Fake dating the Hockey Bad Boy

Fake relationship

Are you insane?”

Cora’s voice echoed sharply against the damp stone walls behind the library. The rain had slowed to a drizzle, but the chill was starting to seep through her thin sweater.

Reed didn't even blink. He stood there like a monolith, unmoved by her outburst.

She stared at him in complete disbelief, her notebook clutched tightly against her chest—a paper shield against a man made of iron. “Reed, are you actually hearing yourself? You want us to pretend to be in a relationship? In front of everyone?”

“A fake relationship,” he corrected, his voice flat and clinical.

“That doesn’t make it better!”

“It makes it temporary.”

Cora let out a sharp, breathless laugh, shaking her head as she started pacing the narrow alleyway. “No. Absolutely not. This is ridiculous. This is exactly a bad trope in a book I’d never read.

Reed watched her quietly, his dark eyes following her like a hawk tracking a rabbit.

“You can’t just corner me outside a library and ask me to fake date you because you have a reputation problem,” she continued, her gestures frantic.

“I’m not cornering you.”

“You literally followed me out here!”

“You followed me.”

“That is not the point!” Cora stopped pacing and jabbed a finger toward his chest, though she made sure not to actually touch him.

For a second, something that almost looked like amusement flickered across Reed’s face a slight softening of the harsh lines around his mouth. It vanished before she could be sure it was ever there.

“Look,” Reed said, his tone turning cold again. “Don’t kid yourself, Cora. Who would ever be in anything serious with you?”

The words hit harder than a body check. Cora froze, the air leaving her lungs. It was an unprovoked, jagged insult. the kind Reed Calloway was famous for.

He kept talking before she could find her voice to snap back. “It’s fake,” he repeated. “That’s the entire point. We make it believable, people back off, and everybody gets what they want. Your secret stays buried. My scholarship board sees I’ve ‘settled down.’ End of story.”

“You’re unbelievable,” she whispered, her anger shifting from hot to a cold, simmering resentment.

“And you’re dramatic.”

“I’m dramatic?” she snapped. “You just insulted me while asking me to do you a life-altering favor!”

“You insulted me first.”

“That was freshman year! I spilled coffee on you!”

“You called me emotionally constipated.”

“You were emotionally constipated!”

Reed exhaled through his nose, looking strangely unimpressed. “Still am.”

Despite the fury swirling in her chest, Cora nearly laughed. The sheer bluntness of his admission caught her off guard. She caught herself, narrowing her eyes. “No. Don’t do that. Don’t try to be... whatever this is.”

Reed stopped a few feet away from her. Up close, without the stadium lights or the hockey gear, she could see the toll the season had taken on him. There were dark circles beneath his eyes, and the tension in his shoulders looked like it had been carved out of stone.

“You need this deal, too,” he said quietly, his voice dropping an octave.

Cora hated that he was right. Vanessa Thorne didn’t do "forgive and forget." She did "search and destroy." If that notebook got out, Eli would look at her with pity—or worse, disgust.

Reed studied her silence. “I’m not asking you to like me, Bennett.”

“That’s easy, because I don’t.”

“That almost sounded convincing.”

She glared at him, but then a question she couldn't suppress slipped out. “Why me? You could fake date literally anyone. Some influencer cheerleaders would do it just for the clout. So why me?”

For the first time, Reed hesitated. His jaw tightened, a small muscle leaping in his cheek.

“Because you’re not going to fall in love with me,” he said finally.

The answer shouldn’t have stung, but it did. It was a reminder that in his eyes, she was the "safe" choice because she was the "impossible" choice.

“Wow. Your confidence is horrifying,” Cora muttered, folding her arms.

“It’s experience.”

“You’re awful.”

“And yet, you’re still considering it.”

She opened her mouth to deny it, but no sound came out. Reed noticed. He always noticed. His eyes flicked briefly toward the notebook in her arms before returning to her face.

“Think about it,” he said, his voice calmer now. “That’s all.”

He stepped around her, his shoulder brushing hers, and vanished into the shadows of the quad. Cora stood there for a long time, the wind biting at her cheeks, realizing with a heavy heart that she wasn't thinking about saying no.

At five in the morning, the Hartwell Ice Arena felt like a cathedral.

Silent. Frozen. Peaceful.

Cora inhaled the sharp, metallic scent of the ice as her skates cut across the surface in a practiced rhythm. This was her only sanctuary. On the ice, she wasn't the girl with the forbidden crush or the girl being bullied. She was just a series of clean lines and controlled movements.

Spin. Lean. Glide. Control.

For a while, the world was perfect. Until she noticed a dark silhouette sitting high in the bleachers.

Cora nearly lost her footing. Her blade stuttered, sending a spray of ice into the air. Reed was there, dressed in dark practice gear, elbows resting on his knees. He wasn't on his phone; he was just watching her.

Annoyed and exposed, she skated toward the boards. “You’re early,” she called out, her breath hitching.

Reed stood and walked down the stairs, his heavy footsteps echoing. “I told you I’d be here.”

“There’s nobody here, Reed. You don’t have to pretend for the ghosts.”

He rested his forearms against the glass, looking out at the marks she’d carved. “Consistency matters. If I only show up when people are watching, they’ll know it’s a set-up.”

“God forbid the campus gossip detectives get suspicious,” she rolled her eyes.

“They’re better at their jobs than the FBI.” Reed’s gaze shifted back to her. “You’re good. Better than good.”

Cora looked away immediately, her cheeks flushing. “I’ve been skating since I was five. It’s the only thing I was ever actually good at.”

Reed was quiet for a second. Then, in a voice lower than she’d ever heard it: “I get that. Hockey’s the only thing I’m good at, too. If I lose that scholarship, I lose everything.”

The raw honesty caught her off guard. For a split second, the "bad boy" disappeared, replaced by a boy who was just as terrified of failing as she was.

Then, the arena doors burst open.

The quiet shattered. A group of Falcons players walked in, their laughter boisterous and jarring. Among them was Cole Mercer, Reed’s rival on the team and a notorious loudmouth.

Cole spotted them immediately. His brows shot up, a smirk spreading across his face.

Reed’s entire posture changed in an instant. The softness vanished, replaced by the jagged, cold mask he wore like armor. Before Cora could move, Reed leaned over the glass. He hooked two fingers lightly beneath her chin, tilting her face up toward his.

Her breath caught in her throat. His touch was warm, contrasting with the freezing air.

“Smile, Cora,” he murmured, his eyes locking onto hers with a terrifying intensity. “The audience just arrived.”