Liam maintained that light touch at her back as they walked out, his body angled slightly toward hers.
In the privacy of the car, Libby slumped against the leather seat. "That video makes us look..."
"Like we're genuinely attracted to each other," Liam finished quietly.
The words hung between them in the dark car. Libby turned to look at him, but his expression was unreadable in the passing streetlights.
"It's good for the narrative," she said finally.
"Yes," Liam agreed. "The narrative."
They rode in silence for several minutes. As they approached her hotel, Libby felt a strange reluctance for the evening to end. Strictly because she was gathering interesting professional insights, she told herself.
"Your tactical analysis really is excellent," Liam said suddenly. "I wasn't just saying that for the performance."
"Thank you," Libby replied, surprised by how much the compliment meant. "Your willingness to debate rather than dismiss is... refreshing."
"Most people don't challenge me on hockey."
"Because you're Liam D'Arcy?"
"Because I'm usually right," he said, so matter-of-factly that Libby laughed.
"Usually?"
"You've made some valid points," he conceded as the car pulled up to her hotel. "The glove-side weakness does manifest differently in third period."
"Did Liam D'Arcy just admit I was right about something?" Libby asked in mock shock.
"Partially right," he corrected, but there was definite humor in his voice. "I'll review the tape again tomorrow."
"Of course you will."
As she moved to get out, Liam said, "Thank you for tonight. You made it... less insufferable than usual."
"Such high praise," Libby replied dryly. "Careful, or I might think you actually enjoyed yourself."
"That would be terrible for my reputation," Liam agreed solemnly, but she caught the slight upturn of his mouth.
Libby got out of the car, then turned back. "For what it's worth, debating hockey with you is... fun. Even if you're wrong about the glove-side weakness."
"I'm not wrong."
"You're completely wrong."
"We'll discuss it tomorrow."
"Looking forward to it," Libby said, and was surprised to realize she meant it.
As she entered her hotel room, Libby's phone buzzed with messages. The TikTok had gone fully viral—half a million views and climbing. Her mentions were exploding with comments about their "chemistry" and "competitive passion." There werealready fan edits set to romantic music, zoom-ins on the moment their hands touched, and extensive analysis of their body language.
One comment in particular caught her eye: "The way she doesn't back down from disagreeing with him even though he's team captain... and the way he LOVES it... I'm deceased."
Libby flopped on her bed, staring at the ceiling. The fake relationship was supposed to be simple—a professional arrangement to get through the playoffs. But the way Liam had looked at her during their debate, the warmth of his hand at her back, the fact that he read all her articles...
Her phone chimed with a text.
From Liam: Reviewed the third period tape. You might have a point about the glove position. Might.
