Page 90 of Campus Fake

The game started and we all got swept up in the action. The guys played well, clicking in a way that came from years of building chemistry together. All the seniors were playing harder than ever, making every moment on the ice count. Foster controlled the draws while Drew and Liam ran the blue line with that eerie telepathy they’d always had. Eric had improved since the start of the semester and found his rhythm with the team. And then there was my Harry who stood like a wall in front of the crease, prepared to do whatever it took to stop a goal.

Midway through the second period, Viv slid into the empty seat next to me. She was dressed in dark jeans and a pretty red cashmere sweater that probably cost more than my rent, but she’d ditched the blazer she usually wore, and her hair was down instead of pulled back.

“Mind if I sit?”

“Not at all.”

She settled in, crossing one leg over the other, and watched the ice like a hawk hunting prey. I’d gotten to know Viv a little better over the past few months, and I’d learned a lot about her. She was sharp, direct more often than not, and a little intimidating, but underneath it she was warmer than she let on. She reminded me of Harry in that way.

And she was obsessed with sports. She loved football first and foremost, but hockey was a close second, and she could call plays as well as the players on the ice.

“How are you feeling?” she asked, her gaze still on the ice.

“Like I got hit by a car.”

Her mouth twitched. “Harrison told me you’d say something like that.”

“He knows me well.”

We watched a few more shifts in comfortable silence before she turned to me. “Can I ask you something?”

“Shoot.”

“What are your plans after graduation?”

I blinked. Of all the questions I’d been fielding lately—how are you feeling, are you sleeping, do you need anything—that one caught me off guard. I thought about it constantly, but I didn’t have a good answer.

“Honestly? I’m not sure. I know I want to stay in Montana. Beyond that, it’s kind of a blank page.”

“What’s your major?”

“Communications.”

She nodded like she’d already known the answer and was just confirming. “Have you thought about what kind of work you’d want to do with that?”

I shifted in my seat. “I mean, I’ve looked at a few things. PR, marketing, and brand management are obvious directions. I just haven’t found anything that’s really clicked yet.” I paused. “Which sounds pathetic coming from someone who’s about to graduate.”

“It doesn’t sound pathetic at all. It sounds like you’re waiting for the right opportunity.” She held my gaze. “What if I told you I had one?”

I stared at her. On the ice, the ref blew the whistle, but Viv didn’t break our eye contact.

“What kind of opportunity?”

She angled her body toward me. “Every sports team needs someone who understands community, branding, and how to make people fall in love with a team, especially one that doesn’t exist yet. I need someone who can connect with this state—with real people, not just investors and sponsors. Someone who knows Montana and loves it.”

I opened my mouth, but she wasn’t finished.

“I’ve been watching you, Sam. Not in a creepy way—” A flash of dry humor. “But I’ve seen how you operate. The way you hold your friend group together, the way you read a room, the way people gravitate toward you. That’s not something you can teach. And a communications degree gives you the framework to channel it professionally.”

My throat felt tight, and I didn’t trust myself to speak. The game was still going on in front of us, sticks clashing and skates cutting ice, but it had faded to background noise.

“I’m not offering you this because you’re Harrison’s girlfriend. I want to be clear about that.”

“Then why?”

Her chin dipped and her eyes warmed. “Because I think you’d be extraordinary at it. And I’d rather have someone extraordinary than someone with a perfect résumé.”

I swallowed hard against the lump in my throat. “Can I think about it?”