Fake Shot (Boston Rebels Book 2)
Chapter 7

Icome downstairs wearing the dark blue sundress I bought for today and Colt side-eyes me when I walk into the kitchen to grab my keys and purse.

“What?” I ask, wondering why I still let his teasing comments and disapproving looks get to me.

“Nothing,” he says with a roll of his eyes. “You just seem . . . dressed up.”

“I’m literally wearing a sundress, which is what people do when it’s eighty degrees and they’re going to a party.”

“You never wear dresses.” His voice is tight, like he’s annoyed or upset.

I look him up and down, noticing how his tight polo clings to every muscle in his upper body and how his belt and khakis rest on his hips, his pants showing every curve of his muscular thighs. He’s not going to this party super casual, so why is he making it sound like I’m overdressed?

“Are you . . .” I’m about to ask him if he’s mad for some reason, but when I fold my arms under my chest, his eyes slide from my face down my body. Ohhh. The realization that he’s checking me out does thrilling and terrifying things to my body. “. . . bothered that I’m wearing a dress?”

“Nope.” He pops the ‘p’ at the end of the word, and then reaches for the back door and holds it open for me. “I loaded all the food into the backseat of your truck.”

“Thank you. I could have helped. You didn’t have to do it when I was changing.” I’d spent most of the morning in the kitchen, and he’d helped me get all the food packed into insulated carrying bags we were going to load into my car on our way out.

“I didn’t mind.” He follows me down the steps, then reaches past me to open the rear door of my truck so I can see the food he’s carefully set up. “I still don’t understand why you did all the cooking for Drew and Audrey’s party, though. Couldn’t they just have had it catered?”

‘I like to cook, so I offered.” Even from where he stands behind me, I can feel his head turn toward me, assessing. It’s like his eyes are boring into the side of my head and I don’t dare turn to look at him because our faces would be too close. I’m always aware of his proximity, always trying to keep some distance between us. It’s better for me that way.

‘What is it that you like about cooking?’ Colt asks, his voice soft and curious.

I don’t know how to answer that question—it’s so innocent, and so deeply personal at the same time. I don’t know how to explain that I like feeling needed. That in a time when everything in our lives was so volatile, cooking was the thing I could do to contribute to our new little family once it was just Jameson, Audrey, and me. It was the way I could show my older siblings I loved them and wanted to take care of them like they were taking care of me. The bigger the meal, the more it forced us to slow down, to spend quality time together while enjoying the food I’d prepared.

“I don’t know,” I say, standing there awkwardly, because there’s no way to move from the space between him and the truck door without coming much closer to him. ‘I’ve just always liked it.”

‘I never really learned how to cook,” he admits.

“What do you do for food then?’ I ask.

“I eat out a lot. And I’m remarkably good at making grilled cheese sandwiches.’

I snort out a laugh and, without thinking, I look up at him over my shoulder. Just like I expected, our faces are way too close. His breath softly skims my skin as he exhales in surprise. And yet, he doesn’t step back; he keeps me trapped here, looking down at me like I’m a stranger and he’s trying to figure out how he knows me.

“Grilled cheese? Really?” I tease, trying to distract from the way my whole body flushes under his gaze.

‘Yeah,” he says, and clears his throat. ‘I can make, like, 50 different variations.’

“Now that I’d like to see.’

“Anytime,” he says. “You’ve cooked for me lots of times. I’m happy to make grilled cheese for you.’

It’s such a small gesture, but with his eyes on mine, it feels like he’s offering up something that he’s never given anyone. And it makes me wonder, once again, if maybe all I’ve seen of him until now is what he wanted me to see . . . the same version of himself that he shows everyone else.

And then I realize that this is just wishful thinking—just me romanticizing Colt the way I used to do when I was a teenager—so I force my thoughts away from that possibility and, instead, I glance at the backseat of my car again and tell him, ‘I like grilled cheese.”

“Noted. Ready to go?”

“Yep.” I slip under his arm, trying to ignore the way he smells as I squeeze past him—that combination of something tangy like orange, with deep, spicy notes of clove and cinnamon. The scent is so familiar it threatens to make me forget why, for years, I’ve made sure to keep my distance.

But as I walk around to the driver’s side of the car, I take a deep breath of the heavy city air and promise myself I won’t let my thoughts drift in that direction again. I’m stronger than that now.

The first thing Colt says when he hops into the passenger seat is, “I’ll be in charge of music.” Without even asking, he plugs his phone in and taps the “Connect” option on the screen, which overrides my phone’s wireless sync and brings his apps up on my dashboard.

