OFF THE ICE: FAKE DATING MY HOCKEY ENEMY

THAT ONE EMERALD DRESS

I had four hours

Four freaking hours to become someone I wasn’t.

I had crossed my room four different times now. From the door to the window, the window to wall. My hands trembled at my sides. I pressed them against my thighs—-but that didn’t help.

The clock on my nightstand was a much bigger hater. It mocked me as it hit 3:30pm.

I couldn’t do this. I couldn’t go to a gala. What do they even do there?

A knock on my door made me freeze mid-step, head snapping towards it. I stared at it like it might explode.

”Reeve? Wardrobe’s here.” A voice followed along with another knock.

Shit!

I forced my legs to move, hurriedly pressing down on the handle and prying it open. Two women stood there in all black, holding garment bags and make up cases that probably cost more than my entire college tuition.

My eyes flickered behind them, two camera men, and that red light blinking again.

Of course.

The taller woman smiled warmly. “Hi! I’m Miranda. Her short dark hair at neck length, blue kind eyes behind thick rimmed glasses. “And this is Jen.”

I shifted my focus to Jen. Her hair was much shorter, blonde with a pixie cut and bright pink lipstick. She gave a short wave.

”We’re here to make you look—stunning!” She dragged out the word. “Not that you need much help.” She winked.

My eyes flickered between them, trying to force a smile.

“Can we come in?” Miranda asked, already stepping forward with the garment bags.

“Yeah.” I shook my head slightly. “Sorry. Yes.” I moved aside, letting them in.

They strutted into the room instantly, setting up their stations, hanging bags and unpacking cases. The cameramen followed, positioning themselves in corners to catch every angle.

“So.” Jen threw me a quick glance, unzipping a massive make up case. “How does it feel? You know—-dating the hottest guy in school?” She grinned like we were gossip girlfriends.

My stomach flipped completely. “I-uh-“

”Girl, don’t be shy.” Miranda chuckled slightly, hanging the garment bag on my closet door. “Thirty million people saw the way he grabbed you. You two have chemistry.”

Chemistry? We had the total opposite of that.

”It’s—kinda new to me.” I managed to say with a small nod.

“But new is exciting though, right?” Jen pulled out a chair. “I mean first gala together, first red carpet. That’s some Cinderella s**t right there.”

I opened my mouth but shut it again. I nodded instead, my throat closing up.

Miranda straightened, suddenly placing her hand on her earpiece. I was sure they were instructions from Priya. I couldn’t make out the words but her smile widened.

”Priya says to make sure we get close-ups of the transformation. America loves a good makeover story.”

Right. Because that’s all I was. Content.

”Let’s start with the dress,” Miranda said, taking the garment bag off my closet and unzipping it completely.

And there it was.

A floor length, deep emerald green. Such silk that caught the light, making it shimmer. This belonged to red carpets, girls who knew what they were doing.

Not on me.

“Oh my god!” Jen breathed. “This is gorgeous. You’re going to look so f*****g incredible.”

”First, we do your hair, then we do makeup.” Jen said gently, like she’d noticed. “Then we’ll get you in your dress. Does that sound good?”

My dress? It wasn’t mine. But I nodded gently, I didn’t trust my voice.

Her hands clamped down gently on my shoulders, guiding me to the chair. I sat, my left leg bouncing slightly. I pressed my hand down on my knee to stop it.

Jen tilted my head, examining my face. “Great bone structure. And your skin—-girl, what’s your skincare routine?”

A couple heavily scented bar soaps and prayers.

”I—-don’t really have one.”

”Lucky.” She chuckled.

Miranda ran her fingers through my hair, pulling it out of the messy bun I’d thrown it in. “We’re thinking of soft waves, like romance. What do you think?”

”Sure.” I whispered.

”You okay, honey?” Miranda’s hand rested on my shoulder.

I blinked once, forcing a smile.”Yeah. Just nervous.”

