Page 17

"If you don't stop fidgeting, I'm going to tape you to the seat," Olivia threatened, lowering her book to glare at me over the top of her reading glasses. "What's got you so wound up anyway?"

I forced my bouncing knee to still. We were only an hour into the three-hour drive to the mountain resort for the team's annual ski weekend – three vans packed tight with hockey players and their plus-ones – and I'd apparently been vibrating with nervous energy the entire time. "Nothing. Just excited about the ski weekend."

Olivia's eyebrow shot up in disbelief. "You hate skiing. Last year you said, and I quote, 'Strapping sticks to my feet and hurtling down a frozen mountain is a form of voluntary torture that should be studied by psychologists.'"

"I never said that," I protested weakly, though I definitely had.

"You absolutely did. Right before you spent the entire weekend in the lodge drinking overpriced hot chocolate and reading mystery novels."

I shrugged, unable to deny the truth. "Well, this year I'm covering it for the paper, so I have to at least try."

"Uh-huh," Olivia smirked, returning to her book. "I'm sure it has nothing to do with sharing a cabin with a certain hockey captain."

I felt heat rush to my cheeks, cursing my friend's uncanny ability to read my thoughts. The truth was, I hadn't stopped thinking about the implications of this trip since we'd been assigned cabin rooms yesterday. Ethan and I were expected to share a room—a room with one bed—because as far as everyone knew, we were a real couple.

A couple who would naturally want to sleep together.

In the same bed.

All night.

"Shut up," I muttered, turning to stare out the window at the snow-covered landscape rushing past. Trees laden with fresh powder lined the winding mountain road, creating a winter wonderland that would have been soothing if my stomach wasn't tied in knots.

In the front seat, Dylan and Ethan were deep in conversation about upcoming playoff matchups. Occasionally, Ethan would glance at me in the rearview mirror, his eyes meeting mine briefly before returning to the road. Each time it happened, my heart did a little flip that annoyed me immensely.

This was not supposed to happen. I wasn't supposed to develop actual feelings for my fake boyfriend. That was literally the first rule of any fake dating arrangement. It was Romance Novel 101.

And yet, here I was, counting the times Ethan looked at me in the mirror like some lovesick teenager.

"—right, Mia?"

I blinked, realizing Olivia had asked me something. "Sorry, what?"

She rolled her eyes dramatically. "I said, you'll need to borrow my extra gloves since you always forget yours. Are you even on this planet right now?"

"Yes, sorry. Gloves. Right. Thanks."

Dylan twisted in his seat to face us, a sly smirk tugging at his lips. "What's got our photographer so distracted? Daydreaming about someone special?"

"I'm mentally composing some shots," I lied smoothly. "Coach Alvarez wants them to highlight team bonding, not just the fun stuff."

"Team bonding," Dylan repeated, wiggling his eyebrows. "Is that what we're calling it now?"

Ethan reached over without taking his eyes off the road and smacked Dylan's arm. "Leave her alone. Some of us actually take our work seriously."

"Says the guy who spent three hours yesterday reviewing game footage instead of packing," Dylan retorted, but he turned back around, leaving me in peace.

I caught Ethan's eye in the mirror again and mouthed "thank you." The small smile he gave in return made my stomach flutter traitorously.

By the time we reached the resort, my nerves had settled somewhat. The ski lodge was exactly what you'd expect—all rustic wooden beams and stone fireplaces, with large windows showcasing spectacular mountain views. The air smelled of pine, wood smoke, and hot chocolate.

While Ethan checked us in, I wandered the lobby, taking test shots with my camera to check the lighting. Through my viewfinder, I captured candid moments: Tyler and Jensen arguing good-naturedly over who would get the top bunk in their room; Coach Alvarez's wife laughing at something he whispered in her ear; freshmen players trying to act cool while clearly overwhelmed by the luxury of the resort.

Then Ethan entered my frame, room keys in hand, scanning the lobby until he found me. Even through the camera, the intensity of his gaze made my breath catch. I lowered the camera as he approached, trying to ignore the way my pulse quickened.

