Page 185 of The Fake Date Agreement

Javier had been planning a week in Mexico before Tobie had said she was going home for spring break. If all goes well in the suite Javier booked at the hotel, we can do Mexico after graduation before we start our first NHL season and Tobie starts grad school in the fall.

We’ll have two full days to talk about the future, tell her how we feel about her, and see if she feels the same about us. We can plan the rest of our lives. No practice. No class. No distractions. Just time to figure out what forever will look like for us.

“I do.” The arena is empty today. Even the cleaners have a break. Everyone’s getting ready for the party tonight, as I should be. “How long do you have?”

My brother glances at his watch. “Maybe an hour. Then I have to get back on the road. Mom was disappointed you’re not coming home.”

Guilt spikes in my gut. “Yeah, I can come home after. There’s something I need to do first. You got your skates?”

The only reason Christian was able to swing by so last minute is because he was on his way home from college to see Mom.

He nods. “My coach will come down here and gut you himself if this ends in an injury before the big game.”

I smirk at him. “So will mine. Isn’t Cheryl with you?” There was no sign of her in his truck, but his long-term girlfriend could have followed in her car.

“Not this time,” he says vaguely as he rakes a hand through his blond hair.

I eye him curiously. “Everything good between you two?”

“Best it’s ever been.”

I’ve always gone home for the holidays. Spring breaks are up in the air. It’s fifty-fifty if I go home for those and catch up with my cousins and Christian or stay on campus with Jay. Chris usually stays on campus or goes away with his girlfriend.

I swipe my card to get back into the arena, and Chris follows me in.

“I thought you two did all the holidays together,” I say, leading the way to the perfectly smooth ice and the skates I left beside the entrance.

“We do. If you’re planning on taking me out so the Wolverines can snatch up their first championship…”

I snort a laugh and grab a seat on the bench to put on my skates. “No need to take you out. When we beat you, I want it to be as public as possible.”

He laughs as he pulls his skates from his bag.

We’ve been doing this since we were barely old enough to walk. The first time I got on the ice, I was a baby, and my dad carried me. I think I was three or even four when I got my first ice skates.

“What’s this all about?” he asks as I pass him a stick, and we step on the ice. “We haven’t played in years, and that was street hockey.”

I breathe in the cool, crisp air and, as always, take the first few minutes to appreciate the almost weightlessness and the speed of being on the ice.

“Just thought it was time.”

“Uh-huh.” He cocks his head. “You met someone.”

I frown at him. “What makes you think it’s a girl?”

“Because only girls have the power to upset our worldview so drastically.”

I don’t answer.

Christian doesn’t push. He knows better from having done it time and time again.

We spend the next few minutes just passing the puck back and forth.

“I played street hockey a couple of weeks ago with a group of kids,” I admit.

His head jerks toward me, visibly surprised. “How’d those old bones fare against younger, faster kids?” he asks with a grin.

“Fuck you.” Three years separate us, but it’s forever and always been a running joke to Chris that I’m the old man, and he’s at his prime. “It was fun.”

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