“We’ll be there in, like, ten minutes,” I say. “We could have just listened to the radio.”

“You have crap taste in music, Jules. No thanks.”

“What’s wrong with country and classic rock?” I ask as I wait for him to buckle his seatbelt. This is an old argument, and I’m pretty sure he’s the one with terrible taste in music. I don’t understand how he listens to pop all the time. He also likes those crazy remixes by “famous” DJs I’ve never heard of, but it all sounds pretty much the same to me.

“I’ll play Taylor,” he says.

“Her old stuff?” I ask, hopeful. Country Taylor I can get into.

He scoffs and taps the screen to start one of his playlists. And as the music fills the space, I have to admit that I don’t hate this new song. But I won’t give him the satisfaction of telling him that.

We listen in silence as we pull out onto the city streets, but traffic is heavy for a Saturday midday. It’s like the warm weather has brought every person in Boston outside, and they’re all walking across the streets whenever and wherever they feel like, instead of only at the crosswalks. As a result, we’re inching our way across Copley Square instead of actually driving, and it’s taking us three times as long as if we’d walked. Which we couldn’t do with all this food . . . but it’s still frustrating.

We’re finally pulling onto Drew and Audrey’s street when a text notification pops up on my screen. Figuring it’s Audrey, who said she’d text me when they were back from taking Graham for a bike ride, I instinctively reach up and tap the notification.

But the minute the robotic sound of my car reading the text fills the space, I realize my mistake. Hey big guy, I’m in town tonight. My hotel bed is going to feel very lonely if you’re not in it.

“Fuck.” Colt exhales the word. “What the hell, Jules?”

“I’m sorry.” Even if I could look over at him while driving, I wouldn’t. I’d be afraid of what he’d see on my face—some combination of embarrassment at hearing the contents of that text, and disappointment that this is who he is when he could be such a better person. You gave up hoping he’d change long ago, I remind myself. “I was waiting for a text from Audrey, and I forgot your phone was synced up, not mine.”

Another text notification pops up on the screen, and I glance at it long enough to catch the sender’s name. Bambi San Francisco Mile High Club. A laugh bursts out of me.

“Do you even know her last name, or is that how you keep track of the women you’ve slept with?” I’m careful to keep my tone amused. He clears his throat but doesn’t say anything. “I’d love to see your contacts sometime,” I say with another forced laugh. “I bet the women all follow the same formula: first name, a location, and something notable about the sex.”

His lack of response tells me I hit the nail on the head. Finally, once I’m parked and have turned off the car, he opens his mouth to respond. But I’m suddenly deeply uncomfortable—wishing I didn’t know this about him and hoping that I didn’t go too far with the teasing—so I pick my phone up off the charging station and say, “Alright, I’m going to let Audrey know we’re here with the food.”

“So . . .” Lauren says, her voice dragging out the vowel like it’s a mile long as she gives me a conspiratorial look. “How’s it going living with Colt?”

“It’s fine.” I roll my eyes, hating that I have to keep having this conversation. At least she and Morgan don’t know about my past feelings for Colt, as I’ve only ever shared that with Audrey. So I tell them the same thing I told my sister. “I haven’t seen him that much.”

“Doesn’t he live in your house?” Morgan asks, then eyes Lauren like maybe her cousin misinformed her.

I glance around the party to make sure no one else is within earshot. I don’t need my brother or any of Colt’s teammates listening in. “Yeah, but he’s in Jameson’s old apartment on the third floor, so aside from him coming and going, I don’t really see him. Except when we had dinner together the first night he moved in, and when I went to his condo to check out the damage. And he helped me pack up the food for this party and bring it over. But other than that . . .”

“So in the last four days, you’ve hung out three times?” Lauren laughs.

“We haven’t hung out. I fed him because, as always, I made too much food. Then I helped make sure the insurance adjuster didn’t screw him over, and he helped me carry some stuff here.”

“Sounds like you two are becoming friends,” Morgan says, tapping her finger on my forearm, like she’s trying to get me to admit we’re besties now. Never going to happen.

She must see something in the look that crosses my face, because Lauren follows up with, “Or is he still trying to rile you up every chance he gets?”

“He’s still Colt.” I shrug. “And tigers don’t change their stripes.” Though to be fair, he hasn’t been needling me quite as much, but maybe that’s just because he’s living in my house and doesn’t want to bite the hand that feeds him, sometimes literally.