"So," he began, dangling a key card between us. "We're in Cabin 3, Room 4."

"Right," I nodded, aiming for nonchalance. "Shared room. Because we're... you know."

"Dating," he confirmed softly. "Is that going to be a problem?"

I forced a laugh. "No, of course not. We're adults. We can share a room like mature, responsible people."

"Exactly," he agreed. "Mature. Responsible."

"Absolutely."

We stood there awkwardly until Dylan slung an arm around each of our shoulders, breaking the tension.

"If you two are done having the world's most uncomfortable conversation in the middle of the lobby, the rest of us would like to get settled before hitting the slopes."

And just like that, the moment passed. We collected our bags and followed the team to our assigned cabins, our footsteps crunching in the fresh snow. The cabins were scattered among the pines, connected by winding paths lit with small lanterns. It was undeniably romantic, which did nothing to calm my frayed nerves.

Cabin 3 was a large, well-appointed structure with four bedrooms, a common area with a fireplace, and a small kitchen. We were sharing with Dylan and Olivia (who had separate rooms, despite the obvious tension between them), and another couple—Sanchez and his girlfriend Leila.

Ethan pushed open the door to Room 4, standing aside to let me enter first. The room was cozy but not cramped, with pine furniture, thick wool rugs, and a large window overlooking the forest. A small fireplace occupied one corner, already set with logs ready to light.

And dominating the space was one queen-sized bed, covered in a plush down comforter.

One bed.

Ethan cleared his throat behind me. "Nice room."

"Yeah," I managed, setting my camera bag down carefully on a side table. "Very... alpine."

We moved around each other cautiously, unpacking toiletries and hanging up coats without making eye contact. The elephant in the room—or rather, the single bed in the room—remained unaddressed until a knock on the door provided a welcome interruption.

Dylan poked his head in without waiting for an answer. "Team meeting in the main lodge in twenty. Dress for skiing afterward." His eyes flicked to the bed, then back to us with barely concealed amusement. "Don't get too comfortable."

Ethan threw a pillow at him, which he dodged easily, cackling as he retreated.

Once we were alone again, Ethan ran a hand through his hair. "Look, about the sleeping arrangements—"

"It's fine," I interrupted, not wanting to make an already awkward situation worse. "We can handle this like adults. It's just sleeping."

"Right," he nodded, relief evident in his voice. "Just sleeping. No big deal."

"No big deal at all."

We both knew we were lying.

Two hours later, I found myself on the beginner slope, questioning every life decision that had led to this moment. After the team meeting (which consisted mainly of Coach Alvarez reminding everyone not to break any bones right before playoffs), we'd split into groups based on skiing ability. Ethan, naturally, had wanted to join his teammates on the advanced runs, but to my surprise, he'd hesitated.

"I can stay with you," he'd offered. "If you want company on the easier slopes."

"Don't be ridiculous," I'd insisted. "Go have fun with the guys. I'll be fine taking photos from the relative safety of the bunny hill."

But he'd been adamant. "I want to stay with you. Besides, I'm supposed to be your doting boyfriend, remember? What kind of jerk would leave his girlfriend alone on her first real skiing attempt?"

And so here we were, me clutching my poles for dear life while Ethan demonstrated proper form with infuriating ease.

"The key is to keep your weight forward," he explained patiently. "If you lean back, you'll lose control."

"Bold of you to assume I have any control to lose," I muttered, eyeing the gentle slope with disproportionate dread.

He laughed. "You're overthinking it. Skiing is like—"

"If you say it's like riding a bike, I swear I'll stab you with this pole."

"I was going to say it's like dancing," he grinned. "Remember how you led me at your parents' house? Same principle—feel the flow, find the rhythm."

The reminder of our dance at Three Kings Day sent an unexpected warmth through me, despite the freezing temperature. Ethan had been so different that day—relaxed, playful, genuinely engaged with my family. It was a side of him I rarely saw on campus.

"Earth to Mia," Ethan waved a gloved hand in front of my face. "Ready to try again?"

I sighed dramatically but nodded. "Fine. But when I break something important, you're explaining to my professor why I can't hold a camera."

"Deal."

