Page 13

Choosing a suit for the Winter Formal shouldn't have felt this complicated, yet here I was.

"Blue one or black one?" I held up both options for Dylan's inspection, feeling ridiculous even as I did it.

Dylan paused his video game, giving me an exaggerated once-over. "They're literally identical, bro."

"They're completely different," I insisted. "The blue one is navy. The black one is...black."

"Revolutionary observation," he snorted, turning back to his game. "Go with the navy. Brings out your eyes or whatever."

I frowned at the suits, still undecided. "You're useless."

"And you're freaking out over a fake date," Dylan pointed out without looking away from the screen. "Which is interesting, wouldn't you say?"

"I'm not freaking out," I denied automatically. "I just want to look presentable. The Winter Formal is a big deal, lots of photos, people watching..."

"Uh-huh," Dylan paused his game again, turning to face me fully. "And this has nothing to do with impressing Mia? The same Mia you've been talking about non-stop for weeks? The Mia whose photography you've suddenly developed a passionate interest in? That Mia?"

"I talk about her a normal amount," I said defensively. "She's my fake girlfriend. I'm supposed to be convincing."

"Dude," Dylan's expression turned serious, "there's convincing, and then there's whatever this is." He gestured to the suits, the dress shoes I'd polished earlier, and the tie collection I'd spread across my bed. "You're not even this neurotic before NHL scout visits."

I hung both suits back in the closet with more force than necessary. "I'm just being thorough. This arrangement is important for both of us."

"Sure, sure," Dylan nodded, a knowing smile spreading across his face. "The 'arrangement.' Very professional. Very businesslike. That's definitely why you've been practicing slow dancing with your pillow when you think I'm not home."

Heat rushed to my face. "You saw that?"

"Came back early from the library yesterday," he confirmed, looking delighted by my embarrassment. "Gotta say, you and Pillow Mia seemed to be having a very intimate moment. The pillow was blushing."

"I hate you," I groaned, collapsing onto my bed. "I just don't want to step on her toes or something. It's been a while since I've done the formal dance thing."

Dylan's expression softened. "Look, man, why don't you just admit that maybe this isn't completely fake anymore? At least not on your end?"

I stared at the ceiling, not answering immediately. The truth was, I'd been asking myself the same question more frequently lately.

"It's complicated," I finally said.

"Doesn't have to be," Dylan shrugged. "Unless you're making it complicated because you're afraid of what happens when the season ends and this 'arrangement' is supposed to be over."

I sat up, annoyed by his perceptiveness. "Since when are you the relationship guru? Last I checked, you and Olivia still pretend to hate each other while radiating enough sexual tension to power the entire arena."

"We're not talking about me," Dylan deflected, though his ears reddened noticeably. "And for your information, I asked Olivia to the formal too."

That caught me by surprise. "You did? When?"

"Yesterday." He tried to sound casual, but I could tell by the way he fidgeted with his controller that it mattered to him. "Just to keep an eye on you two idiots, obviously."

"Obviously," I echoed with a smile. "And she said yes?"

"After explaining in excruciating detail that she was only accepting to gather material for her exposé on athlete privilege," he confirmed. "But yeah, she said yes."

I laughed, recognizing the familiar dance these two had been doing for weeks. "Well, look at us. Couple of real Casanovas."

"Speak for yourself, pillow dancer," Dylan retorted, but he was smiling. "Now can you please pick a suit so we can go back to pretending we don't care about this dance?"

I chose the navy suit in the end, and spent an embarrassing amount of time getting ready the night of the formal. My hair refused to cooperate, my tie felt too tight, and I kept checking my watch even though I was already running early.

"You look fine," Dylan assured me as we left our apartment. "Very captainly. Mia will swoon appropriately."

"Shut up," I muttered, but felt marginally better.

We'd arranged to pick up Mia and Olivia at their apartment, which suddenly seemed like a terrible idea as we climbed the stairs to their floor. What if the corsage I'd bought was too much? What if it was the wrong color? What if she thought the whole thing was ridiculously old-fashioned?

