Ten days. That’s all I’m asking for. But not one of my NHL teammates is willing to cough up a sister, cousin, or trusted friend to play my fake girlfriend for this wedding. Pucking BS. Yeah, my mouth has been known to get me into places I don’t belong. But this Class Five panty melter is on lockdown because the last thing I need is another complication. I’m about to give up when fate delivers the answer to my prayers. I’m not her type. She doesn’t date jocks. All this sharp, sexy overachie...