CHAPTER 5
GROOVER
"SO, TO SUMMARIZE: hand-holding is encouraged, casual touches look natural, and kissing is... TBD." Sophia taps her tablet with a perfectly manicured nail. "Any questions?"
Mateo and I are sitting across from her in a glass-walled conference room at the team's practice facility. It's been three days since the gala, and apparently management has decided we need "media training" to properly fake our relationship for the public.
Because nothing says true love like a PowerPoint presentation titled "Strategic Public Displays of Affection: Guidelines and Best Practices."
"I have a question," I raise my hand like I'm in fucking grade school. "Is there a specific quota of heart-eye emojis I'm supposed to use in Instagram captions, or is that left to my discretion?"
Sophia gives me a look that could freeze hell. "Your sarcasm is noted, Ansel."
"Sorry," I mutter, anything but. "Continue with the relationship choreography."
Beside me, Mateo stifles a laugh, which he poorly disguises as a cough. Three days of hanging out, and I've discovered he has an appreciation for my particular brand of smartassery. It's... nice.
"As I was saying," Sophia continues, "we need to establish your online presence as a couple. Groover already has an Instagram with team content, but we need more personal posts. Mateo, do you have social media?"
"Just Instagram," he says. "Mostly pictures of interesting things people throw away. I have a whole series on abandoned couches."
Sophia blinks. "That's... unique. We'll work on it."
She swipes through her tablet and turns it around to show us a social media calendar with suggested content.
"We've outlined optimal posting times and content types. Casual couple shots, game day support posts, maybe some domestic moments. Nothing too staged."
"Except this entire relationship," I mutter under my breath. Mateo kicks my ankle under the table.
"I heard that," Sophia says. "And yes, the origin may be arranged, but that doesn't mean it can't look authentic."
She sets down her tablet and leans forward, her expression softening slightly. "Look, I know this isn't ideal. But the Kingsport deal is huge, not just for you, Ansel, but for the entire organization. They're considering a broader partnership with the team, and your endorsement is the test case."
Great. So now it isn't just about my career but the whole damn team. No pressure.
"Let's look at what we're working with." Sophia pulls up a new screen showing social media responses to our appearance at the gala.
Most are positive:
"Groover and his boyfriend are so cute!"
"Hockey's hottest couple just dropped :fire_emoji:"
"That anthropology guy seems so sweet and smart! Good for Grooves!"
But sprinkled among them are the inevitable garbage takes:
"Another publicity stunt to shove the gay agenda down our throats"
"Lost another fan. Keep politics out of hockey!"
"Bet this 'relationship' conveniently ends after playoffs"
I shrug at the negative comments. "Nothing I haven't seen before."
But when I glance at Mateo, his brow is furrowed as he reads the hateful comments. "People really say these things?"
Something protective flares in my chest. "Welcome to being visibly queer in sports," I say, more gently than I intended. "You get used to it."
"You shouldn't have to," he replies, looking genuinely upset on my behalf.
The sincerity in his voice catches me off guard. It's easy to forget sometimes that this arrangement isn't just about me. Mateo's putting himself out there too, facing scrutiny and judgment for a relationship that isn't even real.
"Moving on," Sophia says, clearly sensing the shift in mood. "We need to discuss the contract terms in more detail."
She pulls out printed documents and slides them across the table. "The agreement is for three months minimum, with the option to 'break up' amicably after that period. The timeline is important—Kingsport will make their final sponsorship decision right after playoffs."
Mateo flips through the papers. "So we're looking at... what, April? May?"
"Regular season ends mid-April," I explain. "Playoffs can run into June, depending how far we go."
"But Kingsport wants to announce before the Conference Finals," Sophia adds. "So we're targeting late May for their decision, which means your relationship needs to remain solid at least until then."
Mateo nods, processing this information. "And after that?"
"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. "Are you okay?"
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."
Mateo nods. "I can do that."
"Great. You'll be in the family box with the other partners. Leila Washington and Devon Kim will show you the ropes." Sophia stands, gathering her materials. "I think we've covered everything for today."
As we leave the conference room, I notice Mateo looking thoughtful.
"Penny for your thoughts?" I ask as we walk toward the parking lot.
"Just processing," he says. "It's a lot to keep straight. Or, well, not straight in this case." He smiles at his own joke.
"You'll be fine," I assure him. "Just be yourself. Except, you know—"
"Madly in love with you," he finishes, echoing my words from the gala night. "I remember."
We reach my car, and an awkward moment passes where neither of us seems to know how to say goodbye. A handshake feels ridiculous given we just spent an hour cuddling for cameras, but a hug seems too familiar.
"So, Saturday," I say finally.
"I'll be there," he promises. "With bells on. Or, you know, a Wolves jersey or something more appropriate."
"Actually," I say, "I have a jersey that might fit you. If you want."
His eyes widen slightly. "Your jersey? With your name on it?"
"That's kind of the point," I laugh. "Showing support and all that."
"Right, of course." He nods a bit too enthusiastically. "That would be great."
"I'll bring it to the game," I say. "And Mateo? Thanks for doing this. I know it's weird, but I appreciate it."
He smiles, and there's something genuine in it that makes my chest feel tight. "It's not so bad. The company's decent, at least."
"High praise," I say dryly.
"The highest," he confirms with a grin. "See you Saturday, boyfriend."
As I watch him walk to his car, I can't help but think that as fake relationships go, I could have done a lot worse than Mateo Rossi.