All Chapters of Faking it with the NHL’S Golden Boy: Chapter 1 - Chapter 10

***WRONG FLORA***Flora's POV It's been three good days since the worst day of my life and I was handling it terribly, thanks to no one in particular for asking.I hadn't cried again, at least not since the past four hours. Every time I thought I'd gotten a handle on it, something would sneak up on me. The notification sound Sean had personally set on my phone. A black BMW on the highway. A song Sean loved humming whenever he was with me.I'd turned the radio off twice on the drive to the airport.And here I was now after a very exhausting five hour flight in another state with exactly one agenda. One simple, non-negotiable agenda. Well maybe two—watch the NHL and get back the BMW I gifted Sean so I can sell it and pay back the thirty thousand dollars I was allegedly owing my workplace—previous workplace since I was fired actually."Baby, tell me you ate something before you boarded the plane." My dad's voice came out low and calm through the phone."Dad, I'm fine—""You know how your

***TWO DAYS HAS ELAPSED*** Flora's POV"Did you see the pass he made, Flora?" Lucille had both hands pressed to her chest as she spoke. "Those arms, Flora. Those arms were doing the work of God tonight.""He's a hockey player, Lucille. They all have strong arms, it's nothing special.""Not like those arms." She cut me a look as we moved through the post-match crowd spilling out of the stadium, bodies and noise pressing from every direction. "You know exactly what I'm talking about."I knew exactly what she was talking about.Tyler Sinclair had played tonight like the ice belonged to him personally and everyone else was simply a guest. He was fast and brutal and so completely in command of every inch of the rink that even I—who told him to his face that he wasn't my kind of guy—had found myself leaning forward in my seat twice without meaning to."All I'm saying," she continued, stepping around a group of fans in matching jerseys, "is that a man who moves like that on ice, imagine wha

***FAMILY TIES***Flora's POVMy eyes flew open, and immediately I regretted it. A hammer seemed to be pounding directly against my skull, each throb sending sharp spikes of pain through my temples. The room spun lazily as I tried to sit up, my mouth tasting like something had died in it. What the hell happened?I blinked hard, trying to focus. Lucille was sprawled on the floor beside the bed like a discarded rag doll, one arm flung over her face, snoring softly. Our clothes were scattered everywhere—my red blouse from last night draped over a lamp, Lucille’s jeans in a heap by the door, random socks and underwear forming a chaotic trail across the carpet. The suite looked like a tornado had hit it.I had zero memory of how we got back here.Groaning, I stumbled to my feet and barely made it to the bathroom before my stomach rebelled. I dropped to my knees in front of the toilet, retching violently until there was nothing left but bile and regret. When it finally stopped, I sat back ag

***QUEEN OF MISCHIEF*** Tyler's POV “Well… well… well. If it isn’t the dork of the century.” I glanced over my shoulder as I skated toward the tunnel, the towel still draped around my neck. The voice belonged to our new signing—Sean Ferrars—gliding across the ice with that cocky fucking swagger. His eyes were locked on the blonde girl from earlier. Flora. Her face contracted into a frown like they had some kind of history. Not my fucking problem. I couldn’t care less about either of them. I pushed through the locker room door, the heavy slam echoing behind me. The win still hummed in my veins—that last goal had been pure dominance, the puck slamming into the net as the clock hit zero. I was the Devil on Ice for a reason. But the girl’s desperate little approach in the tunnel had soured the high. Hi Ty. You were moving like the ice belonged to you. What a pathetic load of bullshit. I stripped off my sweaty jersey, muscles burning pleasantly from the game, and tossed it into m

***GOTHIC GALA***Flora's POVWhat the heavenly fuck?I stared at the phone screen shoved inches from my face, my eyebrows knitted together so tightly it almost hurt. The picture staring back at me was...something else. A woman dressed head to toe in full gothic glory—all black clothes clinging to her body, jet-black hair falling straight like a curtain, heavy dark eyeliner that could cut glass, deep black lipstick, a chunky silver cross necklace, and knuckle rings that looked like something that came from thanos finger.Hell.She looked like she’d stepped out of a Tim Burton movie.The curly-haired girl pulled her phone back with a proud little smirk. “Trust me, it works. Guys like that — cold, distant — they lose their minds over the gothic vibe. It’s the mystery. The whole ‘don’t touch me I’m dangerous’ energy.”Another girl with blonde hair leaned forward, eyes sparkling with excitement. “Exactly. You’ve got to sell it hard. You’ve got to have your boobs out, chew your gum slow an