Pucked as a Pretend Girlfriend

Prologue

Lana

Three hours. That’s how long my acceptance letter from Rice University had been my golden ticket out of Los Angeles.

But now, the paper feels heavy in my hands.

“We tried, sweetie,” Mom says, lowering her gray eyes to where she’s pushing the last of her mashed potatoes around with her fork.

I glance at Dad. He looks more fragile than ever, even though he’s doing better. My eyes rest on the jagged edge of the scar peeking out from under his shirt, the skin still slightly sallow.

“It’s just…with your father’s surgery—” Mom chokes on the words.

I nod, holding back tears as my nearly untouched plate blurs.

“We tried to replenish the account before your acceptance letters started coming in, but between physical therapy, the outstanding hospital bills, and the cost of medications…It wasn’t as easy as we’d anticipated.” I can hear the sincerity in her voice.

“I’m sorry, pancake. Even with the partial scholarship they’re offering, we just don’t have the money,” Dad adds, voice thick with tears he’s trying to hold back.

Anger flares in my chest, immediately followed by guilt.

How can I be mad at them? If they hadn’t used my college fund, Dad might not be sitting here now.

His heart had failed, forcing him to need emergency surgery. I can’t blame them for choosing his life over my college tuition, and I know they wouldn’t have done it if there were other options.

But emotions aren’t always logical, and I can feel the jagged edges of my shattered expectations in every breath.

“May I be excused?” I finally manage around the lump in my throat.

“Of course, sweetie,” Mom says softly.

I gather up the acceptance packet and give both of them a quick hug before ducking out the back door. The night air feels hot and sticky from the June Gloom rainstorm we had this afternoon.

I clutch the packet to my chest, wishing there was some way I could make it work.

My phone buzzes and I see a text from my best friend Anna. She said she’s sorry and maybe I could try manifesting something. She got into this whole new age, spiritual nonsense and keeps pushing me to try it.

I sit down, my back against the side of the house, and stare at the message.

She sends me a TikTok about how to manifest your dreams. I don’t really believe in any of this stuff. It all seems pretty dumb and she knows that, but I still play the video.

There’s some hippy chick telling me to close my eyes and focus on what I want.

Oh, what the hell. I set my phone down beside me, close my eyes, and picture myself walking onto campus for the first time, feeling the dry heat of the Texas air. I imagine how it’d feel to enter the air conditioned building and walk to class.

“This is stupid,” I mutter, feeling another wave of disappointment washing over me. I’ll just have to start applying for a summer job so I can pay for tuition at Los Angeles City College, and maybe I’ll be able to save enough while in school to transfer in a couple years.

That thought is what sends me over the edge and the tears finally fall.

I choke back a sob and pull my knees to my chest. My shoulders shake with each rush of tears as I desperately try to think of a backup plan.

There’s loans, grants, and work-study programs, but my parents make too much for me to qualify for student aid, yet not enough to replenish my college fund while handling medical expenses. It’s not fair.

My phone buzzes again, startling me. I blink away the tears and pick it up, ready to dismiss the call. Then I realize it’s Tucker, so I answer.

“Hey, big brother.” My voice shakes.

“Hey, little sister,” he says sympathetically. “Mom called earlier when she saw your packet from Rice in the mail.”

“Yeah…” I sniffle, and twirl a long, blonde strand of hair around my fingers.

“Stop crying, silly.” His voice is crisp and completely unbothered. What the hell?

“Why?” I pout, even though he can’t see it.

“Cause you’re still going to Rice.” I pull the phone away from my ear and stare at it in shock. Did he just say what I think he said?

“Can you repeat that?” I ask, bringing the phone back up to my ear.

“You’re still going to Rice,” he repeats. “You’ll get to meet all those teachers you’ve been so excited about and lose sleep for projects I’ll never understand.”

Is he pranking me?

“What do you mean? Mom and Dad just told me—”

“I know what happened,” Tucker says softly, his usual military induced stoicism softening enough to let his big brother protectiveness come through. “Look, my recent deployment bonus just cleared, and it’s sitting in my account right now.”

“What? No, Tucker, I can’t—”

He keeps talking, always the diligent older brother.

He told me when I was younger that everyone was surprised when Mom got pregnant again, but that I’m the best thing to ever happen to him.

