Page 4 of Faking It For Real

"Can't. Pittsburgh scout."

"Is going to want a human being, not a hockey robot." Dylan flopped onto the couch beside me. "When was the last time you did something just for fun?"

I ignored the question, focusing on the screen. "My reaction time on the right-side defense is still too slow."

Dylan sighed heavily, then reached over and closed my laptop.

"Hey!"

"Listen to me, Wright. You're the best player on the team. You're going to get drafted. But if you don't occasionally remove the hockey stick from your ass, you're going to burn out before you ever make it to the NHL."

I glared at him. "I'm focused."

"You're obsessed. There's a difference." Dylan's expression grew serious, which was rare and therefore concerning. "I get it, man. The pressure from your dad, the scouts, your own expectations—it's a lot. But being more than just hockey isn't going to destroy your career. It might save it."

I wanted to argue, but there was enough truth in his words to make me uncomfortable. "I'm fine."

"Sure you are." Dylan stood up. "I'm ordering pizza. With carbs. And you're going to eat it and then watch something stupid on TV with me because it's what normal twenty-two-year-olds do on a Tuesday night."

"Fine."

"And we're not going to talk about hockey, or Pittsburgh, or your dad, or—"

"I get it."

"Or Vanessa," he finished, giving me a pointed look.

I tensed at her name. "Yeah. Definitely not her."

"Well, you can't ghost the issue forever, man." Dylan pulled out his phone. "So. Pizza. And then you're going to tell me what your plan is for the Vanessa situation."

"There is no situation. We broke up."

"And yet, she circled back like a shark that smells blood in the water. Specifically, the blood of your imminent NHL contract." Dylan started tapping on his phone. "The usual toppings?"

"Yeah," I sighed, giving up on getting any more analysis done tonight. "And there's no plan because there's nothing to plan for. I'm not getting back together with her."

"Bold statement. But Vanessa has ways of complicating simple equations."

He wasn't wrong. Vanessa was beautiful, smart, determined, and accustomed to getting exactly what she wanted. What she'd wanted four months ago was more of my time and attention than I could give while maintaining my hockey performance. What she seemed to want now was... well, me again, but under new circumstances.

"It doesn't matter what she wants," I said firmly. "I'm not interested."

Dylan gave me a skeptical look. "She's still into you, bro. And she's not the type to take rejection quietly. You need a strategy."

"My strategy is to focus on hockey."

"Yeah, good luck with that when she's showing up at practices and games and parties making doe eyes at you." He sent the pizza order and pocketed his phone. "You know what you need?"

"I'm afraid to ask."

"A buffer. A human shield against the Vanessa offensive."

I raised an eyebrow. "Are you volunteering?"

"Hell no. I have enough trauma from witnessing your relationship the first time around." Dylan tapped his chin thoughtfully. "You need a new girl."

"I just told you—"

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