THE HOCKEY CAPTAIN'S ROOMMATE DEAL

Chapter 3

Dylan’s Pov

My phone felt like a block of ice in my hand, burning cold against my skin.

The official engagement announcement has been scheduled for this weekend.

Those stupid words on the screen made my stomach churn. My mother didn't ask me. My father didn't care what I wanted. They just made a decision for me, like I was a toy they could play with or a business asset they could trade. They wanted me to marry Ava Sterling, a girl I couldn't stand, just because her family's money could help the Whitaker empire grow bigger.

Across the room, Emma was watching me with those big, suspicious brown eyes. She didn't know half of it. She thought I was just some spoiled jock with a bad attitude. If she knew the cage my family had built around me, she might actually feel sorry for me.

Not that I wanted her pity.

"What are you staring at?" I snapped, throwing my phone onto the bed so hard it bounced off the mattress.

Emma crossed her arms, raising an eyebrow. "You look like you just saw a ghost, Whitaker. Or realized you're actually human."

"Just drop it," I muttered, turning my back to her.

I pulled my blanket over my head, but sleep didn't come. My mind raced all night long. Hockey was the only thing I owned. It was the only place where my name didn't matter, where I earned my spot on the ice through sweat and broken bones, not my father's bank account. If my parents forced this marriage on me, I would lose the last piece of freedom I had left. I wasn't going to let them win.

The next morning, the ice rink was freezing, but my head was burning up. Coach blew his whistle, and the sound echoed off the glass walls.

"Let's go, Whitaker! Move your feet!" Coach yelled from the bench.

I grabbed the puck, skated hard down the wing, and fired a slap shot straight at the net. It slammed right into the goalpost with a loud CLANG and bounced out. I missed. I never miss.

I slammed my stick against the ice, breathing heavy through my face mask.

"Whoa, easy there, captain," Jace said, skating up beside me and tapping his stick against mine. "You're trying to murder the puck out there. What's wrong with you today? You look like you want to punch someone."

"Nothing is wrong," I lied, pushing past him to get back into position.

Jace kept pace with me, skating backward while giving me a knowing grin. "Right. Nothing's wrong. Except for the fact that you've muttered the name 'Emma' about twenty times in the locker room this morning."

I stopped dead in my tracks on the ice. "I did not."

"You totally did," Jace laughed, spinning around to catch a pass. "You're obsessed, man. I've never seen you care this much about what a girl thinks of you. Usually, they're throwing themselves at your feet, and you don't even blink."

"Emma is different," I growled, skating toward the bench. "She hates my guts. She literally looked at me like I was a piece of trash yesterday."

"Sounds like true love to me," Jace teased as he followed me off the ice.

Before I could throw a water bottle at his head, my phone buzzed in my sports bag. I pulled it out. It was a direct text from my father.

Make sure your schedule is clear for Saturday night. The press conference with the Sterlings is locked in. Don't embarrass this family.

My fingers dug into the rubber casing of the phone until my knuckles turned white. I hit speed dial and answered before the phone could even ring twice.

"I'm not doing it," I said into the phone, my voice shaking with rage.

"You don't have a choice, Dylan," my father's cold, smooth voice shot back. "The announcement goes public after this weekend's university hockey party. Unless you have a very good reason to postpone it, like a serious relationship that the public already knows about—the engagement is happening."

"You can't just trap me—"

"End of discussion," my father said, and the line went dead.

I stood in the hallway of the arena, staring at the blank screen. A serious relationship. The media and my parents wouldn't back off unless I was already taken.

But what girl in her right mind would ever pretend to date me? Especially a girl who knew my family, or someone who hated drama? No one on campus would touch this mess with a ten-foot pole.

Then, an image flashed in my head.

Brown hair. Fierce brown eyes. A girl holding a stack of books, yelling at me in dorm room 40B because she didn't care who my father was, and didn't care about my hockey fame.

Emma.

My breath caught in my throat. Could it work? No, she would laugh in my face. She hated me. But as I thought about it more, a crazy, desperate plan started forming in my mind. Emma needed money for her tuition and living expenses—she talked about her scholarship stress all the time. And I needed a fake girlfriend to get my parents off my back before Saturday night.

It was insane. It was a disaster waiting to happen. But it was the only option I had left.

I hurried through the rest of practice, barely listening to Coach's instructions. As soon as we were done, I didn't even wait to shower properly; I threw my gear into my bag and practically ran across campus back to the dorms.

When I pushed the door to room 40B open, I found Emma sitting at her desk, wearing a pair of giant headphones and typing furiously on her laptop. She didn't even look up when I walked in.

I dropped my heavy hockey bag on the floor with a loud thud. Emma jumped, pulled her headphones down around her neck, and glared at me.

"Do you have to make so much noise every single time you enter a room?" she snapped, turning around in her chair.

I stared at her, my heart beating fast against my ribs. I knew this was a terrible idea. I knew she was going to scream at me. But looking at her sitting there, looking so brave and completely unimpressed by my whole world, I knew I had to try.

I leaned against the doorframe, crossing my arms, and gave her a slow, serious look.

"Emma," I said, my voice dropping low. "How much money do you need to pay off your tuition for the rest of the year?"