Page 3 of Faking the Rules

I want to disbelieve him, to cling to my carefully constructed narrative of Declan-the-privileged-asshole. But the evidence in front of me—the thoughtful notes, the serious expression, the fact that he's here working on a Sunday night—makes that difficult.

Our conversation is interrupted by heavy footsteps approaching our table. A man in his fifties—barrel-chested, with silver at his temples and an air of authority that commands attention—stops beside us, his eyes fixed on Declan.

"Wolfe," he says, his voice carrying that particular blend of disappointment and anger that only coaches seem to master. "Didn't expect to find you here."

Declan straightens immediately, tension radiating from his frame. "Coach Brennan. Just getting some work done."

Coach Brennan's eyes shift to me, dismissive at first, then sharpening with interest. "And this is...?"

"Ellie Gardner," Declan says before I can answer. "My girlfriend."

The words hit me like a physical blow. I choke on my coffee, sputtering inelegantly. Declan's hand reaches around the table and lands on my back, a steadying presence that only adds to my confusion.

"Girlfriend?" Coach's eyebrows rise toward his hairline. "Since when?"

Declan's smile doesn't reach his eyes. "Been seeing each other a few weeks now. Keeping it quiet. You know how campus gossip spreads."

My mind reels, trying to process this bizarre turn of events.Girlfriend?What in the actual fuck?

"Huh." Coach looks unconvinced, or at least very surprised. "Well, Miss Gardner, perhaps you'll be a good influence. Our star player here needs to focus—less partying, more practice." He turns back to Declan, voice hardening. "Tomorrow. Six A.M. My office. We need to discuss your commitment to this team."

"Yes, sir," Declan replies, his casual demeanor replaced by something more rigid, almost military in its deference.

Coach nods once, then continues toward the counter, leaving us in stunned silence.

The moment he's out of earshot, I lean across the table, hissing, "What the hell was that?"

Declan runs a hand through his hair, mussing it in a way that shouldn't be as attractive as it is. "Sorry. Panic response."

"Panic response?You told your coach I'm your girlfriend!"

"Keep your voice down," he mutters, glancing toward the counter where Coach Brennan is ordering. "Look, I'm in a tightspot, okay? Coach has been on my ass about my 'extracurricular activities' affecting my game. He thinks I'm partying too much, sleeping around."

"So your solution is to invent a fake relationship?" I can't keep the incredulity from my voice.

"It was impulsive," he admits. "But not entirely stupid. Coach is old-school—thinks settled players are focused players. A serious girlfriend would go a long way toward getting him off my back."

I stare at him, dumbfounded. "Well, that's not my problem. Just tell him we broke up."

"I can't." Declan leans forward, lowering his voice. "The championship game is in three weeks. NHL scouts will be there. If I'm benched because Coach thinks I'm not taking this seriously, everything I've worked for goes up in smoke."

"Again, not my problem."

His expression shifts, vulnerability breaking through the confident facade for just a moment. "I need this, Ellie. The NHL is everything I've worked for since I was seven years old."

It's the use of my first name—so rare from him—that catches me off guard. That, and the raw honesty in his voice.

"What exactly are you asking me?"

"Pretend to be my girlfriend. Just for a few weeks, until after the championship." His eyes hold mine, intense and pleading. "All you'd have to do is show up to a few games, maybe be seen with me around campus occasionally. Nothing major."

I laugh, the sound sharp and disbelieving. "You're out of your mind. Why would I do that?"

"Because I can help you too." His expression turns shrewd. "The Whitmore Prize. I know how badly you want it."

My breath catches. How does he know about that? I've barely mentioned it to anyone except my dad and my friend Mia. The Whitmore Prize is a highly competitive academic honor given tothe top undergraduate literary analysis work. Winning provides both a substantial cash prize and, more importantly, recognition that opens doors to elite graduate programs. It's particularly valued by Columbia University, which is my dream school. This year, they’ve added a special category for collaborative works, which means the project Declan and I are working on could be considered.

"What about it?"

---