Page 33 of Faking It For Real

By "history," he meant my sophomore year incident—a fight during a crucial playoff game that had earned me a suspension and a reputation for a hot temper. I'd worked hard to rebuild my image since then, but in my father's eyes, it remained an unforgivable lapse.

"I'm not coasting," I said, more sharply than intended. "I'm focused."

"Are you? Because I heard you're seeing someone new. Some girl from the college paper?"

I blinked, caught off guard. "How did you—"

"The hockey world is small, Ethan. News travels." His disapproval was evident. "Is this really the time to be distracted by a relationship? Months away from the draft?"

"She's not a distraction," I said, surprised by my own defensiveness. "Actually, she's incredibly focused on her own career. She understands the demands of mine."

There was a pause. "Well, just make sure it stays that way. You can't afford divided attention right now."

"It's under control," I assured him, though the irony of defending a fake relationship wasn't lost on me.

"It better be," he said. "Call me after the weekend game. I want a full report."

"I will," I promised, knowing there was no point in arguing.

After we hung up, I sat on the edge of my bed, the familiar post-call anxiety crawling through my veins. No matter how well I played, it was never quite good enough for Richard Wright. Always a critique, always areas for improvement, always the shadow of his own truncated career hanging over me.

Almost without thinking, I picked up my phone again and texted Mia.

Ethan:Looking forward to Saturday. Thanks for doing this.

Her response came quicker than I expected.

Mia:Me too. At least the festival has good food. If this fake dating thing is going to work, I should at least get some caramel apples out of it.

I found myself smiling.

Ethan:I'll buy you two. One for each hand.

Mia:Now that's the kind of romantic gesture a girl can appreciate.

Ethan:I aim to please. Especially when sugar is involved.

We exchanged a few more messages before she mentioned needing to finish editing photos. As I set my phone aside, I realized the tension from my father's call had dissipated, replaced by a surprising anticipation for Saturday.

It was just part of the plan, I reminded myself as I got ready for bed. This arrangement was mutually beneficial, nothing more. The fact that texting Mia had improved my mood was simply a fortunate side effect.

Chapter 8: Mia

The Harvest Festival was in full swing by the time I arrived, slightly breathless from speed-walking across campus. My morning photoshoot for the art department had run long, leaving me barely enough time to rush home, change, and make it to the main entrance by one-thirty.

I'd put more thought into my outfit than I cared to admit, finally settling on a burgundy sweater, my most flattering jeans, and a cream-colored scarf. It was just part of the performance, I told myself—we needed to look like a real couple, which meant making an effort.

The quad had been transformed into a fall wonderland. Hay bales and pumpkins decorated the perimeter, while strings of lights crisscrossed overhead, ready to illuminate the space when evening fell. Booths selling everything from apple cider to hand-knitted scarves lined the walkways, and the air smelled of cinnamon, fried dough, and woodsmoke from the central fire pit where students were roasting marshmallows.

I scanned the entrance area, suddenly nervous. What if he didn't show? What if this whole arrangement was already falling apart before it properly began?

Then I saw him, and my nervousness shifted into something else entirely. Ethan stood near the ticket booth, tall and undeniably striking in a blue flannel shirt that somehow intensified the color of his eyes. His dark hair was slightly tousled by the wind, and he was scanning the crowd with an intensity that suggested he was genuinely looking for me.

When he spotted me, his face transformed with a smile that seemed authentic. He raised a hand in greeting, and I waved back, making my way toward him.

"Hey," I said, suddenly self-conscious. "Sorry if I'm late."

"You're right on time," he assured me. "I was early. Team meeting ended sooner than expected."

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