Page 12 of Faking the Rules

My name on his lips still jolts something inside me—a dangerous spark I need to extinguish before it grows. "Yes, you do," I agree, trying to sound businesslike despite our intimate posture. "So what's our next move?"

"Let me walk you back to your dorm," he says, nodding to his lingering teammates in farewell as he guides me toward the exit. "We should talk strategy."

The night air is sharp with cold when we emerge from the arena, the campus quiet under a blanket of stars. Declan shrugs out of his team jacket and drapes it over my shoulders before I can protest.

"I don't need—"

"You're shivering," he interrupts. "And it's what a boyfriend would do."

"There's no one around to perform for," I point out, even as I pull the jacket closer, surrounding myself with his lingering warmth and scent. Heat slides through my body, Declan’s closeness warming more than his jacket.

"Maybe I'm staying in character." His smile is soft, mischievous. "Method acting."

We walk in surprisingly comfortable silence for a few minutes, our breath fogging in the cold air. The campus is beautiful at night, historic buildings illuminated against the darkness, paths winding through carefully landscaped quads. In another life, with another person, this might even be romantic.

"You were watching," Declan says suddenly.

"What?"

"During the game. You were actually watching, not reading." There's a hint of wonder in his voice. "I kept looking for you between shifts, expecting to see your nose in a book, but you were following the play."

Heat creeps up my neck. "Your mother was explaining the rules. It seemed rude not to pay attention."

"And the goal?" He's watching me carefully, a slight smirk playing at his lips. "Did you cheer?"

I had. Embarrassingly loudly, in fact, caught up in the moment despite myself. "It was a reflex," I dismiss. "Everyone was cheering."

His laugh is warm, genuine. "Sure, Gardner. Whatever you say."

We stop at the entrance to my residence hall, a towering brick building that houses mainly seniors and transfer students. The moment feels suddenly weighted, the script for this scene unclear.

"So, Friday," I say, shrugging out of his jacket and handing it back. "What should I expect?"

"Nothing too intense. Dinner, conversation, probably some embarrassing childhood stories from my mother." He takes the jacket, fingers brushing mine in the exchange. "Wear something nice but not formal. My parents are traditional, but they're not stuffy."

"And what's our story? How long have we been together? How did it start?"

"We still keep it simple," he advises. "We met in Harmon's class. I asked you out after a few study sessions. We've been seeing each other about a month."

"And they're not suspicious about the sudden girlfriend? When you apparently haven't had a serious relationship before?"

Something flickers across his face—a shadow of emotion I can't quite identify. "Let me worry about that."

"This is going to blow up in our faces," I mutter, reality crashing back as I consider the web of lies we're spinning. "This was supposed to be a simple arrangement, and now I'm having dinner with your family."

"It'll be fine." He steps closer, one hand lifting to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. The gesture is becoming familiar, his touch lingering against my cheek. "Trust me."

Trust. Such a dangerous word. Especially when spoken by a man with ocean eyes and broad shoulders and more secrets than I know.

For a moment, everything seems to stop, and for another moment, I’m sure he’s going to kiss me. But that’s crazy.

"I should go," I say, stepping back from his touch. "I have an early morning tomorrow."

He nods, accepting the retreat. "I'll text you details for Friday." He starts to turn away, then pauses. "And Ellie? Thank you. For tonight. It meant a lot."

As I watch him walk away, his jacket slung over one broad shoulder, I'm struck by how quickly the lines are blurring—between fake and real, between performance and truth. This arrangement was supposed to be simple, clinical. A business transaction.

So why does my skin still tingle where he touched me? Why am I already dreading and anticipating Friday in equal measure?

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