair swishing against her shoulders. She looks surprised but quickly schools her features and says something to Elle before they head out the door.

“Hey.” I step up onto the stairs and hold out the coffee and cupcakes—I purposely got enough for Elle too. It would’ve been rude to leave her out. “I got you this,” I add unnecessarily and immediately want to smack myself in the forehead. 

Brilliant, Bennett. You really know how to keep it cool under pressure on the ice, but when it comes to a girl, you completely lose your marbles.

“Thanks.” She takes a coffee.

“For you, too.” I indicate the other coffee for Elle.

“Thank you,” she takes it and I hold onto the holder, letting my hand fall to my side.

“There are cupcakes too.” I indicate the other box I hold. 

Grace takes it. “Thank you. What’s the occasion?”

“A guy can’t surprise his girlfriend?” I grin crookedly, tilting my head to the side. I said it purposely, to see if she’d freak out. 

“I guess it’s okay,” she reasons, shrugging. A smile tugs on her lips.

“I can’t believe you
just
told me you guys were dating. How long has this been going on? Since the bar?”

“Yes,” I say at the same time Grace says, “No.”

She glares at me.

“Officially it just happened,” I amend. “But there’s always been something between us, right, Grace?”

“Right?” she says, lifting the coffee cup to her lips. 

Elle looks between as if she’s not quite buying our story. I don’t blame her: Grace and I are terrible actors. 

“Well,” Elle begins. “I better head to class before I’m late. Professor Bend is a bitch with a capital B.” She rolls her eyes.

“I’ll see you for lunch,” Grace calls after her.

When Elle disappears, I whisper to Grace, “You’re going to have to do better than that if you want people to think we’re actually dating.”

She takes a sip of her coffee and I know she’s thinking through what she wants to say. Her eyes flick away and back to me. “Maybe you should pick someone else.”

“I don’t
want
to pick someone else,” I argue as she starts toward her class. I fall into step beside her. “Besides, we’ve already been photographed together.”

She sighs. “I know,” she grumbles under her breath, her shoulders sagging.

“Hey,” I say softly, grabbing her elbow to halt her. “If you don’t want to do this, you don’t have to. We can forget the whole thing.”

She nibbles on her bottom lip nervously for a second and quickly releases it when she realizes what she’s doing. “No, no,” she stutters. “I want to help you.” I smile. “This is just weird for me,” she explains. “I’ve never actually
had
a boyfriend,” she admits. My jaw drops. “Don’t look at me like that,” she hisses. “With an overprotective dad and two brothers, it was pretty impossible. I mean, I’ve been on dates with a few guys, but pretty much all of those ended in disaster,” she admits, wrinkling her nose. “This one time my dad hid in the movie theater and threw popcorn at my date’s head. My mom found out what he was up to when my brother spilled the beans, and she came storming into the middle of the movie—chased by ushers—grabbed my dad by the ear and hauled him out of there. It was mortifying. After a while, guys stopped asking me out.” She shrugs.

I swallow thickly. “Their loss.”

She gives me a small half-smile. “It is what it is.”

We start walking again. “Grace,” I say hesitantly.

“Yes?” She glances up at me when I don’t continue.

“I’d understand if you didn’t want to do this. I mean, this is like your chance to meet someone and have a real boyfriend, right? It’s not fair of me to tie you up in this.”

She shakes her head. “I don’t mind, Bennett. Besides, I don’t have the time to really date. My course load is packed so the chance for much of a social life is slim to none. I might as well help you out.” She shrugs, adjusting the strap of her backpack.

“Are you sure?” I can tell Grace is the kind of person that goes out of her way to help people. I don’t want her to do this because she feels like it’s the right thing to do. 

“Yes.” She laughs. “I’m in, I promise.”

“Okay. I won’t pester you about it anymore.” I nod, resolute.

She smiles up at me, and my lips quirk in response. 

“This is me.” She nods at the building we stand outside of. “Thanks again for the coffee and the cupcakes.”

“You’re welcome.” She starts to leave, and I grab her hand, pulling her to me. She lets out a little sound of surprise and I duck my head, kissing her cheek—dangerously close to her lips because I like to live life on the edge. 

“W-What was that for?” she stutters.

“Because you’re my girlfriend.” I wink.

“R-Right,” she stutters again. “I-I have to go.”

She practically runs into the building. 

I laugh, shaking my head. 

Grace Wentworth is highly amusing, and I’m thoroughly going to enjoy messing with her.

She might be my fake girlfriend, but that doesn’t mean I can’t have some fun.