Dylan knocked before I could spiral further, and Olivia answered, looking surprisingly elegant in a deep green dress that immediately rendered Dylan speechless. She took in his stunned expression with a smirk.

"Close your mouth, Dylan. You'll catch flies." But I noticed she seemed pleased by his reaction.

"You look nice," he managed finally, handing her a corsage with the careful precision of someone defusing a bomb.

"A corsage? Really?" she asked, but her eyes softened as she took it. "How charmingly regressive."

"I can take it back," Dylan offered, reaching for it.

"Don't you dare," she said, slipping it onto her wrist. "I'm fully committed to documenting this anthropological experience."

Their bickering created a comfortable background noise as I waited for Mia, nervously adjusting my tie. When her bedroom door finally opened, my carefully rehearsed greeting died in my throat.

She was stunning. Her deep blue dress brought out the warm tones in her skin and fit her perfectly, flowing gracefully to just above her knees. Her dark hair was partially pulled back, highlighting the elegant curve of her neck and the simple silver earrings catching the light as she moved. She looked like herself, but elevated—the essence of Mia distilled into its most beautiful form.

I realized I was staring without speaking when Olivia snorted and stage-whispered, "Boyfriend.exe has stopped working," while snapping photos on her phone.

"Hi," Mia said, looking almost shy.

"Hi," I echoed lamely, then remembered the corsage in my hand. "This is for you. I hope it's okay—I wasn't sure about the color, but the florist said white goes with everything, and I tried to find blue accents that might match your dress, which looks amazing, by the way, you look amazing, not just the dress, though that's great too, and I'm going to stop talking now."

She laughed, the sound breaking through my nervous rambling. "It's beautiful, thank you." She held out her wrist, allowing me to slip the corsage on. "Very traditional."

"Too much?" I asked quietly.

"No," she said, meeting my eyes. "It's perfect."

We posed for the obligatory pre-formal photos, Olivia insisting on capturing "the full charade for posterity," as she put it. In every shot, I was acutely aware of Mia beside me—the delicate floral scent of her perfume, the warmth of her waist under my hand, the way she relaxed against me as the photos continued.

The formal itself was being held in the university's grand ballroom, transformed for the occasion with twinkling lights, ice-blue decorations, and delicate paper snowflakes suspended from the ceiling. As we entered, Mia gasped softly beside me.

"It's like walking into a snow globe," she said, eyes wide with appreciation.

"Good venue for a photographer, right?" I asked, pleased by her reaction.

She nodded, though I noticed she hadn't brought her camera tonight. "Sometimes it's nice to just experience things, not document them."

"Professional night off?"

"Something like that," she agreed, then squeezed my arm gently. "Thank you for this, by the way. For asking me."

"Part of the arrangement, right?" I said automatically, immediately wishing I could take the words back when I saw a flicker of disappointment cross her face.

"Right," she said, her smile not quite reaching her eyes. "The arrangement."

Before I could backtrack, I spotted Vanessa across the room, watching us with lingering suspicion. She looked stunning in a form-fitting red dress, her new date—some guy from the lacrosse team—hovering attentively beside her. When she caught me looking, she whispered something to her date and began making her way toward us.

"Operation 'Convince Vanessa' is still in effect, I see," Mia murmured, following my gaze.

"Sorry," I said, genuinely meaning it. "We don't have to interact with her if you don't want to."

"It's fine," Mia assured me. "It's why we're here, after all."

Again, there was that strange undertone that made me wonder if she was as unaffected by our pretense as she claimed. Before I could analyze it further, Vanessa arrived, her smile sharp.

"Ethan, Mia," she greeted us with exaggerated warmth. "Don't you two look cozy."

"We are," I said simply, pulling Mia closer to my side. To my relief, she played along perfectly, leaning into me with practiced ease.

"How nice," Vanessa's gaze lingered on Mia's corsage. "Very traditional of you, Ethan. I don't recall you being such a romantic when we were together."

