Page 29 of Faking It For Real

"It's perfectly logical," I countered, spreading peanut butter on my toast with precise strokes. "Mia needs career connections; I need Vanessa to back off. We help each other for a few months, then go our separate ways. No complications."

Dylan froze mid–sip, coffee mug in hand. “No complications,” he warned. “A fake relationship with a woman who once called you ‘a self-centered puck jockey.’”

I shrugged, biting into my toast. “She’s changed her tune.”

He rolled his eyes and plucked last night’s pizza crust off the counter like a microphone. “Breaking news,” he announced in his best anchorman voice. “Local hockey captain—suspected brain damage—enters fake romance with one-time nemesis. Scientists baffled. Film at eleven.”

I couldn’t help smiling. “She doesn’t hate me anymore.”

“Great,” he sniffed, dumping the crust back on the plate. “So you’ll pretend to date her, forget it’s pretend, catch real feelings, and then she’ll drop the bomb that it was all for show. And I’ll get to scoop your heart off the ice while I deliver my ‘I told you so’ in interpretive dance form.”

“Not gonna happen,” I said. “It’s a four-month business arrangement. Nothing more.”

He leaned in conspiratorially. “Business arrangement, huh? That’s what all the cool kids are calling it these days?”

“Mature,” I smirked. “So—are you helping me sell this story or not?”

"Of course I'm going to help you," he sighed dramatically. "Someone has to be there to witness this spectacular disaster unfold. For posterity."

"Your support is overwhelming," I deadpanned.

"That's what best friends are for," he grinned. "Now hurry up and finish your toast. We're going to be late for Johnson's economics exam."

The locker room before afternoon practice buzzed with the usual pre-training energy—guys comparing bruises from yesterday's game, debating which drills Coach would run, complaining about classes. I'd just finished lacing up my skates when Tyler dropped onto the bench beside me.

"So," he said without preamble, "you and the photographer?"

I looked up, surprised. "Word travels fast."

"Dylan might have mentioned something," Tyler admitted. "Is it true?"

Several nearby teammates paused their conversations, clearly interested in my response. I hesitated, then nodded, committing to the plan.

"Yeah, it's true. Mia and I are seeing each other."

A chorus of reactions erupted—everything from "No way!" to "Called it!" to Dylan's theatrical groan from across the room.

"Seriously?" Sanchez, our left winger, looked skeptical. "The same girl who nearly caused you to break your neck a few weeks ago?"

"Things change," I shrugged, aiming for casual. "We've been working together on her photography assignment. Got to know each other better."

"And realized you're perfect for each other?" Tyler suggested, eyebrows raised.

"I wouldn't go that far," I said, allowing a small smile. "But there's definitely something there."

Tyler studied me for a moment, then nodded slowly. "She seems fierce. Exactly what you need to keep that ego in check."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence," I said dryly.

"Anytime, Captain." He slapped my shoulder as he stood. "Just don't let it affect your game. Coach will have your head, relationship or no relationship."

As if summoned by his name, Coach Alvarez appeared in the doorway. "Wright," he called. "A word."

I followed him into the hallway, wondering if he'd somehow heard about my new "relationship" already. But his expression wasn't disapproving—more curious.

"Is it true you're seeing the newspaper photographer?" he asked without preamble.

"News really does travel fast around here," I muttered.

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