Page 225 of The Fake Date Agreement

The arena is almost silent as the Lamont Wolverines flow across the ice like they were born to it. Caleb is front and center.

I don’t see how he can score. Not from there, and not practically surrounded by the defensemen who weren’t drawn in by a deceptive play that convinced half the Wisconsin Eagles that someone else had the puck.

I’m holding my breath as I stare at the puck, willing it into the back of the net.

Somehow, Caleb carves out one tiny pocket of space.

He hits.

I peer through the fingers of my right hand.

Silence.

The puck slams into the back of the net as a blaring alarm fills the arena.

I leap to my feet, popcorn flyingeverywhere, arms up, screaming louder than I have in my entire life. Tears are streaming down my face as I hop up and down.

I grab the random guy next to me as I jump. “We won! We won! I still don’t understand all the rules, but I know that means we won!”

He grins at me. “We sure did.”

An hour after the game and the trophy ceremony, the arena has emptied out.

Javier’s parents took Nessa back to their hotel. We’re all going out for dinner tomorrow night, and I’m trying very hard not to be nervous at officially meeting everyone’s parents.

There’s still a bunch of us hanging out in the locker room, passing around a bottle of champagne.

In the hour that I’ve been here, I’ve seen more bare asses than I have in my entire life.

Caleb took to standing in front of me before eventually growling at his teammates to put some fucking clothes on and stop flashing his girlfriend. The bare asses is also why Javier told his parents to take Nessa home after catching her ogling yet another half-naked hockey player.

Reid’s brother, Ryder, who I met before the game, is talking to Jase, one of the assistant coaches when Reid tosses him a jersey. “Here, this is yours.”

Ryder catches it with one hand and glances at the front. “I have one.”

He’s wearing it, in fact, and it has Graves on the back.

He moves to throw it back when Reid makes a circling motion with his index finger. “Not one like that, you don’t. Check out the back.”

Ryder turns it around and stares, fingers bunching the material.

His reaction is so odd that we all drift closer, curious about what’s happening.

“What is this?” Ryder’s voice is hoarse.

We all fall quiet.

“The Wolverines’ newest assistant coach needs a jersey that reflects his position,” Coach says.

Ryder lifts his head, looking at Coach. “But I didn’t apply.”

“No.” Coach scrutinizes him. “But you should have. Reid played me the audio of the advice you’ve been giving him. You don’t belong in a factory, son. You belong on the ice.”

Ryder snaps his head toward Reid. “You recorded our calls?”

“Only some of them.” Reid doesn’t look the least bit sorry. “I warned you that you were forcing me to get devious.”

“You start in the fall. The job comes with accommodations and time off to study for your certifications,” Coach says, walking away. He stops and angles his head back, eyes narrowed on Ryder. “And I hate tardiness.”

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