“Well, if you ever need to get away from him, you’re always welcome at my place,” Morgan tells me. She lives in a top-floor condo on Newbury Street that her dad bought a long time ago, around the same time my dad bought our place in the South End, before real estate in Boston was as insane as it is now. “And also, you need to get out more. We should go out more, now that we’re the only single ones.”

“Paige is still single,” I say, referring to Lauren’s sister. “Isn’t she?”

“Paige is married to her job. Where is she today, anyway?” Morgan asks Lauren as she pulls her strawberry blonde hair behind her shoulders. It’s warm in here, even with the air-conditioning on—probably because there are a lot of us in Drew and Audrey’s home, and many of the people here are huge hockey players who probably run hot because of their muscle mass.

And speaking of muscle, Colt walks past us just then, his biceps curled as he holds two drinks in each of his massive hands. “Ladies.” He dips his chin at us. “And Jules.”

And there he is . . .  Forget the Colt who shared secrets about his brother and checked me out because I was wearing a dress. No, the Colt who lives to piss me off is back.

I roll my eyes and, not waiting for Lauren’s answer about Paige’s whereabouts, I say to my friends, “I’m going to go replace Audrey.”

The party’s in full swing and yet I haven’t seen my sister since she went to “take a quick shower” right when Colt and I arrived. I approach the kitchen island, intending to ask Drew where Audrey is, when Jameson asks him the same question.

“Still getting ready,” Drew tells him right as the buzzer rings, signaling even more people are arriving. He seems entirely unbothered by the fact that she’s still in her bedroom despite the fact that most of his team and both our families are already here. Colt ambles up next to me and starts handing out drinks.

“I’m going to go check on her,” I tell Drew and turn toward the hallway that leads to their bedroom. I’m only a couple of steps into the hallway when Graham runs up to me.

“Auntie Jules,” he says with a big smile, “are you excited?”

I bend down and ruffle his hair, giving him a kiss on his forehead and inhaling his scent, noting that he’s losing that little kid smell he’s always had. I hate how fast he’s growing up, and I miss having him and Audrey in my house. Everything is changing too fast.

“I’m so excited,” I tell him. “And you’re doing such a good job at keeping this a secret. I can’t wait to see your mom’s reaction. Just keep your sweatshirt on for a couple more minutes, and I’ll make sure your mom gets out here so you can take it off and surprise her.”

He gives me a nod and another giddy smile, and then he heads back to the party as I continue down the hall. Two quick knocks on their bedroom door and Audrey calls, “Come in.”

I push open the door to replace their huge king-size bed littered with several outfits she must have tried on and discarded. Now, she stands in front of the floor-length mirror in a black sundress with tiny satin straps over her shoulders. Her hair is down in loose, dark waves and her skin is glowing. I can’t help but smile as I watch her looking at her reflection, happy with what she sees.

Audrey was already a badass single mom before Drew came back into her life, but one of the best changes since they got together is that not only is she happy in their relationship, but she’s also more confident in herself as well.

“Hey,” I say, “you almost ready? Everyone’s already here, so I just wanted to check and see how you were doing?”

In the mirror, Audrey’s big blue eyes meet mine and she sighs. “I’m being a terrible host, aren’t I?” She lets out a little laugh. “I was so sweaty after our walk on the Esplanade with Graham earlier, I had to shower. And then of course it took me forever to dry my hair. And now I feel like I’m sweaty again from the heat of the hairdryer.”

I smile at her. “You look gorgeous—like you’re glowing. You’re not sweaty at all.”

“Thank you,” she tells me. “I know I can always count on you for an honest opinion, so I appreciate that.”

I laugh a little to myself. As if I would tell Audrey she looked sweaty—even if it were true, which it isn’t—when I know Drew is about to propose to her!

“Alright,” I say, “so are we going out to the party now?”

“Yeah,” she says, fluffing her hair one last time. “I just need to make sure I turned my curling iron off.”

“I’ll do it for you so you can head out and say hi to everyone.”

As soon as she leaves the bedroom, I rush into her bathroom to unplug the curling iron, because I’m determined not to miss the moment. And as I come back down the hallway to the kitchen, Drew is kissing Audrey’s forehead and then turning her away from him. Beyond them, Graham already has his sweatshirt off and is walking around in a t-shirt that says, Dad wants to know if you’ll marry him. He’s adorable with his shoulders back and head held high, like he wants to make sure the whole shirt is exposed so no one misses the message. I pull my phone out and snap a few quick pictures, because I know Audrey will love being able to see this later.

