Fake Dating The Captain

~Liv~

The second Caleb's key turned in the lock I knew it was over. I was on the couch in his hoodie, the one I stole two winters ago, eating cereal straight from the box because I'd been too numb to cook for three days. He walked in, dropped his duffel, and just looked at me like I was a stain he finally decided to clean.

"We need to talk, Liv."

I laughed.. "You flew in from Vancouver just to say that in person? Awwww." I walked over trying to pinch his cute player jaws instead he moved back and didn't smile.

Caleb never really smiled when it mattered; only on camera, only when the blonde influencers were around. His jaw did that tight thing it does when he's trying not to yell. "Your dad called me."

My stomach dropped so fast the cereal box slipped out of my lap and spilled across the floor. "Of course he did."

"He said Ava's ready. She's done with Milan, she's moving back, and... he thinks it makes sense. For the family. For the brand." He rubbed the back of his neck, eyes anywhere but on me. "Liv, come on. You knew this was temporary."

"Temporary," I repeated. "Three years is temporary? Baby we were together for three years! I thought you finally fell in love with me."

"You're not..." He stopped himself, but I heard the rest anyway. You're not her. You're not the pretty one. You're not the one with the 1.2 million followers and the legs and the golden hair that looks good even in airport lighting.

I stood up. The hoodie fell to mid-thigh; I wanted to crawl inside a hole and disappear.

"Say it," I said, voice shaking so hard I hated myself for it. "Say what you came here to say, Caleb."

He finally looked at me. Blue eyes, stupidly pretty, the ones that got him on three different sports drink billboards. "I'm marrying Ava next summer. Your dad already talked to my agent. It's... it's good for both of us."

Both of us. Not all three of us. Never all three.

I laughed again, louder this time. "You're such a fucking coward you needed my dad to break up with me?"

"Liv..."

"No, seriously, congratulations. You get the hot twin, the rich twin, the one who actually looks good in the family Christmas card. Merry fucking Christmas to you."

He stepped forward like he was gonna hug me and I backed up so fast I hit the coffee table. Pain shot up my spine. Physical pain I could handle. But this? I couldn't.

"Don't touch me," I snapped. "Don't you dare."

His hands dropped. "I'm not sorry," he said quietly. "If I had the chance, I'd do it again. Pick her. I'll always picked her."

The air left my lungs. I stared at him, waiting for the lie, the flinch, anything. Nothing came. He meant it. Every late night, every "I love you," every time he kissed my forehead after away games; he'd been waiting for her to decide she wanted him back.

I swallowed hard. "Get out."

"Liv..."

"Get. Out."

He grabbed his duffel, hesitated one more second like I was a kicked puppy he felt bad for, then walked out. The door shut soft. Caleb didn't slam doors; he just ruined lives quietly.

I stood there for a long time. Then I picked up the cereal box, looked at the mess on the floor, and started crying so hard I threw up in the kitchen sink.

I was lying face-down on Zoe's bathroom floor at 3 a.m., fully clothed, mascara smeared into raccoon rings, when she kicked the door open.

"Olivia Grace Carter, if you don't get your tragic ass up right now I'm calling your mother."

I groaned into the tiles. "Please do. Tell her I died. Tell her Ava can have my coffin too, it'll match her aesthetic."

Zoe crouched, yanked my hair back gently, and wiped my face with a wet washcloth like I was five. "You smell like tequila . Get the fuck up."

"I wanna die," I mumbled. "Like actually. Peacefully. In my sleep. Or maybe not peacefully. Whatever's faster."

She slapped my cheek; not hard, just enough to sting. "Listen to me, you sad little burrito. You are not dying over Caleb fucking Hartley. He's a six-foot-two piece of Wonder Bread with commitment issues. You're better than that."

"I'm the ugly twin," I whispered. The words slipped out before I could stop them, raw and bleeding.

Zoe went still. Then she grabbed my chin, forced me to look at her. Her brown eyes were blazing. "Say that again and I'll slap you harder."

"It's true."

"It's bullshit your dad's been feeding you since you were twelve and Ava got scouted by Ford. You're gorgeous, you're funny, you have a master's degree, and you once made a guy cry because you roasted his fantasy lineup so hard he deleted the app. You are not the ugly twin. You're the one with a personality."

