The Wrong Guy Bet (Summer Girls, Hockey Boys #3)

Chapter One

Piper

Piper Quinn had been publicly single for eleven days, six hours, and approximately four thousand unwanted opinions when Tyler Donovan handed her a microphone and asked if she believed in love.

She looked at him.

Then at the phone streaming their faces to the official Lake Briar Summer Challenge account.

Then at the handwritten sign behind him that read:

FINAL SUMMER SHOWDOWN LIVE

Someone had decorated the word final with hearts.

That person had clearly never experienced a breakup video with three million views.

“I believe love is a private medical condition,” Piper said. “Like a rash. You handle it quietly and avoid showing strangers.”

The crowd gathered around the main deck laughed.

Tyler pointed at her with the delighted expression of a man who had just discovered a loose electrical wire and intended to lick it.

“That is not a no.”

“It is aggressively a no.”

Beside the camera, Maren Brooks lowered her sunglasses and gave Piper a look that meant she had warned everyone not to improvise.

Piper had also warned everyone not to improvise.

Unfortunately, Tyler treated warnings as creative prompts.

The late afternoon sun spilled across Lake Briar, turning the water gold behind the temporary stage.

Families filled the community lawn. Kids in Ridgeview hockey shirts ran between the skills stations.

Music played from speakers near the sponsor tents, and the old rental dock had been wrapped in string lights for the final weekend of the summer challenge.

It should have been beautiful.

It was beautiful.

Piper hated that she had become too professionally trained to stop noticing good event lighting during personal collapse.

She shifted the microphone to her other hand and smiled toward the phone.

Not her real smile.

Her real smile had been missing since Owen Keller uploaded a seven-minute video titled The Truth About Dating Piper Quinn and informed the internet that she was controlling, impossible to please, and more interested in creating the perfect moment than living one.

The video had not mentioned that he filmed three takes.

It had also not mentioned the woman from his office whose earrings Piper found beside his bed.

Apparently, context damaged engagement.

Piper’s smile remained steady.

She had built an event-planning business on smiles exactly like this one. Bright. Relaxed. Reassuring. The expression of a woman who could handle a flooded reception tent, an absent caterer, and a bride who had just discovered her father’s new wife had worn ivory.

She could certainly handle Tyler Donovan.

Probably.

“Piper,” Tyler said, leaning closer, “the viewers want to know whether the breakup has changed your position on relationships.”

“The viewers should develop hobbies.”

Maren made a choking sound behind the camera.

Ava Lane, standing at the edge of the stage beside Nate Brennan, covered her mouth with one hand. Nate looked openly entertained, which felt unfair. He already had a girlfriend. He had no personal risk here.

Neither did Griffin Hayes, who stood beside Maren with one hand resting at the small of her back and the exhausted expression of a man realizing his teammates had learned nothing from the previous eight weeks.

“Tyler,” Griffin said, “move on to the Summer Showdown schedule.”

“I am building anticipation.”

“You are building evidence.”

Beckett Monroe called from somewhere near the front, “Let the artist work.”

“You are not helping,” Griffin said.

“I have never claimed to.”

Piper looked past Tyler toward the crowd. People held up phones. Comments rolled rapidly across the live screen mounted beside the stage.

She caught pieces as they moved.

SHE IS SO FUNNY

OWEN NEVER DESERVED HER

ASK HER ABOUT THE HOCKEY PLAYER

Piper’s smile nearly slipped.

There was no hockey player.

That rumor had started because someone photographed her leaving Briar Bean beside Miles Carter after a planning meeting. Miles had been carrying twelve iced coffees and complaining about oat milk.

It had been the least romantic walk in human history.

The internet had still added music.

Tyler glanced at the screen.

His entire face brightened.

“No,” Piper said.

“I have not said anything.”

“You looked inspired.”

“That feels unfair.”

“It is based on experience.”

Tyler rotated toward the audience. “Apparently, people want to know if Piper would consider a summer rebound.”

A cheer rose from the lawn.

Piper stared at him.

The official event microphone was still in her hand.

There were children present.

Both facts prevented the response he deserved.

“Summer ends in nine days,” she said.

“Perfect. Low commitment.”

“Like your decision-making.”

“Thank you.”

“That was not praise.”

Tyler looked toward the live comments. “People are suggesting candidates.”

Behind him, Griffin closed his eyes.

Nate folded his arms. “We should go.”

Ava looked up at him. “Why?”

“Because when Tyler starts saying candidates, someone gets legally involved.”

“Emotionally or actually?”

“Yes.”

Piper could have ended it.

She should have ended it.