Audrey wanders from Drew over to some of his and Colt’s teammates, and is chatting with them, completely oblivious to the fact that her son is walking around with a proposal on his chest.

I come up beside Drew where he stands leaning against the kitchen island and ask him quietly, “How long do you think it’ll take her to notice?”

“No idea,” he says with a small laugh, “but I probably should stick close to her, so I’m there when she does notice.”

“Probably a good idea.”

“I’ll be shocked if someone doesn’t accidentally spoil it,” he says.

“Nah, everyone’s going to love it so much, they wouldn’t dare ruin the surprise.”

“You didn’t tell Colt, did you?” he asks, but his eyes focus in on Audrey as she chats with his sister and his mom.

“I told you I wouldn’t tell anyone,” I remind him. I had to lie to Colt this morning when he flat out asked if there was something special about this party, and if I thought Drew was going to propose to Audrey.

“Well, you do live with the man,” he says with a shrug of his shoulder while his eyes search the room for Graham.

I snort. “Not by choice. And it doesn’t mean I swap secrets with him.”

His words are low and quiet when he says, “I don’t need to know anything about what you two are swapping.”

I slap his arm hard as the earlier text message from Bambi flashes through my mind. “Ew, stop it,” I say through a laugh. “That’s so gross.”

Teenage me would have been thrilled that someone thought Colt might be interested in me like that. Adult me knows better. Not only is Colt the most notorious playboy in the NHL—as that earlier text message from Bambi reminded me—he has major Peter Pan syndrome. And the last thing I need in my life is another man who refuses to grow up.

“Let’s just hope he knows how to keep it cool when he sees Graham’s shirt,” Drew says.

“Your message in the group chat was very clear. You’ve got a surprise planned, and when people realize what it is, they need to not act suspicious. I’m sure most people have guessed.” I nudge him in the side as I watch Graham approaching Audrey where she stands talking to Jameson. “Go on, get your girl.”

Holding up my phone, I try to be as discreet as possible, filming him walking over toward Audrey. This scene has me all up in my feelings. I’m so happy for my sister—that Drew found his way back into her life, that she was willing to trust him, that he’s such an amazing dad to Graham. And I watch as other people at the party start to notice Graham’s shirt. Lauren’s hand flies to her mouth, which has Morgan swiveling her head to see what she’s looking at.

And then I’m looking for Colt. When I replace him, his eyes are wide and he’s looking at me like he’s amused and half wants to murder me. His lips move silently as he mouths, “Liar.”

Oh, if only you knew half the things I haven’t told you.

And then my eyes are back on my phone, making sure it’s still focused on Audrey as we’re all waiting for her to notice, waiting to see her happier than she’s ever been before. She deserves this. She deserves the family she’s always wanted after six years of being a single mom.

Graham seems to get tired of Audrey not noticing his shirt, so he walks up right behind her and asks her to tie his shoe for him. As she turns and looks down at him, her gasp fills the room because her eyes have finally landed on her son’s shirt. She spins around looking for Drew and he drops to one knee directly behind her, the ring box already out in his hand.

My eyes fill with tears as my sister’s hand flies to her chest, her own eyes filling with tears as she stares down at her future husband. I know she’s shocked, because even though Drew has been saying for months that he’s going to marry her, I suspect she thought that it would be a more private proposal. I suspect she would have wanted it to be.

But from his knee, Drew explains his rationale for proposing in a room full of people, telling her that we have all been there for them as they found their way back to each other. And then he’s pouring his heart out, telling her all about the life he envisions for them. “Because none of it, from the happiest moments to the most difficult, would mean anything if you weren’t by my side. And when I finally watch you walk down the aisle to me, and when we grow our family, and when I’m too old to play hockey and you’re exhausted from all our kids . . . we’re still going to be surrounded by the people who are in this room right now.”

My sister says yes to Drew, and then he stands and is pulling her into a hug and whispering something in her ear. And when I glance down at Graham, he has the biggest smile on his face as he watches his parents commit themselves to each other. He’s so happy, but he also looks proud that he’s had a role in not only bringing them back together, but also in this proposal. That’s when I see how intentional Drew’s choice really was. He couldn’t propose to Audrey without Graham being involved, without all of us here, because he’s right—we’re all so completely wrapped up in each other’s lives, it wouldn’t have been right if we weren’t all present for this moment.