I started crying again. She hugged me so tight I couldn't breathe.

Two days later she'd packed my entire life into her SUV and driven me three hours to her apartment near the arena. Zoe's been the Ice Hawks' social media manager for two years; she has access to everything, players, practice, the locker room hallway if she sweet-talks security. I hated hockey now, but free rent was free rent.

She dumped my suitcase in the guest room and threw herself on my new bed. "Ground rules. One: no one's dying in my fucking apartment

Two: you shower daily or I hose you down. Three: I'm introducing you to someone."

"No."

"It's not a rebound thing, I swear. It's... a plan."

I narrowed my eyes. "Zoe."

She grinned, evil and perfect. "Ever heard of Rowan Parker?"

My stomach flipped. Everyone had heard of Rowan Parker. Captain of the Ice Hawks, face like a storm cloud, body like a brick wall, and apparently allergic to relationships. He'd been single for two straight seasons while girls literally threw themselves at him after games.

"What about him?"

"He told me last week he's sick of the puck bunnies. He wants a fake girlfriend to get them off his back till the playoffs are over. Someone who won't catch feelings, someone who hates hockey players; his words." She poked my shoulder. "That's you, babe."

I stared at her. "You're insane."

"I'm a genius. You get revenge on Caleb by dating his teammate; fake dating, whatever; and Rowan gets peace. Win-win."

"I'm not fake dating anyone."

"You are. Tomorrow night. Team party after the home opener. You're my plus-one."

I opened my mouth to argue and she shoved a pillow over my face.

"Sleep," she ordered. "You look like death. We're fixing your hair tomorrow and you're wearing the red dress that makes your boobs look unreal. Caleb's gonna shit himself when he sees you on Rowan's arm."

I screamed into the pillow. She laughed and left me there.

The worst part? I didn't say no.

The next night I stood in front of her mirror in that stupid red dress, hair curled for the first time in months, lipstick the color of fresh blood. Zoe zipped me up and spun me around.

"Look at you," she whispered. "He's gonna swallow his tongue."

I rolled my eyes, but my hands were shaking.

She grabbed them. "Liv. You are not the spare. You're the whole damn story. Remember that tonight."

I nodded, throat tight.

Then she dragged me out the door before I could change my mind.

The party was loud, sweaty, too many bodies. Zoe disappeared the second we walked in, yelling something about finding Rowan. I stood by the bar clutching a vodka soda like a life raft, scanning the room for Caleb. I hated that I was looking for him.

Then someone stepped in front of me. Tall. Shoulders blocking the light. Dark hair falling over one eye. A tiny white scar through his left eyebrow. Rowan Parker in a black Henley, sleeves pushed up, forearms ridiculous.

He looked down at me, one eyebrow lifted higher than the other. "You're Zoe's friend."

His voice was low, rough, like he didn't use it much. I hated how much I noticed.

"Unfortunately," I said.

He huffed a laugh. "She said you hate hockey players."

"I do."

"Good." He tilted his head, studying me like I was a play he hadn't seen before. "You're prettier than she said."

I blinked. "Excuse me?"

"Zoe said you were hot but miserable. She undersold the hot part."

Heat crawled up my neck. "Did you just insult and compliment me in the same breath?"

"Yeah. I'm efficient." He took the drink from my hand, sipped it without asking, grimaced. "Too much lime. Come on."

He grabbed my wrist and pulled me through the crowd. People parted for him like he was Moses and they were the Red Sea. I should've yanked away. But I didn't.

He stopped in a quieter corner, backed me against the wall, one hand braced near my head. Close enough I could see the stubble on his jaw, the way his bottom lip was fuller, the tiny freckle just above his top lip.

"Here's the deal," he said, voice low. "I need a girlfriend till June. You need... whatever the hell you need after whatever Hartley did to you. We fake it. No feelings, no drama. You get the bunnies off my back, I make your ex choke on his own tongue. Deal?"

I stared at him. His eyelashes were unfairly long. One of them had a tiny split, like it got caught in a fight.

"This is crazy ," I said.

"Probably." He leaned closer. His breath smelled like the lime he hated. "Say yes, Liv."

"How do you know my name?"

"Zoe talks. A lot." His eyes flicked to my mouth and back up. "Yes or no."