She was the event director for the final Summer Showdown. She had schedules in her bag, emergency contacts in her phone, and an entire closing weekend to protect from Ridgeview hockey players who treated public embarrassment like a renewable resource.

All she had to do was return the microphone to Tyler and announce the next event.

Instead, the giant screen refreshed.

A clip from Owen’s video filled it.

Piper froze.

Her former boyfriend appeared twenty feet tall behind her, seated in the carefully lit home office she had designed for him.

His voice rolled across the community lawn.

“Piper does not really date people. She manages them. Everything has to fit the version of her life she wants everyone else to see.”

The crowd went silent.

Maren yanked at the streaming controls.

The video disappeared.

Too late.

Piper stood onstage with a microphone in her hand and hundreds of people pretending they had not just watched her ex explain why loving her felt like unpaid employment.

Her lungs tightened.

Not now.

She could break later.

Later had private bathrooms, locked doors, and no official event livestream.

Maren moved toward her. “Piper, the clip came through the comment feed. I am cutting the live.”

“No.”

Maren stopped.

Piper looked at the phone.

The viewer count had doubled.

Of course it had.

Public pain performed beautifully online.

She lifted the microphone.

“Owen is right about one thing.”

Ava’s eyes widened.

Griffin muttered something that sounded like a prayer.

Piper smiled at the camera.

“I am excellent at planning.”

The comments accelerated.

“I plan weddings, festivals, corporate retreats, charity weekends, and one memorial service that involved three ex-wives and an alpaca. I can make almost anything look functional for thirty days.”

Tyler turned toward her slowly.

Piper saw the exact moment the idea entered his brain.

She should have stopped speaking.

Instead, anger pushed the next words out.

“A fake relationship would be easy.”

The crowd made a sound.

Not a cheer.

Not yet.

It was the collective inhale of people who had just seen someone place a match beside gasoline.

Maren’s face went blank.

Griffin looked at Tyler.

“Do not.”

Tyler’s mouth opened.

“Do not,” Griffin repeated.

Tyler looked wounded. “You do not even know what I was going to say.”

“Yes, I do.”

“Then we are connecting creatively.”

Piper lowered the microphone. “There will be no connecting.”

Tyler took one step closer.

“You just said you could fake-date someone for thirty days.”

“I also said summer ends in nine.”

“So this becomes an early fall initiative.”

“No.”

“What if it raised money for the final scholarship goal?”

Griffin pointed at him. “Stop attaching donations to bad decisions.”

“They become community-minded bad decisions.”

Ava called, “Still bad.”

Nate nodded. “Usually worse.”

The audience had begun chanting.

Not words at first.

Just noise.

Then Beckett cupped his hands around his mouth.

“BOY-FRIEND BET.”

Piper turned toward him.

Beckett smiled as if they were sharing an artistic breakthrough.

The chant caught.

“BOY-FRIEND BET. BOY-FRIEND BET.”

Tyler raised both hands like a conductor.

Griffin moved toward him.

Maren intercepted Griffin with one palm against his chest, which was probably the only reason Tyler remained alive.

Piper looked at the giant screen.

The comments had become a wall of names.

BECKETT

MILES

TYLER FOR MAXIMUM CHAOS

LITERALLY ANYONE BUT TYLER

COOPER

That final name repeated.

Again.

Again.

Again.

Piper’s stomach reacted before her thoughts did.

Ridiculous.

Emmett Novak barely spoke to her.

Emmett barely spoke to anyone.

Ridgeview’s starting goalie had spent the summer appearing silently in doorways, preventing minor disasters, and delivering one dry sentence before leaving everyone else to process the damage.

He was six foot three, broad through the shoulders, and built like someone had designed a locked door and taught it to skate.

He also looked at Piper as if he knew exactly when she was performing.

Which was rude.

And unsettling.

And not relevant.

“Absolutely not Emmett,” she said.

The crowd cheered louder.

Tyler’s eyebrows rose.

Piper realized her error.

“No,” she said. “That was not a vote. That was a complete rejection of the premise.”

“Why not Emmett?” Tyler asked.

“Because he dislikes me.”

From the side of the stage, Miles called, “Emmett dislikes most things.”

“Exactly.”

“That does not make you special.”

“Thank you, Miles.”

“You are welcome.”

Tyler moved closer to the camera. “For everyone joining late, professional event planner Piper Quinn claims she can maintain a fake relationship for thirty days without developing feelings.”

“That is not what I said.”

“It is spiritually what you said.”

“There should be laws against spiritual quoting.”

“And she has specifically rejected Emmett Novak.”

“I rejected everyone.”

“But Emmett first.”

“I said his name because the comments did.”

“Subconscious selection.”

Piper looked toward Griffin. “Control your teammate.”

“I have been trying since May.”