Pulling The Goalie : A Fake Dating Sports Romance by Alannah Carbonneau

Author:Alannah Carbonneau [Carbonneau, Alannah]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2023-09-25T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 25

Isaac

I'm a jerk for bringing her here. I was raised with these people, with this drama. I understand the game we're playing. The scoreboard.

I know how to move the pieces of these conversations, knocking pawns and knights in my play for the king.

Ayla is innocent. Unlike these people—my family—she doesn't think three steps ahead.

She's not a monster, a master manipulator of emotions intent to bend the scene to best serve herself. I’m the ass, because I didn’t prepare her for this. I never once coached her to stand in the lion’s den. If I’m being honest, I hadn’t once thought about it like this. As though I’d be feeding her—innocent, sweet Ayla—to the predators I call family.

She dodged cutthroat questions meant to knock her down repeatedly through dinner. A few well-placed jabs from Aunt Lydia had to have left her feeling inadequate amongst the wealthy she dined with. Still, she took each hit with that sweet smile she gave everyone, as though Lydia insinuating she was nothing more than something to pass my time didn’t hurt her. Maybe it didn’t. We weren’t real, after all. So maybe the joke was on Aunt Lydia, the bitter bitch, in the end.

Still, between Aunt Lydia’s underhanded comments and Ryder constantly eye-fucking her, she had to be exhausted. I was, and I was used to this shit. Underhanded politics was a second language in my family, and yet it had taken all I had to grit my teeth and swallow my food like it didn’t settle like poison in my gut.

As it was, a solid fantasy of me knocking a few teeth from Ryder’s pretty-boy smile kept me calm enough to keep from turning this joke of a family dinner into dinner and a show. It was almost like they were trying to make her squirm, and I figured that was a good possibility. Grandfather Theodor would see just what she was made of, which, I supposed, was the point.

Still, the way Ryder watched her like he couldn’t fucking get enough pissed me off. How he looked at her shouldn’t matter to me. She’s my fake girlfriend, and this is set to expire in just a handful of dates and one popped cherry.

Hell. But I want to grind my fist into his face when he looks at her like he wants to taste her.

I don’t know why I feel the way I do. Ryder’s had my seconds before. I’ve never given a single shit. But deep down, I know I care about him having Ayla. I shouldn’t, but I do.

You don’t have the right to care, man. I remind myself on repeat as I scrub my hands down my face, leaning back in the armchair as Ayla excuses herself to the restroom. I almost follow her, feel the pull of that desire as though I’m tethered to her by some divine chain, but I’m stopped by Grandfather Keller claiming the chair next to mine.

“She’s quite a girl.” He leans back, fingers loose around the crystal tumbler of scotch resting on the arm of the chair.

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