Dima

She stood rooted to the spot as laughter sounded behind her. His laughter.

• Oh, come on, it's comfortable. My dad's a trainer, and he has a pretty good body.
  She froze. Her heart sank.
  One step back. Then another. And now she's almost running.
• Hey! Wait!
  Of course he noticed.
  He always noticed when it was profitable.
  He caught up with her, grabbed her wrist, and pressed her against the wall.
• You got it all wrong...
  “Really?” the voice trembled.
  He fell silent and then exhaled:
• Okay. You're right. I used you. And... I don't love you. But have you seen yourself? No one will ever love you and your character. You still owe me a thank you.
  Like a dot.
  He let her go and left.
  She sank to the floor, clutching herself, trying not to cry too loudly.
• And you actually dated this asshole?
  She looked up. A man stood before her—confident, calm. Dima. The captain of one of the best teams in hockey, the one that had won the World Cup.
  He squatted down and tucked her hair behind her ear.
• Sorry, I don't like idiots.
  She chuckled through her tears:
• Then don't look in the mirror.
  He chuckled.
• Already better. He has character.
  Pause.
  "Then let's cut it short," his voice grew a little harsher, "People like him don't change. But sometimes... they need to be reminded that there are consequences for everything."
  She looked at him more closely.
• And how so?
  He smiled slightly, but there was a cold confidence in his eyes.
  – It's very simple. He values ​​status. The team's opinion. Reputation.
  He paused.
  – Imagine that tomorrow everyone will see you no longer with him.
  Silence.
• And with someone he definitely won’t be able to ignore.
  She frowned.
• What are you talking about?
  He straightened up, calmly meeting her gaze.
  "I'm the captain of the team they always lose against. And if you show up next to me... it'll be a blow to him."
  She remained silent.
  "Nothing personal," he added a little quieter. "Simply mutual benefit. We're pretending to date. No strings attached. When this is over, we'll go our separate ways."
• Why do you need this?
  – So that they stop pestering me with questions, and... because it’s convenient.
• This is stupid.
• I know. I'm not him, little mouse. Choose.