"People change," I said, refusing to take the bait. "You look nice, Vanessa. Is your date enjoying himself?"

Her smile tightened at the deflection. "Immensely. In fact, I should get back to him." She touched Mia's arm in a gesture of false friendliness. "Don't let him step on your toes during the slow dances. He's hopeless with rhythm."

After she swept away, Mia looked up at me with amusement. "Hopeless with rhythm?"

"She's exaggerating," I said defensively. "I'm not completely uncoordinated."

"Prove it," she challenged, nodding toward the dance floor where couples were already swaying to a slow song. "Unless you'd rather avoid the risk to my poor toes."

"Your toes are safe with me," I promised, taking her hand and leading her to the dance floor.

My bravado dissolved the instant my hand touched her waist, the silky fabric cool beneath my suddenly clumsy fingers. Taking her hand felt like closing an electric circuit. All those dance tutorials I'd watched? Laughably inadequate. They hadn't taught me how to handle the subtle floral scent of her hair, or the feeling of her breathing so close, or the simple, terrifying fact of holding Mia herself.

We moved awkwardly at first, both too aware of our performance. But as the song progressed, we gradually relaxed into each other. My hand settled more naturally at her waist, hers found a comfortable position on my shoulder, and our movements became fluid instead of mechanical.

"Not hopeless after all," Mia observed with a small smile, looking up at me.

"Don't sound so surprised," I said, adopting a wounded expression. "I have hidden talents."

"So you keep saying."

We continued dancing, falling into a comfortable rhythm. Around us, other couples moved in their own worlds—including Dylan and Olivia, who appeared to be dancing and arguing simultaneously, neither willing to break away despite their animated disagreement.

"Look at those two," Mia said, following my gaze. "They're ridiculous."

"Completely," I agreed. "Obviously can't stand each other."

"Obviously," she echoed, her eyes sparkling with amusement. "Just like their dedicated research into each other's trigger points is purely academic."

"Purely," I nodded solemnly. "I've never seen two people work so hard to pretend they're not attracted to each other."

As soon as the words left my mouth, I realized their potential double meaning. Mia's eyes met mine, a flash of something vulnerable crossing her features before she looked away.

"Some people have trouble recognizing what's right in front of them," she said quietly.

The song changed to something more upbeat, breaking the moment. We separated slightly, both seemingly grateful for the shift in atmosphere.

The rest of the evening passed in a pleasant blur. We danced to fast songs in groups, laughed at the increasingly ridiculous dance moves Dylan kept attempting, and posed for the official formal photos with exaggerated smiles. Throughout it all, I found myself watching Mia.

When the formal began winding down around midnight, guests gradually filtering out toward after-parties or back to dorms, I found myself reluctant to end the evening.

"Do you want to go to the hockey house party?" I asked Mia as we retrieved our coats. "Or we could grab late-night waffles at Brewed Sunshine ?"

She looked thoughtful. "Actually, would you mind if we just walked for a bit? It's a beautiful night."

The winter night was surprisingly mild, the sky a clear, deep canvas pricked with stars. We strolled across campus in comfortable silence, her hand tucked into the crook of my arm. Our breath formed small clouds in the air, but it wasn't cold enough to be uncomfortable.

Without discussion, we found ourselves at the university fountain—the ornate centerpiece of the main quad, lit with subtle blue lights that made the water shimmer like liquid silver. By unspoken agreement, we sat on the wide stone edge, close enough that our shoulders touched.

"I had fun tonight," Mia said after a moment. "More than I expected to."

"Me too," I admitted. "Though I still maintain my dancing wasn't that bad."

She laughed. "It wasn't bad at all. Vanessa clearly underestimated you."

"She underestimated a lot of things," I said, surprised by the lack of bitterness I felt. Just months ago, the breakup had seemed like a major setback, a distraction I couldn't afford with scouts watching. Now it felt distant, inconsequential.

"Like what?" Mia asked, genuinely curious.

