Skating Into Sin: Fake Dating My Hockey Bully

The acceptance email had been sitting in my inbox for exactly twelve minutes and thirty-seven seconds.

Not that I was counting.

My hands shook so badly I nearly dropped my phone while crossing the crowded university courtyard. One word stared back at me.

Congratulations.

It had taken two years of countless applications, rejection letters, and several attempts to give up to earn that single word.

I hadn’t just been accepted. I was offered a fully funded admission into my dream school, Northbridge University.

Everyone knew how impossible that was. Northbridge was wildly popular, with one of the most competitive admission rates in the country. They only offered a single fully funded scholarship each year out of thousands of applications. Everyone else fought for partial scholarships at best. Getting the full ride—tuition, housing, books, everything felt like winning the lottery. I should have felt victorious.

Instead, I felt like I was one wrong move away from losing it all.

Which was why I stood outside the Athletic Department clutching my camera bag like a shield.

As a photography major, my volunteer assignment had been automatically selected for me.

The university hockey team.

I was expected to photograph practices, games, promotional events, and social media content throughout the semester.

It wasn't exactly my dream assignment.

I knew nothing about hockey beyond the fact that players enjoyed throwing themselves into walls at alarming speeds.

Still, a scholarship student didn't get to complain.

I checked the room number written on my orientation sheet and followed the hallway until I reached a large black door marked Northbridge Hockey Club (NHC).

Laughter and male voices spilled from inside, followed by a loud crash. I took a slow breath, then pushed the door open.

The smell of sweat, ice, and stale energy drinks hit me first.

Nearly twenty players filled the room. Some lounged on benches, others argued over a table littered with bottles. When the door shut behind me, only a few heads turned before they went right back to their conversations.

My jaw tightened.

Fine.

I’d seen this exact scene in too many movies and I'd come prepared.

I pulled out a small silver whistle from my pocket and blew it hard.

The sharp, piercing sound cut through the room like a blade. Every head snapped toward me. The guys who had been lying on the benches shot upright, clutching their ears and grumbling curses.

“Now that I have your attention,” I said, keeping my voice steady with a broad smile, “I’m Ivy Hart, the new photographer assigned to the team this semes—”

The word died in my throat as my eyes collided with his.

He slowly sat up from the bench he was lying on, towel sliding down to reveal a shy smile. He looked genuinely entertained, like my attempt to command the room was the best joke he’d heard all day.

Fear slammed into me so hard my knees nearly buckled. His presence alone sucked the air from the room. My pulse hammered in my ears. The same paralyzing dread I’d felt every single day in high school returned in an instant, as if no time had passed.

After two years of fighting for this opportunity, after sacrificing everything to get here, the universe had somehow found the cruelest joke possible. Because standing between me and the future I had nearly destroyed myself trying to reach was the one person I hated most.

Asher Hayes.

The memory hit me before I could stop it.

I’d been called into the guidance counselor’s office because my financial aid forms had been flagged. Asher was already there, standing in the corner with another boy who had a fresh bruise blooming across his face and the teacher hovering nearby. He wasn’t supposed to hear anything, but the walls were thin and the counselor’s voice was loud. He’d overheard every humiliating detail, especially the fact that I was only able to finish high school because of emergency charity funding from a local church.

He had this same smirk on his face then. And from that day forward, school became hell.

Two days later, someone posted a fake donation jar with my face on it to the student blog, bold letters screaming “Charity Case.” Even though the poster was anonymous, I knew Asher was behind it. He always watched from the edges with that same smirk, drinking in the way I shrank under the weight of it all. Soon the entire school was calling me “charity case.” Notes stuffed in my locker. Whispers chasing me down the hallway. Someone even offered to donate their worn-out clothes to me in the middle of lunch, laughing like it was the funniest thing they’d ever seen.

The flashback made my stomach twist and judging by the way his eyes narrowed in recognition, he remembered me too.

Silence stretched across the room except the small, embarrassing hiccup that escaped my throat. His teammates looked between us, sensing something they didn't understand.

My grip tightened around my camera strap as Asher slowly rose from his chair. Every eye followed him until he stopped directly in front of me, close enough for me to see recognition settle fully into his expression.

His gaze swept over me before returning to my face.

And then he spoke the words that made my blood run cold.

"Looks like the charity case finally made it to college."