Page 53 of Faking It For Real

"I'm not freaking out," I denied automatically. "I just want to look presentable. The Winter Formal is a big deal, lots of photos, people watching..."

"Uh-huh," Dylan paused his game again, turning to face me fully. "And this has nothing to do with impressing Mia? The same Mia you've been talking about non-stop for weeks? The Mia whose photography you've suddenly developed a passionate interest in? That Mia?"

"I talk about her a normal amount," I said defensively. "She's my fake girlfriend. I'm supposed to be convincing."

"Dude," Dylan's expression turned serious, "there's convincing, and then there's whatever this is." He gestured to the suits, the dress shoes I'd polished earlier, and the tie collection I'd spread across my bed. "You're not even this neurotic before NHL scout visits."

I hung both suits back in the closet with more force than necessary. "I'm just being thorough. This arrangement is important for both of us."

"Sure, sure," Dylan nodded, a knowing smile spreading across his face. "The 'arrangement.' Very professional. Very businesslike. That's definitely why you've been practicing slow dancing with your pillow when you think I'm not home."

Heat rushed to my face. "You saw that?"

"Came back early from the library yesterday," he confirmed, looking delighted by my embarrassment. "Gotta say, you and Pillow Mia seemed to be having a very intimate moment. The pillow was blushing."

"I hate you," I groaned, collapsing onto my bed. "I just don't want to step on her toes or something. It's been a while since I've done the formal dance thing."

Dylan's expression softened. "Look, man, why don't you just admit that maybe this isn't completely fake anymore? At least not on your end?"

I stared at the ceiling, not answering immediately. The truth was, I'd been asking myself the same question more frequently lately.

"It's complicated," I finally said.

"Doesn't have to be," Dylan shrugged. "Unless you're making it complicated because you're afraid of what happens when the season ends and this 'arrangement' is supposed to be over."

I sat up, annoyed by his perceptiveness. "Since when are you the relationship guru? Last I checked, you and Olivia still pretend to hate each other while radiating enough sexual tension to power the entire arena."

"We're not talking about me," Dylan deflected, though his ears reddened noticeably. "And for your information, I asked Olivia to the formal too."

That caught me by surprise. "You did? When?"

"Yesterday." He tried to sound casual, but I could tell by the way he fidgeted with his controller that it mattered to him. "Just to keep an eye on you two idiots, obviously."

"Obviously," I echoed with a smile. "And she said yes?"

"After explaining in excruciating detail that she was only accepting to gather material for her exposé on athlete privilege," he confirmed. "But yeah, she said yes."

I laughed, recognizing the familiar dance these two had been doing for weeks. "Well, look at us. Couple of real Casanovas."

"Speak for yourself, pillow dancer," Dylan retorted, but he was smiling. "Now can you please pick a suit so we can go back to pretending we don't care about this dance?"

I chose the navy suit in the end, and spent an embarrassing amount of time getting ready the night of the formal. My hair refused to cooperate, my tie felt too tight, and I kept checking my watch even though I was already running early.

"You look fine," Dylan assured me as we left our apartment. "Very captainly. Mia will swoon appropriately."

"Shut up," I muttered, but felt marginally better.

We'd arranged to pick up Mia and Olivia at their apartment, which suddenly seemed like a terrible idea as we climbed the stairs to their floor. What if the corsage I'd bought was too much? What if it was the wrong color? What if she thought the whole thing was ridiculously old-fashioned?

Dylan knocked before I could spiral further, and Olivia answered, looking surprisingly elegant in a deep green dress that immediately rendered Dylan speechless. She took in his stunned expression with a smirk.

"Close your mouth, Dylan. You'll catch flies." But I noticed she seemed pleased by his reaction.

"You look nice," he managed finally, handing her a corsage with the careful precision of someone defusing a bomb.

"A corsage? Really?" she asked, but her eyes softened as she took it. "How charmingly regressive."

"I can take it back," Dylan offered, reaching for it.

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