Page 23 of Faking It For Real

"What's that?"

"When this inevitably blows up in your face, remember that I told you so."

"Such faith," I laughed, heading to my room to change. "But don't worry. I know exactly what I'm doing."

As I pulled on a clean sweater, I tried to ignore the flutter of nervousness in my stomach. This was just a business arrangement. Nothing more. Now I just had to convince Ethan that I was worth the investment.

The university gym was bustling with afternoon activity when I arrived. Student athletes in various team gear moved between equipment stations while regular students claimed whatever machines remained. The air smelled of sweat, disinfectant, and the faint metallic tang that always seems to permeate weight rooms.

I spotted the hockey team immediately. They traveled in a pack, distinctive in their matching workout shirts, rotating between stations with disciplined efficiency. Ethan was at the squat rack, his back to me, focused on his form as he completed a set. Even from behind, I could tell it was him—something about the set of his shoulders, the controlled way he moved.

I hesitated near the entrance, suddenly questioning my plan. This was crazy, wasn't it? Pretending to date someone for financial gain? What kind of person did that make me?

A person who wants to stay in school, I reminded myself firmly.A person doing what needs to be done.

Before I could lose my nerve, I strode forward, weaving between exercise machines until I reached the weightlifting area. A few of the hockey players noticed me approaching, their curious glances making my cheeks warm. I recognized Dylan, who gave me a friendly if confused nod.

Ethan finished his set and turned to rack the weights, finally spotting me. Surprise flickered across his face, quickly replaced by wariness.

"Mia," he said, grabbing a towel to wipe his face. "What are you doing here?"

"I need to talk to you," I replied, trying to project confidence I didn't feel. "Privately, if possible."

He studied me for a moment, then nodded. "Give me a second."

He said something to his teammates that I couldn't hear, then gestured for me to follow him toward the hallway that led to the locker rooms. Once we were away from the main gym floor, he stopped and turned to face me.

"Is this about the newspaper? Because I already approved the team photo session for next week—"

"It's about your proposal," I interrupted. "From the Halloween party."

His eyebrows shot up. "Oh." A pause. "I thought you said it was ridiculous."

"I did," I acknowledged. "And it is. But I've... reconsidered."

Ethan's eyes narrowed slightly. "Why?"

I took a deep breath. The hallway suddenly felt very small, or maybe it was just Ethan's presence. He was taller than I remembered, his shoulders broader. A trickle of sweat ran down his neck, disappearing into his shirt collar. I forced myself to focus.

"My situation has changed," I said carefully. "The university just cut my scholarship by thirty percent. I can't afford next semester without additional funding."

Understanding dawned on his face. "And you think dating me will somehow solve that problem?"

"Not dating you," I corrected. "Pretendingto date you. And not directly, no. But theSports Illustrationssummer internship comes with a scholarship stipend. If I land it, I can stay in school."

"And what does that have to do with me?"

"Your portfolio offer was good," I said, struggling to keep my voice steady despite my growing desperation and the unnerving proximity to him. "But I need more than just team access. I need connections."

"What kind of connections?" Something in his tone had changed—cautious interest, perhaps.

"Your dad is friends with Samantha Rivers, the photography director atSports Illustrations," I said, meeting his eyes directly. "I need an introduction. A recommendation."

Ethan let out a low whistle. "You've done your homework."

"When it comes to my career, always." I squared my shoulders. "So here's my counter-offer: I'll be your fake girlfriend until the end of hockey season. I'll keep Vanessa away, attend your games, do all the social media stuff—whatever it takes to be convincing. In exchange, you get me that introduction to Samantha, plus the team access you already offered."

He was silent for a long moment, his expression unreadable. I could feel my heart pounding, a mixture of anxiety and the strange, undeniable chemistry that seemed to crackle between us whenever we were alone.

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