34. Devon

Devon

"Devon, now that you're in the playoffs, what do you think are your chances of going to the Stanley Cup Final?"

I take a deep breath, focusing on the man who just asked the question. He's staring up at me expectantly. The strange thing about the press is that once I started being nicer to them, they also started being a bit nicer to me.

"Well, I'd like to say 100%, but I'm sure there are a lot of sportscasters who would disagree with me on that one," I say, laughing along as the press let out little chuckles. "All I can say is that I sure would love to go back again this year."

"And how do you think the team will fare without Grey?"

"That's a trick question," I say, smiling and pointing a finger gun at the asker. "We're not faring without Grey; we've still got him here with the team. I'm not sure we would have even made it this far without his guidance as our coach. I'd be lying to you if I didn't say his drive as the coach of the Vipers is part of what pushes us to put up numbers like these."

The room laughs again, and another reporter raises her hand.

"Yes, Devon, speaking of faring without someone—Sammy Braun was sick last week, and it seemed to have drastically affected the team. Does the team have plans for managing a loss like that in the future?"

"That's a great question," I say, which is a tip I learned from Melissa—compliment them before answering. "I guess the truth is we're already operating with a man down. I think everyone has kind of forgotten we were supposed to have Brett Ratcliffe starting as our center. When he went out, we shifted into Plan B. So, with Sammy gone, we showed our Plan C. I really hope the team stays healthy throughout the playoffs so we can give you all an amazing show."

At that moment, Melissa runs out onto the stage, her heels clacking loudly. She leans down into the mic, announcing that the time has run out for questions, and I stand, waving before I leave the stage.

"Holy shit!" Melissa exclaims, whirling around and grabbing me by the shoulders. "Devon Chambers, who knew you had it in you?"

"What?"

"You worked that crowd like it was your day job!" I wince at her bad joke, but she turns and keeps walking. "That was amazing. If I'd known a bribe was all it would take to get you on your best behavior, I would have been handing them out long ago."

"Bribe, right," I say, grinning wryly. "Should I bring that up during the next press conference?"

"Ha ha," Melissa says, throwing me a look over her shoulder, but she can't keep the satisfaction from creeping back in. "Honestly, though, it's amazing how quickly you can go from biggest pain in my fucking ass to hockey's sweetheart in just a few months."

I immediately think of Lola and want to mention her to Melissa, saying it might not be the bribe alone causing such a big change in me. However, I don't want to risk Melissa reading into it and assuming there's more between Lola and me than what the contract strictly allows.

Even if that might be the truth.

I'd sent Grey the picture of Lola earlier just to say check out this shit, but he'd called me immediately, his voice sounding weird.

"You're so in love with her, dude," he'd said, almost making me drop my phone.

"What the hell are you talking about?" I snapped, looking around even though I was alone in my hotel room. "I am not in love with her. We aren't even—"

Grey cut me off before I could fuck up and accidentally reveal the entire scheme to him, and I'd let out a tiny sigh of relief when I realized how close I'd been to giving it away.

"You can't explain this away," Grey stated with a laugh. "There are only three reasons a guy would take a girl's picture like that. First, he's a photographer and literally getting paid to do it. Second, he's gay. Or, third, he's in love with her."

"Oh yeah? And where did you read that shit? In Cosmo?"

He started to cuss me out, and then there was a little shuffle on the other end of the line before Ellie's bright voice replaced Grey's.

"Devon!" she'd said, practically squealing. "I am so happy for you! And just so you know, my bet is Lola totally feels the same way. Maybe you already know that, but in case you didn't. She is so gaga for you when we're watching the games."

My chest gets tight now, thinking about that exchange, where Ellie and Grey both believe I'm in love with Lola. And that she has feelings for me as well.

It's hard to imagine a woman like that falling in love with a hockey player. A few months ago, she didn't know a single thing about the sport, and now she's inducted as an official Viper.

I'm so lost in my thoughts that I jump a bit when Melissa speaks again, reminding me where I am.

"Honestly," she says, grinning at me. "Keep this shit up, and you can probably end the fake relationship early if you want."

"Yeah," I utter, giving her a half-hearted laugh and rubbing my hand over my neck. "Right."

