Faking Forever With The Nhl Golden Boy

Avery's pov

“This pant or this pant?” I asked, twisting two pairs of pants so Lucille could see both angles in the mirror. “Which one is better?”

Lucille sat up on my bed like she’d been waiting her whole life for this exact question. Her dark curls bounced as she cocked her head, eyes sharp and unimpressed.

“You realize the pant doesn’t determine the quality of the sex, right?”

I rolled my eyes, letting a nervous laugh slip out of my mouth. “Regardless, I’ve got to wear something that makes him want to eat me up. You’re an expert in this field. Tell me what you think.”

“Did you just call me a whore?” Lucille’s mouth dropped open, her eyes widening in surprise.

"No, babes. That’s definitely not what I meant.” I said softly.

She held the glare for two full seconds before bursting into her usual loud and shameless laughter. “I’m just kidding.”

She hopped off the bed and strutted straight to her wardrobe. After a second of digging, she spun around holding up a tiny scrap of red lace between two fingers.

“Wear this instead,” she said, waving the g-string like a trophy. “It’s new.”

My eyes lit up immediately. “Thank you very much. You’re the best.”

I threw my arms around her in a quick, tight hug. Lucille immediately went stiff, patting my back with the enthusiasm of someone touching wet paint.

“Too much contact… too much contact,” she muttered, peeling me off.

I laughed and stepped back, already peeling off my clothes. 

Excitement buzzed under my skin so hard I could barely stand still. Ethan was finally getting signed. 

After two years of early practices, late-night bus rides, and me cheering from the cheap seats, it was happening. Tonight was supposed to be the start of everything we’d talked about.

I slipped into the G-string, then tugged on the black pants and a soft white top that showed just enough. 

My handmade scrapbook sat on the desk, thick with ticket stubs, photos, and little notes I’d written after every game. 

I grabbed it and headed for the door.

"Make sure you use protection!” Lucille shouted after me as I bolted out of the house.

I took a cab straight to the arena. 

The building looked even bigger than usual under the lights, glass and steel glowing against the dark. 

My stomach flipped with pure anticipation. 

Ethan had texted earlier that some of his friends would be there too. I smoothed my top one last time, adjusted the scrapbook under my arm, and stepped through the front entrance.

I stopped just inside to fix my hair.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” The voice came from deeper inside the room. “You’re still dating that dork.”

My hand froze on the doorframe.

I knew that tone. 

The same mocking drawl Ethan’s teammates always used when they talked about girls who weren’t in their circle.

“Yeah, Ethan, that’s unlike you,” another guy said, laughing. “We literally did this dare like two years ago. How come you’re still dating her?”

My heart stuttered once, slamming hard against my ribs.

This had to be some kind of joke.

Ethan wouldn’t—he couldn’t. Definitely not, it's probably another Ethan they're talking about.

I leaned just far enough to see through the half-open door.

Ethan sat cross-legged on a bench like he owned the entire arena. Phone in one hand, the other draped loosely over his knee. 

That easy half-smile I used to think was only for me curved his mouth. He looked relaxed, happy and completely unbothered.

“C’mon, guys,” he said, voice light and almost fond. “She’s got a good pussy. She fucks so well, I’m just there for the sex.”

The words landed somewhere behind my ribs, making my whole body tremble.

His friends laughed so hard they almost dropped to the floor.

“Bad boy.” One of them muttered, clapping his hands like he’d scored a game-winning goal.

I couldn’t move.

Two years. 

Two years of early-morning drives to the rink, of memorizing his schedule better than my own,of believing every soft “I love you” whispered against my neck after practice.

And the whole time, I had been a dare that lasted longer than it should have. A convenient body, a joke that somehow never ended.

The scrapbook in my arms suddenly felt like it weighed a hundred pounds. 

Every page—ticket stubs from away games, the photo of us after his first hat trick, the note he left on my pillow the night before tryouts—pressed against my chest like evidence I had foolishly collected against myself.

Ethan kept talking, scrolling through his phone casually.

“And besides…” He turned the screen toward the group, grinning. “I’ve got another girlfriend. An actual one. Not like the bullshit you bastards dared me into.”

One of them whistled low. “Ouuuu, brunette. She’s so pretty.”

“She’s intelligent too,” Ethan said, and there was real pride in his voice this time. The kind he had never used when talking about me. “She’s studying journalism and she’s literally captain of the debate club.”

Something inside my chest cracked open so quietly I almost didn’t notice it at first.

Brunette. Journalism. Debate club.

The description floated in the air between us, harmless on the surface, while my mind scrambled for any other possibility. Any other girl. 

Anyone who wasn’t—

No, I wouldn’t go there. It's technically impossible.

Tears burned hot at the corners of my eyes, but I blinked them back hard. 

The floor tilted and the bright lights suddenly felt too sharp like it was stripping me naked. 

My fingers tightened around the scrapbook until the edges dug into my skin.

My arms went numb and the scrapbook slipped.

It hit the floor with a dull thud that seemed far too loud in the sudden silence of my own head.

I turned around and started walking but footsteps sounded behind me almost immediately.

“Avery!”

I kept walking, ignoring the bastard's voice.

“Avery—”

“Leave me the fuck alone,” I snapped, stopping beside the outdoor pool that glowed blue under the arena lights.

Ethan caught up, looking more annoyed than guilty. “What?”

I turned back facing him, heat flooding through my veins immediately. “How could you do this to me?”

“Do what?” He blinked, his eyes widening like he had no idea what I was talking about. 

“Don’t play dumb with me.” I lashed out, my voice carrying across the pool. “I heard every fucking thing.”

“Oh, that? You shouldn’t be eavesdropping on other people’s conversations.” He shrugged.

He had the nerve to fucking shrug.

Something inside me cracked wide open. “Fuck you, Ethan.”

He let out a short, tired breath. “Well… now that it’s come down to it, everything you heard was right. I just enjoyed fucking you. That’s it.”

“You bastard—” I stepped forward and slammed both hands against his chest.

He caught my wrists, held them for a second, then let go like I was nothing. “Don’t take it personal.”

The second his hands released me, my balance tipped and my heel slid on the wet edge.

I fell inside the pool.

The cold water swallowed me whole and my clothes dragged me down. 

I kicked and clawed, but I couldn’t swim. Water filled my mouth, my nose, my ears. Panic ripped through me.

“Ethan!” I choked out, thrashing toward the surface.

He didn’t even look back.

He just walked away.