Page 9 of The Puck Contract

But he's already being cornered by a particularly aggressive entertainment reporter who's shoving a microphone in his face.

I push through the crowd, catching the tail end of a question: "—first public appearance together. Is this a serious relationship?"

Mateo looks like a deer in headlights, and I'm about to intervene when he straightens his shoulders and says, "We're taking things one day at a time, but yes, it's serious for us."

The reporter turns to me as I reach them. "Ansel, quite a change from your usual privacy. Why go public now?"

"Because some things are too good to keep hidden," I say smoothly, placing a protective hand on Mateo's lower back. "Now if you'll excuse us, we'd like to enjoy the party."

I steer Mateo away from the reporter and toward a service hallway I know leads to a quieter area of the venue. Once we're safely out of sight, he sags against the wall.

"Holy shit," he breathes. "Is it always like this?"

"Welcome to life as a semi-public figure," I say ruefully. "Sorry about that. You okay?"

"Yeah, just... processing. That reporter looked like she wanted to dissect me and examine my organs."

"That's Trish Winters. She specializes in making people uncomfortable enough to say stupid things."

"Great. Did I say anything stupid?"

I lean against the wall beside him. "No, you were perfect. 'Taking things one day at a time' was exactly right—committed enough to sound stable, vague enough to not get pinned down."

"I was channeling every reality TV contestant ever," he admits. "They're all masters of saying nothing while sounding profound."

That startles a laugh out of me—a real one, not the polite chuckle I've been using all night. Mateo looks surprised, then pleased, and then he's laughing too.

For a moment, we're just two guys hiding in a hallway, sharing a joke that isn't really that funny but feels like the most hilarious thing in the world because we're both running on adrenaline and champagne.

When our laughter finally subsides, I notice how his eyes crinkle at the corners when he smiles. It's... distracting.

"We should probably get back," I say, pushing off the wall. "Before they send a search party."

Mateo nods, straightening his bowtie. "Back into the lion's den."

As we head back toward the ballroom, I find myself oddly reluctant to return to the crowd. Which is ridiculous—I've known this guy for all of two hours. There's no reason I should prefer his company to that of my teammates and the people who sign my paychecks.

But as we rejoin the party and Mateo gives me a small, conspiratorial smile, I have to admit there are worse ways to spend an evening than playing boyfriend to Mateo Rossi.

Even if it is all for show.

CHAPTER 4

MATEO

MY PHONE BUZZES at 9:17 AM, yanking me from a dream where I was being interviewed by a panel of hockey players who kept asking me to explain the offsides rule while Groover watched, shaking his head in disappointment.

Unknown:Hey, it's Groover. Got your number from Sophia. Free today? Need to discuss next steps and flesh out our backstory.

I stare at the text, still half-asleep and wondering if last night actually happened or if I hallucinated the whole "pretending to date a professional hockey player" thing. The mild hangover pulsing behind my eyes confirms it was very real.

Me:I have class at 2. Free until then.

The response comes almost immediately.

Groover:Perfect. My place at 10:30? 334 Maple Blvd, Apt 21B

I save his contact info and drag myself out of bed, shuffling to the bathroom. Carlos is already gone—early morning class—which means I don't have to explain where I'm going.

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