A Guide to Fake dating the hockey captain

Chapter one Camilla Alves The decision to approach him seemed like a good one in the fit of a rage. Now, stuck behind in the dressing room of the hockey players, hiding behind the large changing mirror, the error of my thinking was glaring. I swallowed against my dry throat as my heart pounded fast. I had been incensed—and not a little bit insane—when I thought of coming to the hockey player's locker room. What was I thinking? My legs were turning numb, and my ears hurt from being pressed against the wooden panel. “Abysmal! Abysmal I tell you!” The coach's voice rang loudly in the silent room. “I'll do better.” Was the gruff reply. Even though I couldn't see him, my pulse galloped at the sound of his voice. I'll know that voice anywhere. Christian Walterr, the new hockey captain. The reason why I was here. “He'll do better he said.” The words dripped with derision. “When?” The coach was angry. It was laughable really. Camilla Alves, the pitiable girl. Hiding in the hockey dressing room, playing pretend. Playing pretend like this was a barbie dream house regurgitation. “What do you plan to do?” The coach said, his voice agitated. “Better.” He paused. “I plan to do better.” His voice was so confident. So sure of himself. The coach laughed, harsh and humorless. I shuddered. “Yes. You'll do better, increase your CGPA or you can forget about this team. You can forget about this school.” A silence descended. It was oppressive. It seemed to balloon until it was hard to breath. My palm itched fiercely and sweat trickled down my spine. I got the impression a show down was commencing. “Yes Captain.” He said in a low voice of someone who wasn't used to taking orders from anyone. “My office. 8:00am tomorrow!” And with that, the coach stormed out of the room. I let out a relieved sigh. It got stuck in my throat, when he laughed. It was a thing born of coldness, this laughter. It made the air on my nape stood up. My legs wobbled, sweat slicking my thighs. “Come out.” I gasped. I glanced wildly around. “I'm talking to you.” He said. I tried to breath, I couldn't. My numb legs had turned leaden. I took a step, wobbled and promptly stumbled to the floor. My face flamed with hot mortification. I swiped my hair from my face, the air seemed to get more frigid by the passing minute. I stood up on wobbly legs and there he was. My breath left my lungs in a painful woosh of air at the sight of him. He was naked! Christian Walterr was naked. I screamed. I shielded my eyes, pointing in the general direction of his person. “Cover yourself!” I said hoarsely. A minute passed. And another. Breath trickled into my lungs. I peeked at him from under my lashes. My breath hitched, he was standing right in front of me. His blue eyes flashed angrily, encased in ice. “Who sent you,” he asked. I let my eyes roamed the sight of him. He wasn't actually naked. He was wearing shorts. My gaze lingered on his broad shoulders, his chiseled abs that glistened with sweat. His tapered waist that gave way to long legs. “Who sent you.” Each word emerged strangled from his throat. I jolted out of my reverie. My face burned hot. “Nobody.” I said, my voice small. My brain roared at me to run. But my feet wouldn't take order from my brain. I stood rooted to the spot and watched in detached fascination as the rage deepened the color of his eyes. “Are you one of those paparazzi?” I stiffened at being compared to the creepy guys. “Look, I got lost _” He laughed sharply. My mouth snapped shut. “You got lost? You got lost?” He said with contempt. I took a sensible step back. “No you didn't.” He stalked towards me. “Someone paid you to spy on me. Listen to the conversation I have with Coach,” he stopped a breath away from my nose. “Did Victor send you? The motherfucker sent you to spy on me? Is that it?” His rage was a potent thing. His eyes narrowed menacingly. His stomach tightened, showing up his perfect form. My mouth went dry. “I told you the truth!” I said indignantly while quivering inside. I lifted my chin, “I was going to the…” I faltered. The hockey dressing room was at the end of the building. “Anyways, I was going somewhere when I got lost here. And I couldn't very well _” Oh well, I floundered. My eyes met his. The air crackled with tension. Maybe it was the panic making my stomach roll, perhaps the fish I had for lunch was stale. I lunged at him, and he caught me with a surprised oomph! I slanted my lips across his and kissed him. Hard. I only registered his surprise for a second. And then he was kissing me. My first thought was, I had gone crazy. My second thought was, I'm kissing Christian Walterr. And my third thought? He was kissing me back. My pulse leapt to my throat as his mouth probed mine, his tongue gently snaking into my mouth. I clung to him, breathing him deeply. The musk of him. The heat of him. His large palm cupped my scalp, my fingers dug painfully into his shoulder. Camilla Alves, the most pathetic girl in the school was kissing Christian Walterr, the most popular hockey player in the school. My brain had short circuited and I had died. He shoved me away from him. I stumbled. His hands grabbed mine, as if to steady me. He snatched his hand away, like he was branded with a hot coal. “Be my boyfriend.” I blurted out, panting. His eyes widened in surprise. He threw his head back_ exposing the corded muscles on his neck_and laughed. At the sound of his laugh, a sharp pain dug into my chest. My shoulder stiffened. “Are you crazy?” He said in between laugh. “No.” I said softly. “No.” I repeated, louder. The lingering smile wiped off his face and was replaced with wary amusement. I squared my shoulders. He thought I was a joke. I could see it in the way his eyes soften with pity. “What's your name?” He began, a placating smile on his face. I know that smile. It was the kind of smile that says "I'm not interested in anything you have to say" but I wasn't going to let it stop me. Infact, nothing can. “I know you're failing and I know you have less than a month to leave this school and your team. The team that you worked so hard to get into.” I said. I took a savage satisfaction in the way his jaw tightened. The anger was back. His mouth curled into a mocking smile. “And you think you should be my girlfriend?” His stare was cold. I braced myself. “You think I'll stoop_” “No.” I said softly. “No you won't. But you will.” He stiffened. I smiled. Saying the words made me elated. “You will.” I paused. “If it means securing your position in the team and in the school.” The smile he gave me was pure evil. “And what do you propose?”