He’s loved her since childhood; one fake date might finally make it real.

I was 15 years old when I stood on a hill in a peach orchard with the girl of my dreams, contemplating marriage.
Now I’m a hockey star, The Maverick Murphy.
I have flow on the ice and on my head, but I still have trouble forming sentences when she’s around.
And she’s all around—living in my house, sharing my space, so close, I can smell her perfume on my clothes.
I’m all grown up, and I’d still do anything for her.

I was 15 when I stood on a hill in my family’s peach orchard with the cutest boy I knew and said I’d marry him on the spot.
Now that boy is a grown man, a hockey star with muscles and dimples and smoldering hazel eyes.
He’s also my new roommate, but I’m not here to fall in love.
Our beloved peach trees are dying, and I’m here to find a cure.

When the town’s rich bully threatens to own our land and me along with it, I kind of snap. I kind of say Maverick’s mine for real.
It’s a lie. We’re only faking, but with every kiss, every touch, every stolen moment, reality starts to blur.
Still, as much as we want to pretend, he’s LA’s hockey champion, and when the semester ends, I’ll have to leave.
That’s reality.