Page 71 of Faking It For Real

"I never said that," I protested weakly, though I definitely had.

"You absolutely did. Right before you spent the entire weekend in the lodge drinking overpriced hot chocolate and reading mystery novels."

I shrugged, unable to deny the truth. "Well, this year I'm covering it for the paper, so I have to at least try."

"Uh-huh," Olivia smirked, returning to her book. "I'm sure it has nothing to do with sharing a cabin with a certain hockey captain."

I felt heat rush to my cheeks, cursing my friend's uncanny ability to read my thoughts. The truth was, I hadn't stopped thinking about the implications of this trip since we'd been assigned cabin rooms yesterday. Ethan and I were expected to share a room—a room with one bed—because as far as everyone knew, we were a real couple.

A couple who would naturally want to sleep together.

In the same bed.

All night.

"Shut up," I muttered, turning to stare out the window at the snow-covered landscape rushing past. Trees laden with fresh powder lined the winding mountain road, creating a winter wonderland that would have been soothing if my stomach wasn't tied in knots.

In the front seat, Dylan and Ethan were deep in conversation about upcoming playoff matchups. Occasionally, Ethan would glance at me in the rearview mirror, his eyes meeting mine briefly before returning to the road. Each time it happened, my heart did a little flip that annoyed me immensely.

This was not supposed to happen. I wasn't supposed to develop actual feelings for my fake boyfriend. That was literally the first rule of any fake dating arrangement. It was Romance Novel 101.

And yet, here I was, counting the times Ethan looked at me in the mirror like some lovesick teenager.

"—right, Mia?"

I blinked, realizing Olivia had asked me something. "Sorry, what?"

She rolled her eyes dramatically. "I said, you'll need to borrow my extra gloves since you always forget yours. Are you even on this planet right now?"

"Yes, sorry. Gloves. Right. Thanks."

Dylan twisted in his seat to face us, a sly smirk tugging at his lips. "What's got our photographer so distracted? Daydreaming about someone special?"

"I'm mentally composing some shots," I lied smoothly. "Coach Alvarez wants them to highlight team bonding, not just the fun stuff."

"Team bonding," Dylan repeated, wiggling his eyebrows. "Is that what we're calling it now?"

Ethan reached over without taking his eyes off the road and smacked Dylan's arm. "Leave her alone. Some of us actually take our work seriously."

"Says the guy who spent three hours yesterday reviewing game footage instead of packing," Dylan retorted, but he turned back around, leaving me in peace.

I caught Ethan's eye in the mirror again and mouthed "thank you." The small smile he gave in return made my stomach flutter traitorously.

By the time we reached the resort, my nerves had settled somewhat. The ski lodge was exactly what you'd expect—all rustic wooden beams and stone fireplaces, with large windows showcasing spectacular mountain views. The air smelled of pine, wood smoke, and hot chocolate.

While Ethan checked us in, I wandered the lobby, taking test shots with my camera to check the lighting. Through my viewfinder, I captured candid moments: Tyler and Jensen arguing good-naturedly over who would get the top bunk in their room; Coach Alvarez's wife laughing at something he whispered in her ear; freshmen players trying to act cool while clearly overwhelmed by the luxury of the resort.

Then Ethan entered my frame, room keys in hand, scanning the lobby until he found me. Even through the camera, the intensity of his gaze made my breath catch. I lowered the camera as he approached, trying to ignore the way my pulse quickened.

"So," he began, dangling a key card between us. "We're in Cabin 3, Room 4."

"Right," I nodded, aiming for nonchalance. "Shared room. Because we're... you know."

"Dating," he confirmed softly. "Is that going to be a problem?"

I forced a laugh. "No, of course not. We're adults. We can share a room like mature, responsible people."

"Exactly," he agreed. "Mature. Responsible."

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