Chapter 8
1281 Words
Ivy
Girlfriend?
I stared at Asher like he’d lost his damn mind. My brain was still short-circuiting from the kiss — the way his hands had cupped my face, the heat of his mouth, the way my stupid body had leaned into it for those few treacherous seconds.
The moment we stepped inside the empty hockey lounge, I yanked my hand out of his and exploded.
“Are you out of your mind?” I yelled, voice echoing off the walls. “There is no way in hell I’m dating you!”
Asher scrubbed a hand over his face, looking as exhausted as I felt. “Tell that to Coach Harlan. He’s the one who suggested this. If the public thinks we’re in a relationship, the whole thing gets spun as a lovers’ quarrel instead of athlete misconduct. I get to stay on the team. You get to keep your scholarship.”
I held up a hand. “Hold on. None of this is making any sense.”
He kept talking like I hadn’t spoken, pacing in front of the lockers. “We have to think radical here, Ivy. The school doesn’t punish messy love lives. They punish hostile athlete behavior. This fixes both our problems.”
I stood there, arms crossed, watching him ramble. He was spiraling — more worried about his precious career than anything else. Typical Asher. But the worst part? A tiny, traitorous voice in my head whispered that he might be right.
Still…
“There’s no way this is happening,” I said firmly. “I’m not dating you. Not even fake dating.”
“I don’t want to either,” he shot back angrily. “You're not even my type.”
“Then we're done here.” I said with finality, already heading towards the door.
“So, you really want to risk losing your scholarship over personal beef? Don’t be childish, Ivy.”
I narrowed my eyes, turning towards him. “Are you saying if I agree to this… it won’t affect my scholarship??”
“Exactly. We play it smart, don’t get caught, and act like a dysfunctional couple until the tournament ends. After that, we ‘break up’ quietly. Easy.”
I rolled my eyes. “You make it sound so simple.”
“It is just dating,” he said, leaning against a locker, watching me with that infuriating half-smirk. “Have you ever even had a boyfriend before?”
The way he said it teasingly made heat crawl up my neck. I hated how aware I was of him right now. The way his shirt stretched across his chest. The faint mark on his jaw from my slap. The memory of his mouth on mine.
Watching my shoulders tense, he sighed softly. “Look, Ivy… this video is spreading like wildfire. If you had just stayed home and edited those damn pictures like I asked—”
“Don’t,” I snapped. “Don’t put this on me.”
He went quiet for a second.
“Are you ready to give up the scholarship?” he asked.
Hell no.
I swallowed hard. “Fine. We have a deal. But we’re setting ground rules.”
Asher’s lips twitched with faint amusement. “Rules? Alright. Let’s hear them.”
“First,” I started, “no unauthorized kissing.”
“You mean like the one earlier?” His smirk deepened, eyes dropping to my mouth. “The one you definitely enjoyed?”
My face burned. “That’s not the point.”
“So you did enjoy it,” he murmured, stepping closer. “But you don’t want to date me? Hmm… Interesting.”
“Rule number two,” I continued, ignoring the way my pulse spiked, “you stop calling me Charity Case.”
He tilted his head. “That one’s non-negotiable. It adds to the bickering. Makes the whole fake relationship more believable… and fun.”
I glared at him.
“Fine, fine,” he said, holding up his hands. “How about CeeCee?”
“My name is Ivy, Asher. Not CeeCee. Not Charity Case.”
“Okay.”
“And lastly,” I said, crossing my arms tighter, “other than in public when we have to sell it… no holding hands, no arms around my shoulders, no intimate gestures. Nothing.”
Asher’s gaze lingered on me a little too long, dark and unreadable. Then that dangerous smirk returned.
“Deal,” he said softly, moving towards me slowly. “But just so you know…”
I stepped back instinctively until my back hit a locker. Asher followed, placing one hand on the locker beside my head, effectively trapping me. My heart slammed against my ribs as he leaned in closer, his face inches from mine.
Is he going to kiss me again?
My breath caught. The closer he got, the louder my heart pounded in my ears. I closed my eyes, bracing myself.
His face brushed past mine. I felt the warm brush of his breath against the shell of my ear as he whispered, low and rough,
“I’m not going to make it easy for you to remember it’s fake.”
A shiver ran down my spine.
He pulled back slowly, that smirk still in place. “I’ll take my leave first.”
Then he turned and disappeared through the door, leaving me standing there against the locker, knees weak and breathing ragged.
I pressed a hand to my racing heart.
This fake relationship was going to destroy me.
And the worst part was… I wasn’t sure I entirely hated the idea.
^^^
BZZZZ.
The sudden, violent vibration of my phone nearly made me jump out of my skin. My knees were still weak from everything that had just happened. I pulled it out with trembling fingers.
It was an email from the Office of Academic Affairs and Student Aid.
Subject: URGENT: Review of Scholarship Status — Attendance Required
Miss Ivy Hart, please report to the Dean’s office tomorrow morning at 8:00 AM.
My stomach plummeted. The reality of my situation crashed over me like ice water. I had less than sixteen hours to figure out how to lie convincingly to a university panel about the viral mess I was now trapped in.
Before I could spiral further, a loud commotion erupted right outside the lounge door.
“Look, man, we just want a statement!” a voice shouted. “Was the fight over her?”
“Back off, Miller,” Asher’s voice barked back, tight and dangerous.
My heart slammed into my throat. I rushed to the door and cracked it open. The hallway was pure chaos — a handful of campus sports reporters had Asher cornered against the wall, phones and microphones shoved aggressively in his face.
Before I could duck back inside, one of them spotted me.
“There she is!”
The cameras whipped toward me in unison.
Asher didn’t hesitate. In three long strides he was at the door. Instead of hiding with me, he grabbed my waist with one strong arm and hauled me out into the hallway, pulling my back flush against his solid chest.
I gasped sharply. My hands flew up instinctively, gripping his forearms. The heat of his body burned through my clothes. Rule number three — no intimate gestures — was already being obliterated.
“Asher, what are you—” I whispered, panic rising.
“Shut up and smile, CeeCee,” he muttered against my hair, his breath hot on my ear. His grip tightened possessively around my waist, fingers pressing into my side in a way that sent an unwelcome spark straight through me.
- Writer
