Fake Dating Him, Admired by His Rival

The Rival

Callum’s Pov

I wanted to rip the champagne glass right out of Beckett Rowan’s hand and smash it on the floor.

He stood across the ballroom, leaning against the glass door like he owned the place, wearing that stupid, smug smile that made my blood boil. He raised his glass to me in a silent toast, his dark eyes sparkling with pure evil. He knew exactly what he was doing.

"Callum?" Sienna’s voice was small, cutting through the roaring noise in my ears. She touched my arm, her soft fingers sending a shockwave right through my suit jacket. "Do you know who that is?"

"He's nobody," I lied, my voice sounding like gravel. I grabbed her hand, squeezing it just a little tighter than I meant to, and pulled her toward the exit. "We're leaving."

"Hey! Slow down!" she complained, her high heels clicking loudly on the marble floor as she stumbled slightly to keep up with my fast steps. "You can't just drag me out of a charity event! What is wrong with you?"

I didn't answer until we were safely inside the back of my black SUV, far away from the cameras and Beckett’s ugly face. The silence inside the car was heavy and suffocating.

"That guy back there was Beckett Rowan," I said, staring straight out the tinted window at the passing city lights. "He plays for the Vipers. He’s a dirty player on the ice, and he’s an even worse person off it."

"And you think he sent the flowers? And that note?" Sienna asked, looking down at the folded paper still clutched in her hand.

"I don't think, Sienna. I know," I snapped, turning to face her. "He’s been trying to get under my skin since we were sixteen years old. He knows about our arrangement or at least he guesses it’s fake, and he’s using you to mess with my head before our big game next week."

"So it's just about hockey?" Sienna asked.

Something about the way her voice sounded made me pause. She looked down at the note, her thumb gently tracing the dark ink. A tiny, faint smile touched her lips, a real smile, not the fake one she put on for the photographers.

"Why are you smiling?" I demanded, feeling a sudden, burning tightness in my chest.

"I'm not," she lied, quickly smoothing out her face.

"You are!" I said, feeling my temper flare up again. "You're actually happy that a creep is sending you weird letters!"

"He isn't being a creep, Callum," she said, looking right into my eyes with her clear, honest glare. "Whoever wrote this noticed that I was wearing red. He noticed that I was trying hard. Do you know how long it’s been since anyone noticed tiny things about me? You only pay attention to me when the cameras are pointing at us!"

Her words hit me straight in the gut like a heavy hockey stick. I froze, unable to say a word.

"I know this whole thing is just a silly game to you and Beckett," she whispered, her voice suddenly dropping into a quiet, sad tone. "I know I’m just a prop to fix your image. But for a second, when I read those letters, it felt nice to think someone was actually paying attention to me."

She turned her head to look out her window, leaving me sitting there in the dark, feeling like the biggest i***t in the world.

I told myself I didn't care. I told myself that my chest hurt only because I hated losing to Beckett. I told myself that keeping Sienna happy was just part of my job to save my career. But deep down, where I didn't want to look, I knew I was lying to myself. I didn't want Beckett making her smile. I wanted to be the one who made her smile.

The next morning, I woke up early before the sun even came up. My mind was racing, repeating her words over and over: You only pay attention to me when the cameras are pointing at us.

I grabbed my phone and made three quick phone calls. If Beckett wanted to play a game, I was going to beat him. Because I didn't lose. Not on the ice, and definitely not to him.

Around noon, I drove over to the community arts center where Sienna worked. It was a rundown building with peeling paint, but inside, it was full of loud, happy kids painting pictures and playing instruments. I stood near the doorway of the main classroom, watching her. She was wearing an oversized green sweater covered in dried paint spots, her hair tied up in a messy bun, laughing loudly as a little girl showed her a picture of a purple dog.

She looked ten times prettier right now than she did in any of those fancy dresses at the gala.

"Callum?" Sienna blinked in surprise when she finally noticed me standing there. "What are you doing here? Did Grayson send you?"

"No," I said, walking slowly into the room. I cleared my throat, suddenly feeling strangely nervous, a feeling I hadn't felt in front of thousands of screaming fans. "I remembered something you said last week."

"What?" she asked, tilting her head.

I reached behind my back and pulled out a large, heavy brown paper bag. "You said you hated the fancy catering at the team events because nobody ever served warm chocolate chip cookies. And you mentioned that your favorite bakery was the one on 4th Street that closes at eight in the morning."

Sienna’s eyes went wide. She looked at the bag, then looked up at me like I had just grown two heads. "You went to the 4th Street bakery? They have a line around the block at six in the morning!"

"I stood in line," I said, rubbing the back of my neck, feeling my ears get hot. "And... there's one more thing."

I pointed out the large glass window toward the courtyard behind the center. Parked outside was a giant delivery truck, and three men were unloading brand new wooden easels, stacks of fresh painting canvases, and giant boxes filled with high quality art supplies.

Sienna gasped, running to the window and pressing her hands against the glass. "What... what is all that?"

"It's for the kids," I said softly, stepping up right behind her. "You said the program was running out of supplies for the winter class. I figured... well, since we're partners, I should help out."

Sienna turned around slowly. Her eyes were shiny with unshed tears, and her lips were parted in complete shock.

"Why did you do this?" she whispered, looking up at me. "Is this for the media? Are there photographers outside?"

"No cameras," I said, looking straight into her eyes so she could see I wasn't lying. "No reporters. Just me."

For a long, quiet second, neither of us said anything. The noise of the kids playing faded away, leaving only the loud, fast thump of my heart against my ribs. Sienna stepped closer to me, reaching out to gently touch my forearm. Her touch was warm, and a strange, thrilling warmth spread all through my chest.

"Thank you, Callum," she murmured, a soft, beautiful smile spreading across her face. "This is... the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me."

My chest swelled with a crazy, terrifying kind of pride. I had beaten Beckett. I had made her smile brighter than any stupid note ever could. But as I looked down at her happy face, a scary realization hit me like a ton of bricks.

I wasn't doing this to beat Beckett anymore. I was doing it because I couldn't stand the thought of her looking at anyone else.