Page 79 of Faking It For Real

Ethan pulled back, the spell broken. He ran a hand through his hair again—definitely a nervous habit—and stood.

"We should probably..."

"Yeah," I nodded quickly. "Get ready. Breakfast. Right."

He retreated to the bathroom, leaving me sitting in bed, clutching my cooling coffee and wondering what would have happened if Dylan hadn't interrupted.

The remainder of the ski weekend passed in a blur of activity that left little time for private moments. We skied, ate meals with the team, played more games, and took group photos. Ethan and I were careful to maintain appropriate couple behavior in public—holding hands, sitting together, exchanging casual touches—while creating careful distance in private.

Neither of us mentioned the sex, though I sometimes caught him watching me with an expression I couldn't quite decipher. By unspoken agreement, we dismantled the pillow barrier on the second night, though we still kept carefully to our respective sides of the bed.

On the drive back to campus, exhausted from a full weekend of winter activities, I dozed against the window while Olivia and Dylan bickered good-naturedly about music selection. Just before I drifted off completely, I felt something warm cover me—Ethan's team jacket, draped carefully over me like a blanket.

I kept my eyes closed, pretending to sleep, but my heart raced as I caught the faint scent of his cologne on the fabric.

Chapter 18: Ethan

I couldn't sleep. Again.

The clock read 3:17 AM, glowing red, taunting. Sleep was a lost cause. My mind replayed the ski trip relentlessly: Mia laughing at our pillow wall, the soft shock of her lips finally meeting mine, the feel of her breast heavy in my palm, the sheer, undeniable intimacy of the sex that followed.

I rolled onto my back and stared at the ceiling. Hockey had always been my singular focus—the one thing I understood completely. But now? Now my brain was a jumbled mess: hockey plays tangled with Mia's smile; scout reports competing with the scent of her shampoo; Championship strategies blurred by the way her eyes crinkled when she laughed.

"This is bad," I muttered to my empty room. "Really bad."

My alarm was set to go off in less than three hours for morning practice. Coach Alvarez had been pushing us harder than ever with the semifinals approaching. I needed sleep. I needed focus.

I needed to stop thinking about Mia.

"Wright! What the hell was that?" Coach Alvarez's voice cut through the rink like a skate blade on fresh ice. "That's the third sloppy pass this morning. Get your head out of your ass!"

I winced, knowing he was right. I'd been distracted all practice, missing passes that I could normally make blindfolded.

"Sorry, Coach. Won't happen again," I called back, shaking my head to clear it.

Dylan skated up beside me. "Dude, you okay? You look like you didn't sleep."

"I'm fine," I muttered, adjusting my helmet.

"If by 'fine' you mean 'completely wrecked,' then sure, you're fine," he replied, nudging my shoulder.

I ignored him and skated away to join the next drill.

After we finished, Coach Alvarez pulled me aside as the rest of the team headed to the locker room.

"Wright, walk with me."

I followed him silently, already knowing what was coming. We stopped by the bleachers, empty except for a few stray gym bags.

"I got a call from Pittsburgh this morning," Coach said, fixing me with a serious stare. "They're sending their head scout to the semifinals and finals; Detroit and Chicago confirmed too."

My heart rate spiked. Three NHL teams. This was really happening.

"That's... great," I managed.

"It should be great," Coach agreed, crossing his arms. "But you're playing like someone who's already blown his chance. What's going on with you?"

I looked down at my skates. "Just some stuff on my mind. I'll get it sorted."

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