of him and throws her arms around his neck. She lets out a squeal, and I roll my eyes. All I need is some popcorn and this is a show.
After a few hugs, he manages to move away from them and takes up residence near the dance floor. His two friends stand next to him as he scans the crowd, arms loose at his sides, his gaze moving from one face to the next as if searching for something special, much like I do when picking out a good donut.
His attention lands on the column, and his eyes rove until they capture mine. I freeze. Crap. My body hums, and I nearly drop my cup as a jolt of adrenaline lights up my veins.
Well.
Maybe this won’t be as hard as I thought.
Maybe I can get his attention.
But then he frowns.
Wait—why is he frowning?
Am I that awful? Well, yes. I glance down at my black leggings and puffy black North Face jacket. I’m a blob in shapeless clothes, and I guess I could have actually put on party attire before I came, but this extravaganza happened right after my work shift and I didn’t have time.
“I can’t do this,” I mutter under my breath.
He’s the king of the ice, and I’m just…no one. I come from nothing. I have nothing, literally. Okay, I have fifty-three dollars in my checking account, but that’s barely enough to hold me over until my next paycheck. Thank goodness for scholarships and loans. But man, those loans are big, just waiting for me when I graduate. I twist a strand of hair around my index finger, making it into a tight spiral before letting it go.
I have to be realistic.
This crazy, harebrained idea will never work.
Plus, I don’t have time for over-the-top, testosterone-driven superstar athletes.
Until now, that is.
I have to make time.
Because Zack Morgan is the key to me getting into the law school of my dreams. He just has to agree to be my fake boyfriend.
2
Zack
The door to the Kappa house looms in front of me, and I toy with the idea of ditching. I hate the dog and pony show that waits for me inside.
I’m sick of it.
I know what they see—a talented hockey player with the world at his feet—but it’s not true. Nothing is true.
I push a hand through my hair. What I should do is get the hell out of here and decompress from our win tonight—which we barely pulled out of our ass.
At least I didn’t have another episode.
My gut twists as I think back to the Minnesota-Duluth game and how I lost my shit. I can’t let that happen again, not when it might get enough press that the Predators catch on.
I touch the necklace that’s under my shirt. It’s not a magic talisman, but it does keep me grounded—for now—and as my new sports psychologist says, it sure as hell won’t hurt.
I grimace. He saw my fuckup all over TV like everyone else.
I’ve been nervous and anxious during a game before, but that debacle…that was a new animal.
I feel color rising on my face. It was also embarrassing.
That night, the medics and trainers took one look at me and called 911. I came to and told them to stop. Fuck, I pleaded for them to cancel the ambulance, but they didn’t and I ended up at the ER. One EKG and a few tests later, there I was, my heart just fine. Our team lost to our biggest rival, and I walked out of the hospital and told the public I’d had a recent bout with the flu and wasn’t completely recovered yet.
Lie.
Only Coach, Eric, and Reece know the truth.
Because if people discover I have real issues with anxiety, I’m done in the NHL, all my dreams destroyed.
Thus the new psychologist. The thing is, you can’t fix a guy with guilt so deep it cuts like a knife.
“Dude. You going to stand out here in the cold all night? Everyone’s waiting.” Eric winks and nods his head at the door. “Some girl is dying to get with you.”
I throw a look at him, taking in the styled dark red hair and short beard. He’s all decked out in his blue dress shirt, slacks, and loafers—his I’m gonna get laid tonight outfit. My best friend since summer training his freshman year, he’s a year younger than me and sharp as hell underneath that lighthearted playboy exterior.
“It’s just a party, man.” This comes from my brother Reece, who’s also dressed