Page 49

Riley’s eyes narrow. “A relationship. A high-profile, believable, clean-cut one. Something that says ‘committed boyfriend’ louder than ‘kinky party guest.’”

A laugh breaks from my throat, dry and humorless. “So what—you want me to fake date someone?”

“Yes.”

“This is a joke.”

“It’s damage control,” Coach says flatly.

Riley opens a folder, sliding it toward me. “We’ve already lined up a candidate. Molly. Marketing assistant. She’s clean, single, discreet. Attractive enough to sell it, but not too flashy. Press-friendly.”

I stare at the folder like it might bite.

“Molly?”

Coach raises an eyebrow. “You’ve met her.”

“Barely,” I mutter. “And no offense, but I’d rather shove a skate blade through my thigh than play house with someone who can’t look me in the eye.”

Riley doesn’t flinch. “This isn’t about comfort.”

“No, it’s about bullshit.”

Coach gives me a look. “Careful.”

I lean back, jaw tight. Think.

If I’m going to do this—if I’m going to let them spin this lie—I’m at least going to have a say in who I get handcuffed to in front of cameras.

There’s only one name that comes to mind.

The only person who already makes my blood run hot for reasons I still don’t want to unpack.

“Katarina Novak.”

Riley blinks. “The team nutritionist?”

Coach straightens. “You serious?”

I nod once. “She’s already around the team. It won’t look staged. People like her. She’s not connected to any drama.”

Riley tilts her head. “No prior personal history?”

I lie without blinking. “None.”

Riley scribbles something in her notepad, already shifting gears. “I’ll reach out. If she’s willing, we move fast. Press release, soft-launch posts, first joint appearance by the end of the week.”

Coach stands. “You good with this?”

I nod again, but my pulse is hammering.

Not because of the lie. I’ve told worse.

Because now I’ve dragged Katarina into this.

And no matter how clean this plan looks on paper, it’s already a disaster waiting to blow.

Because if she says yes, we’re screwed.