To my surprise, I didn't break anything. In fact, by the third run down the beginner slope, I was actually enjoying myself. Ethan was a patient teacher, offering guidance without being condescending, and his genuine delight when I successfully navigated a turn without falling was infectious.

"See? You're a natural," he beamed as we reached the bottom of the slope for the fourth time.

"Hardly," I laughed, flushed with cold and excitement. "But it's more fun than I expected."

"Want to try the intermediate slope? I promise it's not much steeper."

I hesitated, torn between my newfound confidence and healthy self-preservation instincts. "Maybe after lunch? I should take some photos for the paper while the light's good."

He nodded understandingly. "Photographer first, ski bunny second."

"Did you just call me a ski bunny?"

"Would you prefer 'snow angel'? 'Winter warrior'?"

I rolled my eyes, but couldn't help smiling. "Just for that, you get to be my camera mule." I handed him my equipment bag. "Make yourself useful, hockey star."

We spent the next hour wandering the resort while I captured images for the paper. Through my lens, I found moments of genuine camaraderie among the team—Sanchez and Reyes building a snow fort with surprising engineering skill; Tyler leading an impromptu snowball fight that devolved into belly laughs when Coach got hit; freshmen getting tips from seniors on their skiing technique.

But increasingly, my camera found its way back to Ethan. There was something about the way the winter light caught his profile, softening his usually sharp features.

"Find anything good?" he asked, coming to stand beside me as I reviewed shots on my camera's display.

"A few," I admitted, carefully skipping past the ones where he was the sole focus. "The lighting's perfect today."

He leaned closer to see the screen, his warm breath fogging slightly in the cold air. "These are incredible, Mia. You make us look like we actually know what we're doing."

"That's the magic of photography," I smiled. "Making the mundane look extraordinary."

"Is that what you're doing with me?" he asked quietly, his eyes finding mine. "Making me look better than I am?"

The question caught me off guard. "No," I answered honestly. "If anything, I just show what's already there that most people don't take the time to see."

Something shifted in his expression, an openness that made my heart race. For a long moment, we just looked at each other, the noise of the resort fading to background static.

The spell was broken by Dylan's voice calling Ethan's name. We turned to see him waving from the base of the advanced slope, gesturing for Ethan to join them.

"You should go," I said, trying to ignore the disappointment I felt. "I know you're dying to hit the real slopes."

"You sure?" he asked, hesitating.

"Positive. Go show off your hockey-adjacent skills. I'll get more candids for the paper."

He squeezed my hand briefly before jogging over to join his teammates. I watched through my viewfinder as he integrated seamlessly into their group, instantly more animated as they headed toward the chairlift.

"Subtle," Olivia's voice came from behind me. I turned to find her on a nearby bench, nursing a steaming cup of something that smelled like mulled cider.

"What?"

"The longing stares, the lingering touches," she mimicked, batting her eyelashes dramatically. "Very subtle. No one would ever guess you're actually falling for your fake boyfriend."

I sat beside her with a groan. "Is it that obvious?"

"Only to someone who's known you since freshman orientation," she assured me, passing me her cup to share.

I took a grateful sip, letting the spiced warmth spread through me. "This is such a mess. What am I supposed to do? Once hockey season ends and I get my portfolio together..."

"Then what?" she challenged. "You shake hands and go your separate ways? After meeting each other's families? After whatever's clearly happening between you?"

"That was the plan," I sighed, watching the team through my viewfinder as they ascended on the chairlift. Ethan's laughing face filled my frame, completely at ease in this environment. "But now..."

"Now you're in trouble," Olivia finished for me, reclaiming her cup. "Welcome to the club."

I turned to her, eyebrows raised. "The club?"

"The 'Accidentally Falling for Someone I Was Determined to Dislike' Club," she elaborated, avoiding my eyes. "Membership: currently two."

"Oh my god," I gasped, realization dawning. "You and Dylan?"

"There is no 'me and Dylan,'" she denied vehemently, though the blush creeping up her neck told a different story. "Just... maybe he's not the entitled jock stereotype I assumed he was. And maybe we've been texting. A little."

