Page 15 of Gap Control

I touched my face. "My eye doesn't twitch."

"It's twitching right now, aggressively."

Across the ice, Mason stretched against the boards, all controlled grace and focused breathing. He caught me looking and raised an eyebrow.

My teammates followed my gaze and immediately started snickering.

"Oh, this is painful to watch," Lambert muttered.

Monroe nodded. "Honestly, the two of you have good chemistry."

"Thanks."

"Like, really good. I showed the hug photo to my sister, and she cried."

"Okay."

"She thinks you're soulmates."

I pointed at him. "You're banned from talking to your sister."

He grinned and skated off.

When practice wrapped, I peeled off my helmet and skated toward the bench. Mason was already there. I slowed as I passed him.

I considered saying something meaningful, but instead, I tripped over the edge of a stick blade and nearly faceplanted into the boards.

Mason didn't laugh. He looked up. "You okay?"

"Yup," I squeaked.

He nodded once.

I clutched my helmet like it was a flotation device.

Controlled PDA attempt: failed.

New plan: survive the day, regroup, and Google "how to fake date someone who makes your brain short-circuit.

Practice ended, but my panic didn't.

I'd barely peeled off my gloves before Brady appeared in the tunnel like an anxiety-themed mirage in a team polo.

He didn't say hello. "We're doing a thing."

I followed him toward the media corner. "I don't like how vague that is."

He handed me a Forge-logo water bottle. "Quick hit with Cass from the ForgeCast fan pod. Keep it cute. Keep it clean. Don't joke about weddings."

"Would I—"

He stopped me with a look.

"Oh, right. The quote."

"The quote," he echoed, deadpan. "Which is now merch, by the way."

"Seriously?"

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