Parental Guidance (Ice Knights #1)(2)

She wasn’t wrong. His silence had spoken just as loudly as if he’d made any of the dumb-ass comments.

Still, there was nothing in the world they could say that would make him give in to this bizarre plan. Him? The center of all that attention? No fucking way. Even the idea of it had his stomach doing a triple spin.

“If you don’t,” Lucy said, “they’re going to trade Petrov to reshuffle the first line. This isn’t just the possibility of you earning a spot as the Ice Knights’ assistant captain on the line.”

One of those silences fell that was so heavy, there was no way the news Lucy had just delivered wasn’t true. Reshuffle? It had taken two seasons for the team to really gel with their current lineup. Sure, Petrov was coming back from injury, but he would only miss a few of the new season games, and they needed him. He wasn’t a player who scored a lot, but he was the glue for the first line. Without him? The team would be fucked. Damn, why was the front office such a bag of dicks?

“They can trade him, and for a guy just off his peak and a couple of early-round draft picks,” Peppers said. “I’m not for it, but it’s the GM’s call.”

Guilt squeezing his throat and expanding his lungs, Caleb turned back to Lucy. The look on her face wasn’t recrimination so much as an ice-cold warning that actions have consequences—and not just on the person doing the acting.

Okay, so Caleb had heard the rumblings about Petrov—but that had all been before they’d turned the last season around. Then he’d gotten injured. Training camp was a week away, then it was preseason games and the new season. Petrov was at the gym rehabbing every day to get back for it.

The Ice Knights were going to be unstoppable this season. And people would realize that if the Harbor City sports media would focus on the team instead of his viral fuckup. He sank down in his chair as the old familiar you’re-failing-again gut punch landed with a solid thud against his solar plexus.

Way to go, fuckhead.

Lucy let out a sigh and shook her head. “Here’s what we need to know. Do you want to make the perception problem that you’re a team full of privileged rich whiners go away so you can earn the A and the front office will stop eyeballing your boy Petrov?”

Caleb pinched the bridge of his nose, hoping it would stave off the ache making him think his head might explode, and nodded. “Yes.”

“Then this publicity stunt is gonna happen,” Lucy said. “Lucky for you, Bramble is totally on board with using you to promote their dating app. As the founder told me yesterday, if they can make you datable, then anyone is game.”

Ouch.

“So here’s how it works,” she continued. “Bramble requires a five-date commitment so that everyone really gets a chance to know each other. However, each party must reconfirm their interest on the app after each date. Bramble will set up the first two dates, and after that it’s up to you, your date, and your parents.”

His headache was only getting worse. “Five dates?”

“Stop whining, Caleb.” His mom gave him the look. “What’s that in comparison to being able to reach your goal?”

“Got it,” he muttered. “Five dates.”

“After each date, you’ll do a little here’s-how-the-date-went chat with your mom. Bramble will interview her and your date’s mom. That footage will be used in their latest ad campaign to show that anyone can meet their match using the app.”

Oh God. Would this nightmare ever end?

“And I already filled out most of your profile for you,” his mom added, handing him an iPad with the Bramble app open on it.

God’s answer? No. It’s only gonna get worse. Enjoy your time visiting hell, sucker.

He didn’t want to, but he looked down at the screen anyway. Just like they had for as long as he could remember, the words bunched together on the screen, overlapping and squashing in on one another as the letters jumped. It wasn’t a quick scan—but then again, it never was when it came to reading—but he managed to get through what was on the screen.

The backs of his eyeballs were aching by the time he got done, and the anxious fear that someone would realize how slow he was going twisted his gut as per usual. A quick glance around Lucy’s office confirmed that either it hadn’t taken him as long to read as his clammy palms testified or the others were working hard to pretend they hadn’t noticed. The uncertainty had him chewing the inside of his cheek, but it was better than the mocking looks and full-on taunts of “hey, stupid” he’d gotten in school. He’d take a puck to the face before living through that ever again.

“Do we have to add a picture?” he asked.

“Nope.” Lucy shook her head. “They don’t have photos in an effort to eliminate unconscious bias in dating, on the theory that users will be more open to the person on the inside that way.”

And what was inside him? A fuckup dating a chick as a publicity stunt. Yeah, he was a real catch. The whole thing just kept getting more and more messed up.

“So how do they match people?” he asked.

The grin on his mom’s face should have warned him of a fresh, new level of hell. “So glad you asked.”

She reached over and clicked on a question mark icon. A new tab opened filled with—he scrolled down and down and down—at least a billion questions. Yeah. This was Brit the Ballbuster, not Mom right now. She knew his weakness and had been convinced since forever that all he needed was to push harder, and by some sort of miracle all the letters would stay in the right order when he looked at them.