Page 22 of Faking the Face Off

I’m busy running my tongue along my teeth to make sure there’s no food stuck in them already—I’ve been done wrong by fan photos before—when she turns her attention to me.

“I’m sorry to bother you,” she says, still clutching her phone.

I wave a hand in the air. This is part of being a hockey player in the spotlight that I like. “It’s no problem.”

“Oh, good,” she says, like she’s breathing a sigh of relief. She thrusts her phone in my direction. “Do you mind taking the picture?”

As she shoves her phone into the palm of my hand, I admit, I’m stunned. When my eyes meet Dixon’s I can tell he’s trying tonot crack up, but little does he know that I’m officially having a crisis over here.

I take the photo and hand her phone back, busying myself with my plate so I can avoid conversation, but I should know better. Dixon ain’t having it.

“What the…?” he says, cracking up as she skips away. “How is it that she doesn’t know who you are?”

“I’m sure there’s a positive in it,” I say, making light. I’m not sure if the cone of silence that Anna and I have agreed to should also include Dixon. But I don’t see how I can get through the next few weeks without him.

“I’m sure,” he says before shoveling a giant heaping portion of eggs and hash into his mouth, shutting him up for at least the next few minutes.

Dixon chews away, blissfully unaware of the mental spiral currently unfolding in my head. I push a stray piece of bacon around my plate, pretending I’m cool, but my brain won’t stop replaying Anna’s words from last night.

Jimmy and the suits have their eye on me and I need to step up and deliver or…I can’t even think about what the ‘or’ means. I can only imagine the worst. Maybe it’s a side effect of this imposter syndrome thing?

Honestly, it wasn’t exactly a newsflash. The whispers had been growing louder over the past few months—but when it was about how my numbers of followers weren’t where they needed to be, I didn’t take it seriously. I play ice hockey. A defenseman. Not a social media influencer who is paid for their posts.

But hearing it from Anna made it real. And now this fan, not even recognizing me? A tiny part of my brain screams,You’re irrelevant, Ollie. Just another name waiting to get crossed off.

Dixon swallows and points his fork at me. “Okay, seriously, man. Are you good?”

“Yeah.” I stab a piece of sausage, though I’ve lost any real desire to eat. “Totally fine.”

“You sure? Because you’ve got that look.”

I glance up. “What look?”

“The one where you’re thinking so hard, you might actually combust.” He smirks, but there’s curiosity behind his eyes.

I roll my shoulders, keeping my tone casual. “Got stuff on my mind. No big deal.”

It’s not exactly a lie, but it’s not the full truth, either. Dixon’s one of the few people I trust, but droppingHey, by the way, I’m gonna start fake-dating Anna to save her dad while also trying to save my careerfeels a little...a lot.

For now, I’ll keep it under wraps. At least until I’m sure this ridiculous plan might actually work.

Dixon shrugs and dives back into his breakfast, muttering something about people needing to brush up on their hockey knowledge. I use the moment of distraction to reach for my phone, subtly unlocking it under the table.

The photo Anna and I staged last night stares back at me. Her bright smile, my arm slung around her shoulders, the backdrop of my front porch with its lights shining bright—it's charming. It looks...real. Like we’re the kind of couple who spends Sunday afternoons hanging out together and teasing each other about whose turn it is to pick up takeout for dinner.

I hesitate for a split second before posting, along with a caption that is short and to the point and was prepared by Sutton for me to use:When life surprises you with something—or someone—worth taking a shot on.

My thumb hovers over the screen as the post uploads, and I glance up to make sure Dixon hasn’t noticed. He’s too busy buttering a biscuit to care, but when my phone buzzes a moment later with the first like, I can’t help the flicker of satisfaction that flares in my chest.

This is it. Step one of Operation Save Anna’s Dad—and My Job.

I shove the phone back in my pocket, suddenly hyper-aware of Dixon’s eyes narrowing at me.

“What are you up to?” he asks, his voice suspicious.

“Nothing,” I say quickly, stabbing another piece of sausage.

“Uh-huh. Sure.” Dixon’s smirk returns, slow and knowing. “You’ve got that guilty look again, but fine. Keep your secrets for now.”

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