I thought for a moment. "Like the fact that relationships aren't just accessories to show off when things are going well. Or that I might actually want someone who understands the pressure I'm under instead of adding to it." I glanced at her profile, illuminated by the fountain's blue light. "Someone who sees me as more than just a hockey player."

She turned to meet my gaze. "What do you want them to see?"

Her question hung between us, heavy with unspoken truths. I couldn’t voice the real answer—that our pretend romance was starting to feel real to me, that I craved her seeing me as more than just a hockey captain or a camera’s subject, or even her stan d- in boyfriend.

When a cold breeze swept past, she shivered. On impulse, I slipped my arm around her shoulders. She leaned in without hesitation, fitting perfectly against me as though we’d shared this moment a hundred times before.

I leaned in and kissed her.

To my relief, Mia responded immediately, her hand coming up to rest against my cheek as the kiss deepened.

Time seemed to suspend as we lost ourselves in each other. Her lips were soft, tasting faintly of the chocolate dessert from the formal. I cradled her face in my hands, marveling at the smoothness of her skin, the gentle sigh that escaped her as my thumb traced her cheekbone.

When we finally broke apart, both slightly breathless, I found myself unwilling to let the moment end.

"Do you want to go somewhere more private?" I asked, my voice low.

She looked at me for a long moment, something conflicted crossing her features before she nodded with a small, nervous smile. "Yes."

The walk back to my apartment was charged with anticipation, our hands linked, occasional glances confirming we were both thinking the same thing. Dylan had texted earlier that he was heading to an after-party with Olivia, meaning we'd have the place to ourselves.

As I unlocked the door, a moment of doubt crept in. What were we doing? Was this crossing a line in our arrangement? But when Mia stepped past me into the dimly lit apartment and turned to look at me with those expressive eyes, all questions faded.

The click of my apartment door closing felt different. It wasn't just shutting out the campus or the chill night air. It felt like shutting out the pretense, the carefully constructed lines we'd drawn around ourselves. Watching Mia shrug off my jacket – the deep blue silk of her dress shimmering in the soft light – I felt a wave of something potent and unfamiliar wash over me. It wasn't just desire, though there was plenty of that. It was possession. A need to claim this moment, this feeling.

She turned to face me, a faint blush still coloring her cheeks, her eyes wide and questioning.

"Mia," I started, my voice sounding rougher than I intended.

I didn't wait for her reply. Stepping forward, I closed the distance between us, my hands coming up to gently frame her face. Her eyes fluttered closed briefly as I leaned in. The kiss started soft, tentative, a question asked without words. Her lips parted slightly, inviting me in, and the kiss deepened, slow and deliberate. Her hands, initially hesitant, slid under my suit jacket, palms pressing flat against my back, pulling me closer. I could feel the slight tremble in her fingers.

Breaking the kiss felt like surfacing for air. We just looked at each other for a long moment, breathing heavily. Her lipstick was slightly smeared, and I had the absurd urge to fix it with my thumb. Instead, my hands slid down her shoulders, fingers catching the zipper at the back of her dress.

"Can I?"

She nodded, her gaze locked with mine. I drew the zipper down slowly, savoring the reveal of the smooth skin of her back. The blue silk slid easily, pooling around her ankles with a soft rustle. She stood before me in delicate, lacy black underwear and heels, looking absurdly vulnerable and incredibly sexy. My cock gave a hard throb against my trousers. I took a steadying breath, fighting the urge to rush. This needed to be different. Real.

Her fingers went to the knot of my tie, loosening it with surprisingly steady hands before sliding it free. Then she started on the buttons of my dress shirt, her knuckles brushing against my skin, sending jolts through my system. She pushed the shirt off my shoulders, her eyes widening slightly as she took in my bare chest. I saw the flicker of appreciation in her gaze, and it fueled the fire building inside me.

"You're stunning," she murmured, her fingertips tracing the line of my collarbone.

