Page 25 of Faking the Rules

Central Café is crowded with Saturday morning students seeking caffeine and carbs to remedy Friday night's excesses. Ispot Mia at our usual corner booth, her expression grim as she scrolls through her phone.

"What's happening?" I ask, sliding in across from her.

She pushes her phone toward me without a word. On the screen is an Instagram post from Westford Confessions, the anonymous campus gossip account that thrives on exposing secrets and scandals. The photo is the same one sent to my phone—Declan and me asleep in my bed—but the caption makes my blood run cold:

Spotted: Hockey golden boy @DeclanWolfe9 slumming it with transfer student. Sources say it's all for show—a fake relationship to keep Coach happy and NHL scouts impressed with his "maturity." Bad luck for the dozens of girls he's strung along this year. #FakeNews #ReputationRehab

"It's everywhere," Mia says quietly. "Twitter, Snapchat, the campus forum. Someone's on a mission to expose you guys."

Nausea rises in my throat. This is exactly what I feared from the beginning—public humiliation, my private life turned into campus entertainment. And worse, the exposure of our arrangement before it served its purpose for either of us.

"Who would do this?" I ask, though I already know the answer.

"Three guesses, and the first two don't count," Mia says grimly. "Tall, blonde, swims like a fish, dated Declan last semester?"

"Kaitlyn," I confirm. "She texted me the photo this morning. But how did she even know? How did she get that picture?"

"The real question," Mia says, leaning forward, "is what you're going to do about it."

I stare at her blankly. "What can I do? The truth is out there now. The whole campus knows our relationship was fake."

"Was?" She raises an eyebrow. "Past tense?"

Heat floods my cheeks. "It's... complicated."

"Holy shit," she breathes, eyes widening. "Something happened. Spill. Now."

Before I can respond, the café door swings open, and the ambient noise drops instantly. Declan stands in the entrance, scanning the room until his eyes lock on mine. He's fresh from practice, hair still damp, wearing Westford sweats and an expression of thunderous determination.

Every eye in the café follows his progress as he strides directly to our booth, ignoring the whispers. Without hesitation, he slides in beside me, his arm draping over my shoulders in a gesture that's become familiar but now feels like a declaration.

"Morning," he says to Mia, his voice perfectly casual, as if the entire campus isn't watching our every move. "Mind if I steal your breakfast date?"

Mia's eyes dart between us, a mixture of amusement and concern in her expression. "All yours," she says, gathering her things. "But fair warning—you two are trending."

"I know," Declan says grimly.

“Call me later,” Mia says, and then she’s gone.

"You okay?" Declan asks softly.

The tenderness in his voice, the genuine concern in his eyes—it melts something frozen inside me. Whatever else is happening, whatever complications swirl around us, this feels real. He feels real.

"I've been better," I admit. "The whole campus thinks I'm a pathetic loser who had to fake-date the hockey star."

"Actually," he corrects, "they think I'm the desperate one who needed a fake girlfriend to salvage my reputation." His thumb traces circles on my shoulder, a soothing gesture that's become second nature. "But neither of those things is true, is it?"

The question hangs between us, heavy with implication. We started this arrangement for calculated reasons—his need for a stable image, my desire for academic advancement. Butsomewhere along the way, calculation gave way to genuine feeling. Performance became reality.

"No," I say softly. "Not anymore."

Relief softens his features. "Good. Because I have a plan."

"A plan?" Wariness creeps into my voice. Declan's plans are what got us into this mess to begin with.

"We don't deny it," he says, leaning closer. "We own it. Yes, we started dating as an arrangement. Yes, it began as something strategic. But then..."

"Then what?" I prompt when he hesitates.

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