***

"Where the hell are we?" I ask as Lola wraps her hand around my arm and tugs me in the direction of a tall, modern building.

"This is our date," Lola says, her eyes sparkling mischievously. "So, if you back out, you have to admit I'm the winner."

I smile as I look at her. Honestly, I don't care if the date is alligator wrestling. There's not a chance I'm going to back out if she's here with me.

The thought unsettles me, and I rub a fist against my chest, thinking about what Grey and Ellie said earlier. When Lola's fingers brush over the skin on the inside of my arm, all I want to do is grab her and take her back to my hotel room.

I feel the frustration at the top of my throat. All I want to do is touch her, but she's strictly off-limits. I think about the soft skin on the inside of her thighs and close my eyes for a second, imagining what it would be like to kiss her right there, how she might moan my name and beg me to—

"Woah!" someone says, and my eyes fly open as I almost run into someone carrying a pair of pants over their arm.

"Shit," I say, glancing at Lola, who's distracted and busy talking to someone at the front desk. "Sorry, man," I say to the guy, who's brushing his hand over the pants like nearly colliding with me might have made them dirty.

"It's fine," he says brusquely, his eyes doing a double-take when he sees me. I definitely look out of place here. Everyone in the building looks like they'd be on the cover of a magazine, and I'm just wearing a gray shirt and jeans.

"Hey," I say, leaning forward to get his attention before he walks away. "What is this place?"

He raises an eyebrow at me as though wondering why I wandered in here if I don't know what the place is.

"Cherie," he drawls, looking me up and down, and based on the way he frowns, it looks like he's not a fan of what he sees. "Fashion, beauty, rebranding, and makeovers."

"What was that last one?"

"Todd!" someone calls from the other end of the room, and he jumps before turning and hurrying away from me, his face flushed a deep scarlet. Lola reappears at my side, grinning up at me and looking like she's sure she's won.

"Devon," she says, "meet Brandy. She's going to be in charge of your makeover today."

"For both of you," Brandy says, stretching out her hand for me to shake. I glance from her to Lola. Lola presses her lips together when Brandy continues, "I just have to get my hands on you and give you some styles to try."

"Okay," Lola mutters, glancing at me. I stifle a laugh at her distress. It's clear she wanted this to be all about me. I imagine her sitting back and sipping on a drink while I get manhandled like a Ken doll.

"This will be fun," I lean over and whisper in her ear. "Makeovers at the same time."

"I don't need a makeover," she whispers back, cutting her eyes to Brandy, who's leading us to a room in the back. "I have impeccable style."

Today, she's wearing a jean skirt and a top with daisies on it. Her earrings are also daisies, and her sneakers are so white that they hurt my eyes.

"Agreed," I say, loving how she tries to hide her smile.

We're led into the back room, and after we give our sizes, the stylists bring out a few racks of clothing for us to try. My first outfit feels wrong—shorts with inseams inches shorter than I would usually wear and a loose, flowing overshirt.

"I feel like I drink craft beer," I mutter, but when I look up, Lola's eyes are wide, and there's a slight blush on her face. "What?" I ask, clearing my throat. "That bad?"

"Yeah," she coughs, quickly looking away. "The…shorts."

I turn and look in the mirror again, catching her when she takes another quick glance. So, she likes the shorts. I head back into my changing room to take off my outfit. When I come out again, Lola is wearing a sleek, shimmering dress in a shade of purple so dark that it's practically black.

It's not like her clothes are shapeless, but she definitely wears more sweaters than any other girl I've dated. This is not a sweater—it cups her ass, hugs her stomach, and accentuates her hips. I want to peel it off her.

"What?" she asks, a smile quirking at the corner of her lips. "That bad?"

We go back and forth like that for a while, and I get the sense the stylists aren't aiming to remake our wardrobes but rather seeking to push our boundaries and make us try things we never would have otherwise.

When we're wrapping up, I sneakily buy the outfit with the shorts, wanting to surprise Lola by wearing it on one of our dates.

Fake dates, I remind myself. Lola would not be going out with me if it weren't for our little arrangement. I swipe my card to buy the clothes anyway.