Tricky Puck: a Fake Fiancee Hockey Rom-Com (Portsmouth Whalers Hockey Romance)

Chapter 1

“Matchmaker? You hired a matchmaker?” I stare at Grandma, trying to find a crack in her determination. But she’s stalwart in her desire to see me settled down, and I was fool enough to tell her I’d give her anything she wanted for her 90th birthday.

“I was thinking along the lines of a new living room or a trip to Hawaii.” But no. She wants me to get fucking engaged.

“You’re always so full of jokes. That’s good. Girls love a sense of humor.”

“Grandma, you know I want to do this for you. I’ll definitely settle down and get married one of?—”

“By Christmas.”

“What?”

“A Christmas wedding would be perfect,” Mom says, grinning, and I shoot her a glare over the birthday cake. “Let’s not forget about the tragedy of your Great-Uncle Link,” she adds.

Dad grunts at me in between bites. He knows better than to interfere with Grandma. He owes the woman far too much to argue. And then there’s the fact that he, too, was deeply affected by my great uncle’s tragic demise—enough to name me after a man I never knew.

Dad often mentions my similarities to my departed uncle, including my desire to remain a bachelor. In contrast, Dad’s only ambition in life has ever been to have a big family and to give my mother whatever she wants. Check and check.

I try again. “Grandma, Christmas is a little fast to settle down. I don’t even have a girlfriend?—”

“You leave that to me,” she says, smiling. “That’s where the matchmaker comes in. She already has a nice young lady lined up for you.” She pats my hand again like she’s reassuring me. Meanwhile, my heart starts beating faster than a machine gun. Not a good sign.

“How long have you been scheming—I mean, planning this?”

“It didn’t take long. You’re a great catch, Link-my-bambino. Did you know that?” She smirks, and my cheek flinches, but I squelch the smile.

I cough to hide my discomfort. “I may have gotten that impression.” From all the women who throw themselves at me after every single hockey game, all the beautiful, sexy women who shower their considerable attention on me—the kind of attention I’ve grown fond of and want more of.

Not that I’m a man-whore, but variety is the spice of life, right? Didn’t someone say that somewhere? Well, whoever said it was right. I love my spicy life, and now that I’m established on a team with a multi-year, big-bucks contract, I was looking forward to playing the ultimate chick magnet this season.

My sisters surround me with congratulations like it’s a done deal and the date is set. Christmas? That’s only three fucking months away.

“Wait a second—Grandma, I know this means a lot to you, and I have every intention of making good on my promise to give you whatever you want—but you want me married by Christmas? That’s…” So fucking crazy. “So fast.”

“He’s right, Ma,” my mother says. “It takes at least six months to plan a big wedding,”

I glare at her again. She’s enjoying this. In fact, I wouldn’t put it past her if she didn’t encourage grandma to make this outrageous birthday request.

And shit—I set myself up by wanting to give her anything and everything she wants for her birthday because she’s fucking 90 years old, and I know deep down—though the dark understanding seeps up and takes hold of me now—that grandma may not be around much longer.

Fuck that. She has at least another ten years. That’s what I firmly believe.

“You should plan the wedding for after the hockey season,” my youngest sister, Rose, says to my mother. She punches my shoulder. Rose is all about hockey. She’s almost as obsessed with playing as I am and a far more talented player going into her senior year at UNH. She transferred there after I got traded to the Portsmouth Whalers. She’ll practically be a neighbor. I’ll finally have a chance to see her play.

“You’re right, Rose. A June wedding would be perfect,” Mom says. “What do you think, Ma?”

“I’ll try to hang on?—”

“Don’t say that.” I put an arm around Grandma’s shoulder. “You’re fine. You’ll outlive us all.” I lean in and whisper, “Promise me.”

She squeezes my arm and nods in response, and the anaconda squeezing my chest loosens its grip—but only by a fraction.

Because I now realize I’m going to be dating someone by Christmas.

Worse, I don’t have a single fucking idea who my girlfriend will be.

She whispers for my ears only. “You need this, my bambino. It breaks my heart to see you lonely, with no woman who understands you and treasures you except your withered old grandma. I don’t want you to end up like your Uncle?—”

“I’m not.” I look into her sad old eyes, and it slams into me that she’s not going to be convinced that I’m perfectly happy the way things are, that I don’t need any more women in my life than the ones in this room, understanding or not. Besides, she’s wrong. My sister Rose gets me.

Fuck. That’s pathetic.

I feel a twinge like someone’s tightening a vice clamped on my chest. My right eye twitches.

“Engaged by Christmas.” Granny’s not smiling, and her voice sounds firm, the same way it did when I was in grade school when she told me I could absolutely not jump off the roof into the pile of snow no matter how much money I had riding on the bet.

Without wavering in her seriousness, she goes on. “I hired a matchmaker because I want to ensure we find the best possible young lady for you. You’re a catch, Lincoln. A strapping boy like you and a star hockey player in the NHL. No trouble is too much when it comes to finding your life partner.”

Shit. “Thank you, Grandma. That’s sweet of you.” What else can I say?

“Of course. Nothing’s too good for you.” Now she smiles, but it’s the kind of smile I recognize—the devilish kind. I hold my breath because she has something more to say. “You’ll be meeting her tonight.”

“Tonight—”

“The matchmaker’s arranged for you to take her to dinner at Bill’s Food and Drink in midtown Manhattan. I’m told it’s a nice place with good food.”

In minor miracle news, I don’t swear out loud. But that only means my head feels like it’s about to explode.