Page 189 of Faking the Goal

"THAT'S MY FUCKING MAN!"

There go the side-eyes again.

I don't care.

I cup my hands around my mouth.

"YOU'RE DOING AMAZING, SWEETIE! KEEP DENYING MEN FOR ME!"

The woman in the foam hat turns around again, and I meet her judgmental stare with the sweetest smile I can manage until she finally turns back toward the ice. I have no idea what her problem is. This is a hockey game, for fuck's sake.

I lift my camera, find Kentaro through the viewfinder, and catch him just as he pushes his mask up during the stoppage.

His eyes immediately sweep toward my section.

Toward me.

And even from here, I see it.

The smallest twitch at the corner of his mouth.

My heart does an embarrassingly enthusiastic little flip.

I snap the picture before he can look away.

Got you, Sunshine.

Maybe I'm exhausted. Maybe I'm overcaffeinated. Maybe tomorrow morning I'll discover that half my photographs are unusable because I spent too much of tonight screaming increasingly inappropriate encouragement at the goalie instead of doing my actual job.

But right now, with Kentaro's jersey hanging off my body, my camera in my hands, and number thirty-one glancing toward me from his crease like he knows exactly where I'll be every time he looks—I don't feel tired at all.

By the time the final buzzer sounds, the Warriors have completely steamrolled the other team, and the arena is still buzzing as people start filing out of the stands.

I'm standing near the hallway where the players usually come out, half-listening to the crowd around me while I scroll through the photos on my camera. A few are actually really good—Kentaro stretched across the crease, Cody mid-check, one of the twins with his stick raised after a goal. I'm zooming in on a shot of Kentaro when a burst of obnoxiously loud whispering drifts from somewhere to my right.

I don't look up immediately.

Mostly because I already know that tone.

There's a particular kind of whisper people use when they desperately want you to hear them but still want plausible deniability afterward.

"I still don't get it," one girl says, just a little too loudly. "Like... him? With her?"

Another one snickers. "Please. It's probably not even serious."

"Exactly. Kentaro Azuma barely talks to anyone. You really think he suddenly decided she's girlfriend material?"

A third voice joins in. "She probably threw herself at him until he gave in."

I finally glance over.

There are four of them walking past me slowly enough that they might as well be taking a guided fucking tour, all dressed in Warriors gear and doing a terrible job pretending they aren't looking directly at me. One catches my eye and immediately looks away, but not before I see the stupid little grin tugging at her mouth.

Cute.

Ever since everyone came back from winter break, the whole Kentaro-and-Taylor thing has somehow gotten even bigger. Apparently a few weeks away from campus gave everyone plenty of time to discuss my relationship like it's a developing national crisis.

Some people take it well.