Page 26 of Faking the Rules

His eyes hold mine, intense and unwavering. "Then I fell for you. For real. The smart, sharp-tongued girl who calls me on my bullshit and makes me want to be better. The girl who sees past the hockey star to the actual person underneath."

My heart hammers against my ribs, emotions tangling in my chest—hope, fear, desire, doubt. "Is that true?" I whisper, needing to hear it plainly, without performance or calculation.

"Every word," he says, his voice rough with sincerity. "I'm done pretending, Ellie. I want a real relationship with you. No arrangement, no expiration date. Just us, figuring it out together."

The café seems to fade around us, the audience of curious students disappearing from my awareness. There's only Declan—his eyes holding mine, his hand warm against my skin, his words echoing in the space between us.

"People will think I'm just another conquest," I say, giving voice to my deepest fear. "The plain academic you seduced as part of some game."

"Let them," he says fiercely. "We know the truth. And eventually, they'll see it too."

I want to believe him. Want to believe that this gorgeous, talented man with his bright future and endless options could genuinely choose me—quiet, serious, academically focused me.But doubt gnaws at the edges, fed by years of insecurity and the recent wound of James's betrayal.

"I need time," I say finally. "To think, to process. This is all happening so fast."

Disappointment flickers across his face, but he nods, respecting my boundaries even now. "Take all the time you need," he says, pressing a kiss to my temple as he slides out of the booth. "I'll be at the arena later if you want to talk more."

I watch him walk away, aware of the dozens of eyes tracking his movements, the whispers that follow in his wake. When the door closes behind him, the café erupts in excited chatter, and I sink lower in my seat, wishing I could disappear.

My phone buzzes with a text from Mia:Need extraction?

I look around and spot her at a table a few feet away.

She never left.

I smile despite myself.Yes. Emergency ice cream required.

She appears back at my side moments later, linking her arm through mine as we exit under the collective scrutiny of what feels like the entire student body. "For the record," she says as we escape into the crisp morning air, "that man is completely gone for you. Fake relationship or not."

Her certainty should be comforting. Instead, it feeds the anxiety writhing in my stomach. Because if this is real—if Declan's feelings for me are genuine—then I have so much more to lose when it inevitably falls apart.

And things like this always fall apart. My mother taught me that when she walked away without a backward glance. James reinforced the lesson when he chose momentary pleasure over our future together.

People leave. Happiness is temporary. Love is unreliable.

These are the truths I've built my life around, the protective walls I've constructed to survive. And now Declan Wolfe—withhis ocean eyes and gentle hands and fierce declarations—is systematically dismantling them, brick by carefully laid brick.

The hockey arena pulses with energy, bodies pressed together in the stands, collective breath fogging in the cold air above the ice. I sit in what has become "my" seat in the family section, Declan's jersey hanging loose over my thermal shirt, my hands wrapped around a cup of hot chocolate that does little to warm the chill inside me.

I've spent the entire time since the cafe in a fog of confusion, turning over Declan's words, his touch, the sincerity in his eyes when he said he wanted something real. Part of me—the romantic, hopeful part I thought died with my mother's abandonment—wants desperately to believe him. To leap into whatever this is becoming, consequences be damned.

But the rational, self-protective part remains skeptical, cataloging all the reasons this can't possibly work. He's Declan Wolfe—campus royalty, future professional athlete, scion of privilege. I'm Ellie Gardner—transfer student, academic hermit, supposed good-girl.

"You look like you're contemplating world peace or nuclear annihilation," Caroline Wolfe says, settling into the seat beside me with her usual elegant grace. "Possibly both."

I force a smile, still uncomfortable with the easy way she's accepted me into their family circle despite the artificial nature of my relationship with her son. "Just pre-game nerves," I lie.

Her knowing look suggests she's not fooled. "I saw the post," she says quietly. "The one claiming your relationship with Declan is... strategic."

My blood runs cold. Of course she's seen it. The entire campus has seen it, shared it, commented on it. Why would I think Declan's parents would be immune?

"Mrs. Wolfe—"

"Caroline," she corrects automatically.

"Caroline," I amend. "I can explain—"

"No need." She pats my hand, her smile gentle but her eyes sharp with perception. "Relationships begin for all sorts of reasons, Ellie. Some for convenience, some for passion, some for practical considerations." She glances toward the ice, where the teams are warming up. "What matters isn't how they start, but how they evolve. How they transform."

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