Page 15 of The Puck Contract

"After that, you can break up," Sophia says. "Preferably with minimal drama. Something like 'We remain good friends but our schedules made it difficult to maintain a relationship.'"

"Very believable," I say. "The classic 'it's not you, it's my professional hockey career' line."

Sophia ignores my commentary. "Now, let's move on to the photoshoot."

"Photoshoot?" Mateo and I ask in unison.

"Nothing major," she assures us. "Just some casual shots we can release strategically over the next few weeks. Make it look like you've been together longer than you have."

Which is how, twenty minutes later, Mateo and I find ourselves in front of a plain white wall while a photographer named Zach instructs us to "look natural" and "show some chemistry."

"Maybe stand behind him?" Zach suggests to me. "Arms around his waist?"

I move into position, stepping close behind Mateo. He's a few inches shorter than me, which means my chin could rest perfectly on top of his head if I wanted. I don't do that, obviously, but I do notice he smells good—like mint and citrus and something else I can't quite place.

It's distracting.

"Perfect," Zach says, snapping away. "Now look at each other, like you're sharing a secret."

We turn toward each other, and suddenly we're very close, my arms still around his waist, his face tilted up to mine. His eyes are hazel, I realize—not brown like I'd thought, but a complex mix of green and amber that changes with the light.

"Um," he says quietly, "is this okay?"

"Yeah," I reply, equally quiet. "Areyouokay?"

He nods, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "Just feels weird to be professionally photographed while cuddling."

"Welcome to my life," I say. "Ninety percent of my job is being photographed doing things that would be normal if there weren't cameras pointed at me."

That makes him laugh, and Zach captures the moment—Mateo's genuine smile, my answering grin, our bodies relaxed against each other.

"That's the money shot," Zach declares. "Natural, authentic connection. Perfect."

Mateo and I separate, and I try not to think about how cold it suddenly feels without his body heat against mine.

After the photoshoot, Sophia sits us down for one final discussion.

"We need to align on your backstory details," she says. "You've been dating for two months, met through mutual friends—specifically, Ace's boyfriend Devon. What else?"

"First date?" I suggest.

"That indie bookstore café on Elm Street," Mateo says. "I mentioned I was a coffee snob when we met at Ace's barbecue, and you said you knew the perfect place."

I nod, impressed with his quick thinking. "They have poetry readings on Thursdays."

Mateo’s eyebrows shoot up. "You like poetry?"

"Don't sound so shocked," I laugh. "I contain multitudes."

"Walt Whitman," he says, eyes lighting up. "You really do like poetry."

"English minor in college," I admit. "Before hockey took over my life."

Sophia clears her throat. "This is great authentic detail we can work with. Any other significant relationship milestones we should establish?"

Mateo and I exchange glances. "I think we can keep it simple," I say. "Coffee shop meet-cute, bookstore first date, took it slow from there."

"Perfect. Now, Mateo, we'd like you to attend Saturday's home game. It's against Chicago, should be a good one."

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