Chapter 7 #4
Liam leaned forward, moving his salt shaker. "You're confusing his regular stance with his power play positioning. Against our setup, he—"
"No, I'm not." Libby leaned in too, their impromptu demonstration taking over the middle of the table. "I've watched every single one of his games this season. In the third period, specifically after the twelve-minute mark—"
"The twelve-minute mark?" Liam's voice rose slightly. "That's ridiculously specific. You can't base strategy on—"
"On documented patterns? Yes, you can!" Libby moved the pepper mill aggressively. "If you actually track his save percentage by time segment—"
"I have tracked it," Liam countered, their faces now inches apart over the condiment hockey rink. "His glove position is the issue, not his stance—"
"How can you not see—look, just watch this—" Libby grabbed Liam's hand to reposition his salt shaker, both of them completely absorbed in their argument.
"Oh my god, they're perfect for each other," Natalie stage-whispered to Jane.
Libby and Liam both looked up, suddenly aware they'd been completely absorbed in their debate while the entire table watched with amusement. Liam cleared his throat, straightening, while Libby felt heat flood her cheeks.
The meal continued with lighter conversation, though Libby was hyperaware of Liam beside her—the way he automatically refilled her water glass when it was empty, how he subtly angled his body toward hers when speaking, the brief touch of his hand on her back when she got up to use the restroom.
It felt dangerously natural.
As dessert was served, Liam's phone lit up with notifications. He frowned, checking the screen.
"What is it?" Chase asked.
Liam turned the phone so Libby could see. It was a TikTok video with rapidly climbing views. The caption read:
Boston Steel captain and journalist girlfriend debate hockey like it's foreplay #PowerCouple #HockeyRomance #GetARoom
The video showed their entire salt shaker debate, complete with their intense eye contact, the way they unconsciously leaned toward each other, and Liam's hand briefly covering hers as they both reached for the same shaker. The sexual tension was... apparent.
"Andre," Liam said flatly.
Varlenko raised his hands in innocence. "Is good content! Look at comments—everyone loves it!" He sighed fondly. "Reminds me of my baba and deda. No one hated my grandfather like she did. Fifty-three years married."
Libby scrolled through the comments, mortified:
"The way he LOOKS at her when she challenges him "
"Get someone who debates hockey strategy with you like this"
"THE TENSION I cannot"
"This is better than any romance movie"
"Bro is down BAD for a woman who understands defensive positioning"
"I'm going to murder him," Libby muttered.
"Stand in line," Liam replied, but when she glanced at him, she caught what might have been amusement in his eyes.
"At least it's good for the narrative," Jane offered diplomatically.
"Fifty thousand views already," Chase announced, refreshing the page. "Wait, now it's seventy."
Varlenko slid his vodka across the table to Libby with a sympathetic pat on her shoulder. "Here, little journalist. You will need this."
Libby downed it in one go. This was going to be a very long fake relationship.
Later, as they prepared to leave, the team gave them space—a professional courtesy that Libby appreciated.
After the TikTok incident, everyone seemed to understand that Liam valued his privacy.
Only Varlenko waved enthusiastically from across the room, making exaggerated heart gestures until Jensen physically turned him around.
Liam maintained that light touch at her back as they walked out, his body angled slightly toward hers.
In the privacy of the car, Libby slumped against the leather seat. "That video makes us look..."
"Like we're genuinely attracted to each other," Liam finished quietly.
The words hung between them in the dark car. Libby turned to look at him, but his expression was unreadable in the passing streetlights.
"It's good for the narrative," she said finally.
"Yes," Liam agreed. "The narrative."
They rode in silence for several minutes. As they approached her hotel, Libby felt a strange reluctance for the evening to end. Strictly because she was gathering interesting professional insights, she told herself.
"Your tactical analysis really is excellent," Liam said suddenly. "I wasn't just saying that for the performance."
"Thank you," Libby replied, surprised by how much the compliment meant. "Your willingness to debate rather than dismiss is... refreshing."
"Most people don't challenge me on hockey."
"Because you're Liam D'Arcy?"
"Because I'm usually right," he said, so matter-of-factly that Libby laughed.
"Usually?"
"You've made some valid points," he conceded as the car pulled up to her hotel. "The glove-side weakness does manifest differently in third period."