I bent down, scooping her effortlessly into my arms. She let out a surprised gasp, her arms instinctively wrapping around my neck. I carried her the few steps into my bedroom, the scent of her floral perfume filling my senses. I laid her on the center of my bed, the dark duvet contrasting sharply with her pale skin and black lingerie.

She looked up at me, apprehension warring with desire in her eyes. I leaned down, supporting myself on one hand beside her head, using the other to gently trace the curve of her ass, the dip of her waist.

My hands began to explore, relearning the shape of her. I skimmed over the lace of her bra, thumbs brushing the swell of her breasts before moving lower, my fingers tracing patterns on the flat plane of her stomach. She arched slightly, a soft sigh escaping her lips.

I wanted to taste her, all of her. My mouth trailed down her neck, lingering where her pulse beat frantically, then moving lower, across her collarbone. I flicked my tongue across the lacy edge of her bra before drawing the delicate fabric down, freeing her breasts. They were perfect, round and full, the nipples tight little buds. I took one into my mouth, laving it gently, suckling until she gasped my name, her fingers clenching in my hair. I gave the other breast equal attention, reveling in her response, the way her ass tilted up off the bed.

My kisses trailed lower, over her ribs, pausing at her navel. Her breathing was shallow, ragged. I eased the lacy black panties down her hips, tossing them aside. She was exquisite, laid bare before me. I looked up, meeting her gaze. Her eyes were dark, luminous, trusting. That trust was a responsibility I embraced fully.

"Ethan," she breathed, uncertain.

"Shh," I whispered, lowering my head. "Let me..."

I tasted her pussy then. Her scent filled my head, musky and sweet. I explored her delicately at first, learning her folds, her clit. She moaned softly, her legs parting further, granting me deeper access. My tongue delved, slick and insistent, stroking her clit with growing confidence as I felt her arousal build. She cried out, a sharp, keening sound as her climax seized her. I held her hips steady, murmuring praise against her slick skin.

When her trembling subsided, she looked dazed, beautiful. But there was a determined glint in her eyes now. Before I could fully recover, she pushed at my shoulders. "My turn," she whispered, her voice husky.

I let her guide me onto my back, slightly stunned by her assertiveness. She straddled my hips, her weight settling against me. Slowly, she began to explore me with her hands, tracing the muscles of my chest, teasing my nipples until they hardened, running her fingers down my stomach, circling my navel. My breath hitched when her hand finally closed around my cock, already painfully hard.

She bent low, her hair falling around us like a curtain, her hot breath ghosting over the head of my dick. Then her mouth closed over me. My eyes slammed shut. It was torture, exquisite and unbearable. She took my cock deep, her tongue working magic, her hand stroking my shaft in perfect rhythm. I groaned, my hands fisting in the duvet. Control, always my default setting, dissolved completely under her skillful ministrations. I tangled my fingers in her hair, not pulling, just anchoring myself.

"Mia, fuck," I gasped out. "That feels..."

"Good?" she murmured against my dick, before taking me deeper still.

The pressure built relentlessly. I felt the familiar tightening, the inevitable surge. "Mia, I'm going to..."

She quickened her pace, her mouth moving expertly, drawing out my release until I couldn't hold back any longer. With a ragged cry, I came, spilling my cum into her mouth, the release blindingly intense. She didn't stop until the last pulses faded, then slowly lifted her head, her lips glistening, a look of profound satisfaction on her face.

We collapsed together then, limbs tangled, sweat-slicked skin clinging. My heart hammered against my ribs, echoing hers. I pulled her close, burying my face between her tits, breathing her in.

As Mia slept peacefully beside me, her dark hair spilling across my pillow, I stared at the ceiling and tried to remind myself that this was all for show—a mutually beneficial agreement with an expiration date.

But the memory of her naked body fitting perfectly against mine, the way she'd whispered my name in the darkness of my room, the trust in her eyes as she'd let me see all of her—those things felt anything but fake.

I was in dangerous territory, and I had no idea how to find my way back. Or if I even wanted to.