I laughed, genuinely delighted by this development. "Olivia, champion of academic integrity and sworn enemy of athlete favoritism, texting a hockey player. This is the best day of my life."

She elbowed me sharply. "Shut up. It's nothing. And we were talking about your problems, not mine."

"My problems can wait. This is much more interesting."

We spent the rest of the afternoon exchanging confidences, watching the team's antics from a distance, and taking turns with my camera. By the time everyone reconvened for dinner at the main lodge, I felt lighter, knowing I wasn't alone in my complicated feelings.

The lodge's restaurant was transformed for dinner, with twinkling lights strung across wooden beams and candles flickering on every table. The team had pushed several tables together to create one long dining area, with Coach and his wife at one end and the rest of us scattered along the sides. Ethan had saved me a seat beside him, his hair still damp from a post-skiing shower, smelling of pine-scented soap.

"Have fun today?" he asked as I slid into my chair.

"More than expected," I admitted. "Though I'm already feeling muscles I didn't know existed."

"Wait until tomorrow," he grinned. "Day Two is when the real pain sets in."

"Sadist."

"Realist."

Dinner was a lively affair, with everyone talking over each other to share stories of their day's adventures and misadventures. Coach Alvarez seemed more relaxed than I'd ever seen him, laughing openly at the team's banter and holding his wife's hand on the table. Even the rookies, usually quiet around the older players, joined in the storytelling.

I found myself watching more than participating, cataloging the dynamics like I would through my camera lens: the easy brotherhood between players who spent most of their time competing against each other; the way some referenced inside jokes with nothing more than a raised eyebrow; how even in this relaxed setting, they all looked to Ethan when opinions were divided, naturally deferring to his leadership.

"You're staring," Ethan murmured, his lips close to my ear.

"Observing," I corrected. "It's different."

"What are you observing, then?"

I turned to face him, suddenly aware of our proximity. "How different you are here. Relaxed. Like you can breathe."

Something vulnerable flickered in his eyes before he masked it. "It's the mountain air. Does wonders for the lungs."

But I had seen it – that fleeting admission in his eyes, confirming I'd touched something real. Before I could delve deeper, Tyler stood, tapping his glass with a spoon to get everyone's attention.

"Since we're all fed and watered," he announced, "it's time for the real reason we come to ski weekend: embarrassing party games in the main cabin."

The team erupted in cheers while Coach Alvarez shook his head with fond exasperation. "Just remember we're back on the slopes at 9 AM tomorrow," he warned. "Hangovers are not an excuse for missing team activities."

As we made our way back to the cabins, snow began to fall in large, lazy flakes that caught in Ethan's dark hair and on his eyelashes. Without thinking, I reached up to brush one from his cheek, the gesture unexpectedly intimate.

His eyes met mine, wide with surprise, and I quickly dropped my hand. "Sorry. Photographer's instinct. Everything looks like a potential shot."

"No problem," he smiled.

We walked the rest of the way in charged silence.

The main cabin's common room had been transformed for the evening's festivities, with furniture pushed back to create a large open space, bottles and snacks arranged on a central table, and a fire roaring in the hearth. Someone had connected their phone to a portable speaker, filling the room with music just loud enough to create atmosphere without preventing conversation.

"Ladies and gentlemen," Dylan announced as we entered, "let the Annual Hockey Team Ski Weekend Games begin!"

What followed was the most ridiculous two hours of my life. The team had apparently developed a tradition of increasingly absurd party games, starting with a relatively tame charades competition and devolving from there. Teams were drawn randomly, putting me and Ethan together by sheer luck—or possibly Dylan's interference, given his smug expression when he pulled our names from a hat.

To my surprise, we were a formidable team. Despite our short history, we seemed to have developed an uncanny ability to read each other's cues. When I drew the impossible task of acting out "quantum physics" without speaking, Ethan guessed it in under thirty seconds, leaving the rest of the room staring in disbelief.

"How did you possibly get that?" Sanchez demanded.

Ethan smiled. "She tapped her watch and then did that thing with her hands that she does when she's explaining something complicated. It was obvious."