”It’s totally normal.” Jen opened her make up case. Rows after rows of products I didn't recognize laid inside. “The first red carpet is scary. But you’ve got Zane with you. He’ll hold you down.”

Yeah. Hold me till I lose air.

”Close your eyes.” Jen said softly.

I closed them. Within seconds I felt them erase me, brush stroke by brush stroke. They painted over Reeve Callahan-the girl with thrifted sweaters and a sister who needed shoes.

And replaced her with someone else.

I kept my eyes closed, pressing my palm firmly on my knee. I knew Jen was talking, something about the shade she was using and Miranda responded. They even laughed.

But I wasn’t listening. The words floated past me, distant and muffled. All I could hear was Diana’s voice.

‘Throwing yourself at some hockey player for a paycheck.’

Was she right?

‘At her age, I was already on the streets.’

Nadia wouldn’t be.

I dug my nails into my palm under the cape they’d draped over me, teeth grinding silently.

“Reeve?”

I opened my eyes sharply, locking gazes with Jen’s concerned ones. “You zoned out there. Are you good?”

”Sorry.” I breathed. “Yeah I'm fine.”

She didn’t look convinced but nodded anyway. “I’m almost done with the foundation. You’re doing great.”

I wasn’t.

After an hour, maybe more. They’d curled my hair, painted my face, talked and laughed and asked questions I answered on autopilot.

”Okay.” Jen said finally, spinning my chair toward the mirror.”Ready to see?”

My eyes fluttered open softly and they widened slightly.

The girl staring back wasn’t me. Soft hair fell in waves over my shoulders. My skin looked flawless, they’d patched the swells and dark undereye. Lashes that made my eyes bigger. And lips the perfect shade of rose.

I looked like the kind of girl he’d touch.

And that thought alone made my stomach flip.

“Zane is going to lose his mind when he sees you.” Miranda whispered.

I couldn’t find words, just stared at this girl staring back at me.

”Now the dress,” Jen said gently.

They helped me stand, stepping into it and zipping up the back. The silk settled against my skin, so—foreign.

For the first time—-I felt beautiful.

And completely fake.

“Shoes, please.” Jen said, kneeling with heels that I wouldn’t bother calculating the cost. I slipped them on, wobbling and Miranda caught my elbows.

”Small steps first.” She coached. “You’ll get used to them.”

I nodded. My hands started shaking again. I clasped them in front of me.

“Perfect.” Priya’s voice from the doorway made me flinch.

She stood there, clipboard in hand while scanning me head to toe. With a slow satisfying nod, “You look perfect. Oh you’re going to be the next big thing.”

My stomach dropped.

“The car's waiting downstairs.” She continued, already checking her phone.

“The red carpet starts at seven. You’ll walk with Zane, stay very close to him. Smile, wave. Ignore the questions, because we don’t care what they ask.”

”Okay.” I whispered.

”There will be a lot of cameras. A lot of noise, people.” She looked up, meeting my eyes. “But you can do this. You’re Reeve Callahan. The girl who stole Zane Ashford’s heart, Remember?”

I wasn’t. I was the girl who ruined his season, standing in a dress worth more than my sister’s future.

But I nodded once.

I smoothed down the silk with trembling hands. Taking a deep breath that didn’t quite fill my lungs.

I cared about one thing—what Zane would see when he looked at me.

I stepped out of my room, then paused abruptly at the sight of him.

Zane stood in the living room, back to me. The black tux, tailored to his body, and his hair stayed but slightly messy with curls that fell on his face.

He turned, and froze in his steps.

Staying completely still, his throat moving slightly. His eyes trailed down the dress—slolwy— then back up to my face.

And for the first time since I met him—

Zane Ashford didn’t look irritated.

The cameras hummed, and the crew watched.

But all I could see was him.

All I could feel was the weight of his stare and my heart hammering against my ribs. His eyes darkened slightly—like he was thinking something he shouldn’t.

Then his phone rang—and something crossed his features that I’d never seen before.

Something that made my stomach drop.

Fear.