"Did Liam D'Arcy just admit I was right about something?" Libby asked in mock shock.
"Partially right," he corrected, but there was definite humor in his voice. "I'll review the tape again tomorrow."
"Of course you will."
As she moved to get out, Liam said, "Thank you for tonight. You made it... less insufferable than usual."
"Such high praise," Libby replied dryly. "Careful, or I might think you actually enjoyed yourself."
"That would be terrible for my reputation," Liam agreed solemnly, but she caught the slight upturn of his mouth.
Libby got out of the car, then turned back. "For what it's worth, debating hockey with you is... fun. Even if you're wrong about the glove-side weakness."
"I'm not wrong."
"You're completely wrong."
"We'll discuss it tomorrow."
"Looking forward to it," Libby said, and was surprised to realize she meant it.
As she entered her hotel room, Libby's phone buzzed with messages.
The TikTok had gone fully viral—half a million views and climbing.
Her mentions were exploding with comments about their "chemistry" and "competitive passion.
" There were already fan edits set to romantic music, zoom-ins on the moment their hands touched, and extensive analysis of their body language.
One comment in particular caught her eye: "The way she doesn't back down from disagreeing with him even though he's team captain... and the way he LOVES it... I'm deceased."
Libby flopped on her bed, staring at the ceiling. The fake relationship was supposed to be simple—a professional arrangement to get through the playoffs. But the way Liam had looked at her during their debate, the warmth of his hand at her back, the fact that he read all her articles...
Her phone chimed with a text.
From Liam: Reviewed the third period tape. You might have a point about the glove position. Might.
She smiled despite herself, typing back:
I'm screenshotting this admission for posterity.
His response was immediate:
I said might. Don't let it go to your head. Good night, Libby.
Good night, Liam.
It wasn't until she was falling asleep that Libby realized it was becoming easier to use his first name. That probably wasn't good for maintaining professional distance.
But as she drifted off, still wearing the smile his texts had caused, she couldn't bring herself to care.
Liam reviewed the social media explosion on his tablet, watching the TikTok for the fourth time.
Varlenko's secret filming should have annoyed him more than it did.
Instead, he found himself replaying specific moments—the way Libby's eyes sparked when she caught the flaw in his reasoning, her hand grabbing his to make her point.
How she'd instantly understood his counter-argument without needing explanation. The natural rhythm of their debate, like a well-executed passing play.
They looked... convincing. More than convincing—they looked genuinely engaged with each other. The comments weren't wrong about the chemistry, though Liam preferred to think of it as intellectual compatibility.
His phone showed a text from Georgia:
Georgia
Just saw the TikTok. Oh. My. God. Liam!!! You're actually INTO her! This isn't just PR!
Liam
It's a professional arrangement. The video is misleading.
Georgia's response was instant:
Georgia
I HAVE EYES. You're totally into her and everyone can see it!!!
Liam
It's tactical appreciation. She understands hockey.
Georgia
And she's brilliant and beautiful and challenges you. I'm coming to the next home game. I HAVE to meet her.
Liam
Please don't make this more complicated.
Georgia
Too late! Mom and Dad have 100% seen this.
Liam set down his phone, unsettled. The arrangement was temporary, lasting only through the playoffs. His family's involvement would only complicate things.
But as he pulled up Libby's latest article—a breakdown of Portland's power play that echoed his own analysis with uncanny precision—he found himself wondering if the Herald's budget included sending her to Portland for Game 4. Local print media didn't always travel for away games.
He pulled up his phone, then set it down. Then picked it up again.
It would be a simple call to the team's media relations. Ensure she had credentials, perhaps mention the PR value of having his girlfriend present for away games. The Herald would likely accept travel assistance if framed correctly.
He was already typing the email before he could examine why it mattered so much that she be there.
It was purely professional interest, he told himself.
The fact that debating hockey with Libby Bennet-Cross was the most engaging conversation he'd had in years was irrelevant.
The way she'd laughed at his dry humor, how she'd automatically leaned into him during dinner, the satisfied smile when she'd proved her point about the glove position—none of that mattered.
This was a business arrangement. Nothing more.
But as Liam saved her article to his personal folder—alongside every other piece she'd written—he wondered who he was trying to convince.