I'm just trying to get through this semester and forget my checkered past. My roommate, the star winger for our school's hockey team and resident filthy-rich boy, has other plans. He needs a date for a gala his family is hosting, and he's picked me to be his beard. Though, since I'm male, I'm sure the term does not apply.

It seems that his cousins are bent on setting him up with any single guy they know, gay or not, so my roomie is taking things into his own hands and he wants to bring me as his date. That's his plan anyway. It doesn't matter that I'm "not gay" as he says. Any male body will do.

Little does he know, I very much swing his way. I've been crushing on him since the day we moved in together. I just hide my feelings better than he could dream of—even when he walks out of the shower all steamy and hot and devilish temptation with a big stick—a hockey stick, of course.

I have good reason. My past and his wealthy family will never mix. Problem is, I just can't say no.

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