Page 106 of Faking It For Real

"Your secret character assassination is safe with me," she assured me with a grin. "Besides, my journalistic integrity has been compromised by my own involvement with an entitled athlete."

I glanced pointedly at the gold band on her left hand. "Very compromised."

Before Olivia could retort, the crowd erupted as the players took the ice for warm-ups. My eyes immediately found Ethan, now wearing his familiarPittsburgh Sealspractice jersey with hisWolvesnumber specially approved for the exhibition game. His first professional season had been impressive for a rookie—not a star yet, but a solid contributor who'd earned respect from teammates and coaches alike.

Through my viewfinder, I tracked his movement across the ice, noting the increased confidence in his skating, the easy authority he still carried. When he glanced toward the press platform, I lowered my camera just long enough to meet his eyes and smile. The wink he returned made my heart flutter embarrassingly, even after a year together.

The past twelve months had been transformative for both of us. MySports Illustrationsinternship had evolved into a position as a junior photographer specializing in hockey and winter sports. The arrangement allowed me to travel frequently to Pittsburgh during hockey season, while maintaining my tiny New York apartment as a home base.

The long-distance challenge we'd feared had proven manageable—not easy, certainly, but strengthened by deliberate communication, regular visits, and unwavering support of each other's careers. Technology helped; we fell asleep to video calls more nights than not, and Ethan had become surprisingly adept at sending thoughtful care packages to New York when my schedule became particularly grueling.

After the exhibition game—which the alumni won, thanks in no small part to Ethan's two assists and Dylan's game-winning goal—we gathered with friends at our old haunt,Midnight MunchiesDiner. The familiar vinyl booths and perpetually sticky menus provided the perfect backdrop for our reunion.

"To alumni weekend," Dylan proposed, raising his chocolate milkshake. "Where we pretend we're still cool enough to hang out with college students."

"Speak for yourself," Olivia countered, clinking her glass against his. "Some of us are inherently cool regardless of student status."

Dylan snorted, but the affectionate glance he gave his wife belied any genuine disagreement. Their unlikely romance had blossomed into marriage just two months ago, with Ethan serving as best man and me as maid of honor. The wedding had been a perfect blend of Dylan's laid-back humor and Olivia's meticulous planning—much like their relationship itself.

"How long are you in town for?" Tyler asked, sliding into the booth beside Ethan. Our former goalie had joined a team in Colorado, his steady presence in net earning him a starting position midway through the season.

"Just the weekend," Ethan replied. "I have team meetings Monday morning that I can't miss."

"Same," I added. "I'm covering the Chicago game Tuesday night."

Tyler shook his head with a rueful smile. "You two and your crazy schedules. How do you make it work?"

Ethan's hand found mine under the table, squeezing gently. "We prioritize what matters," he said simply.

Coach Alvarez stopped by our table briefly, proudly updating Ethan on the team's progress and sharing news about other alumni in the NHL. His familiar gruff demeanor softened when he mentioned that my hockey emotion series was now displayed permanently in the athletic department's hall of fame.

"Your work captures the spirit of our program," he told me, his praise as unexpected as it was meaningful.

After dinner, Ethan and I broke away from the group, wanting some time alone to revisit the campus that had brought us together. The spring night was perfect—stars visible above, a gentle breeze carrying the scent of blooming flowers across the quad.

"Want to take the scenic route?" Ethan suggested, lacing his fingers through mine.

"Lead the way, Captain."

We wandered through significant locations from our shared history: the ice rink where we'd first clashed, the coffee shop where we'd established our fake relationship, the fountain where we'd danced after the Winter Formal. Each spot held memories, stepping stones that had led us to this moment.

"You know what I just realized?" Ethan said as we approachedMidnight MunchiesDiner again, having completed a full circle around campus. "We never actually had a proper first date. We went straight from business arrangement to complicated feelings to relationship crisis to real couple."

"That's not true," I protested. "We had plenty of fake dates that became increasingly real. The Harvest Festival, the Winter Formal..."

"Those don't count," he insisted. "They were performances for other people. I'm talking about a real first date—just us, no audience, no agenda except enjoying each other's company."

"Well, it's a little late now," I laughed. "We're practically an old married couple already."

Something flickered in Ethan's expression. "Would that be so bad?"

My pulse quickened. "What?"

"Being an old married couple," he clarified, his tone deliberately casual though his eyes were anything but. "With me, I mean."

"Ethan, what are you saying?" I asked carefully, afraid to assume too much from his cryptic question.

"Let's go inside," he suggested, nodding toward the diner. "I'm thinking we're overdue for that proper first date."

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