The Hockey Pact: A Marriage of Convenience Hockey Romance
By Riley Keenan
Romance is dead, and I killed it. My marriage proposal included a PowerPoint presentation, projected P&L statements, and a firm handshake.
But Caleb's bank account could resurrect my failing restaurant, so here we are, negotiating terms of holy matrimony like it's a trade deal.
Look, I'm not proud of marrying Caleb for money. But when you're three months from losing your restaurant and the apartment above it where you live, desperate times call for desperate weddings.
The Boston NHL tea...
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Romance is dead, and I killed it. My marriage proposal included a PowerPoint presentation, projected P&L statements, and a firm handshake.
But Caleb's bank account could resurrect my failing restaurant, so here we are, negotiating terms of holy matrimony like it's a trade deal.
Look, I'm not proud of marrying Caleb for money. But when you're three months from losing your restaurant and the apartment above it where you live, desperate times call for desperate weddings.
The Boston NHL team's star right winger needs a wife to convince his stuffy team owner he's captain material. I need seventy-five thousand dollars before the bank forecloses on my dreams. After one too many tequila shots, we hatch the world's most ridiculous plan: a one-year marriage contract. He gets his promotion, I get my restaurant. We shake on it. Simple.
Here's what I didn't plan for: Caleb actually knowing how to load a dishwasher. Him showing up at 2 AM to help me prep for the breakfast rush because he can't sleep after away games. The way he looks at me when I create a new dish named after his game-winning goal. Or how my traitorous heart does a full hat trick every time he calls me "wife" in that stupidly sexy voice.
Now I'm catching feelings faster than he catches pucks, and our expiration date is looming. We promised no complications. We swore this was just business. We literally signed a contract with a ‘no falling in love’ clause. Yes, it's legally binding. His agent is very thorough.
But when Caleb starts talking about what comes ‘after’ and looking at engagement rings that aren't props?
Let's just say I'm about to break every rule in our fake marriage playbook. And I've never been happier to take a penalty.
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