“It’s more than enough to cover the tuition that your scholarship doesn’t cover for the first year.

That gives us twelve months to apply for other scholarships and figure out financing for the other three years. ”

My heart soars as hope fills my veins. For a fraction of a second, I feel like I could fly, but then comes the sun, and like Icarus, the reality of my situation brings me crashing back down to earth.

I let out a defeated sigh. “That’s incredibly generous of you, but…

I still can’t go. Tuition is only half the problem.

I won’t have money for living expenses, rent, or groceries.

My advisor told me the course load will be intense and most of the labs I’ll need to use are only open during normal working hours.

So I’d only be able to work weekends, and besides, I don’t know anyone I could room with. ”

Tucker chuckles like I’ve just told him a joke. “Do you really think your big brother wouldn’t figure all that out before calling?”

“Well…” Tucker has always been the guy with a plan B, C, and D.

“You remember Ryan, right? He’s got a place out there and said he’d be willing to let you stay with him.”

The name hits me like an electric shock, making my heart race and skin tingle.

“Ryan?” I blurt. “As in, your best friend Ryan? As in, the goalie for the Houston Lone Stars? Absolutely not. I could never impose on him like that. Besides, he’s an adult with his own life and I’m just…his best friend’s annoying little sister.”

“You wouldn’t be imposing. He travels most of the hockey season. Between away games, training camps, and travel for different events, his apartment sits empty half the season. He said you’d actually be doing him a huge favor by looking after the place while he’s gone.”

I open my mouth to protest, but falter. Did Ryan really agree to let me live with him? I consider the offer, my mind drifting to the last picture I saw of him.

It was in one of the sports magazines Dad brought home.

Ryan was in his gear—his helmet in hand—looking at the camera with hardened hazel-brown eyes, his medium brown hair tousled and damp, jaw tight, his lips a thin line.

Just as broody as the teenager I remember.

Mom and Dad always comment on how intimidating he looks, but I’ve never seen him that way.

There’s something protective in his hard stare that draws me in.

I’ve never thought too hard about why I always save his pictures in my journal when they’re finished with the magazines, but now, with the thought of living under the same roof as him sending a shiver through me and heat rushing to my cheeks, I think I finally understand.

I used to follow Tucker and Ryan around like an adoring puppy before he left for some prestigious college hockey program and Tucker left for basic training. Ryan had always been patient with me, and I wonder if he’ll still be that way.

“Are you sure he’s okay with this?” I ask quietly, my fears crumbling under the weight of my desire to go to Texas.

“Pinky swear,” Tucker says warmly, “I told you, I’ve always got your back. I won’t let anything stand in the way of your dreams.”

Tears roll down my cheeks again, happy this time. “Thank you, Tucker. Truly.”

“You’re welcome. Now go give Mom and Dad a hug for me,” Tucker says before we hang up.

I lower the phone and stare at it in disbelief.

I’m going to Texas. Not only that, I’m going to Rice!

I want to laugh or cry or both. Instead, I stay where I’m at and stare up at the stars. I’m going to be living under the same roof as Ryan Walker…

Picking up my phone again, I pull up Tucker’s Instagram page, remembering a picture he posted recently of the two of them from his last visit to Texas. When the page loads, I pause. A wave of heat works its way down my chest and between my thighs.

I shift my legs, feeling tingly all over. Ryan’s smile is breathtaking. He never smiles like that for hockey promos.

In the picture, he and Tucker—both far broader than they were last time we were all together nearly ten years ago—are half-hugging each other while holding ice-cream cones.

Who took this picture? Was it a woman?

A wave of jealousy courses through me, heating my blood. I have no right to feel jealous, but what if his smile was for her and not the camera?

I huff and search for Ryan’s profile, gasping when I see the new promo shots of him on the ice. One is a close up of his face. His helmet covers most of it, except for his eyes. They’re intense and focused, obviously watching the puck.

I imagine him watching me that way. His gold-flecked hazel eyes cataloging every inch of my body, his hands gripping my thighs or my wrists instead of the stick, his muscular thighs straddling my hips, holding me in place.

“Pancake? You alright out here?” Dad’s voice breaks through my fantasy, and I lower my phone and jump.

“Yeah! I’m okay. I was just talking to Tucker.” Ignoring the heat between my legs, I go back inside to tell my parents the good news.