Overtime with my Ex's Best Friend

I spent a year trying to forget Lucas Kingston. I didn't expect his brother to make me remember.

The rink was empty at 5 AM. Just me, the humming lights, and the ache in my legs. I pushed off with my left blade and carved a deep curve into the ice. I spun into a triple. One. Two. Three. I landed with a soft scratch of steel on ice.

Perfect.

Except it wasn't. My arm was two degrees off. My landing knee bent too deep. The judges would catch it. They always did.

I circled back to centre ice. My breath fogged in the cold air. I reset and got ready to try again.

The doors slammed open like a gunshot.

I flinched mid-glide and nearly fell. My heart pounded. Not from the near fall. From the figure striding onto the ice like he owned it.

Cole Kingston.

Hockey captain. Arrogance in human form. The kind of boy who made teachers sigh and girls swoon. He wore his jersey like armour. Number 17 stretched across his broad shoulders. Dark hair, messier than any team rule allowed. Jaw sharp enough to cut glass.

And those eyes. Storm gray. Already rolling at the sight of me.

"Seriously?" He dropped his duffel bag on the bench with a thud. "You're still here?"

I straightened my spine. "I have the rink until 6."

"Not anymore, princess." He yanked his stick off the rack. "Coach moved morning practice up. We're here now."

"Then you can wait."

He laughed. A short, humourless sound that echoed off the empty bleachers. "Cute. But no."

Cole skated past me. Close enough that I caught the scent of cheap deodorant and expensive confidence. His blade sprayed ice across my freshly carved figure eight.

He didn't even look back. Like I was nothing. Like my time didn't matter. Like I was just some girl in his way.

I bit down hard. "You did that on purpose."

"Did I?" He glanced over his shoulder. Smirk firmly in place. "Maybe you should watch where you stand, skater girl."

Skater girl. Like that was an insult. Like I hadn't heard worse from better players.

My hands curled into fists inside my gloves. "I'm preparing for regionals. You're preparing for what? Another losing season?"

His smirk faltered. Just a flicker. But I caught it.

"You don't know anything about me," he said. His voice was lower now. Quieter.

"I know enough."

"Then you know I don't back down."

He shoved a puck toward the goal with brutal force. The net rattled.

I skated to centre ice. Planted my toe pick. Glared at him through the frosty air. "Fine. You want the rink? Win it."

His head snapped toward me. "Excuse me?"

"A competition." My heart pounded but my voice stayed steady. "One shot. You versus me. If I score on your goalie, you leave me alone until 6. If you score on mine, I'll share the ice."

He tilted his head. Studied me like I was a puzzle he didn't care to solve. "You don't even have a goalie."

"I'll be my own."

"You're insane."

"Scared?"

That did it.

He laughed again. But this time something else was underneath it. Curiosity. Interest. A spark that made my stomach flip in a way I refused to name.

"Fine," he said. Stick raised. "You're on, skater girl."

I squared my shoulders. Took a breath. Faced him across the ice.

The puck dropped between us.

He moved fast. Faster than I expected. His blade flicked the puck forward and he was already charging toward my makeshift goal. I dropped low and blocked my skate. The puck ricocheted off my blade and spun away.

Cole stumbled. Caught himself. Turned to stare at me.

"Lucky," he said.

"Skill," I shot back.

His jaw tightened. He retrieved the puck and came at me again. This time I wasn't fast enough. The puck slid past my skate and into the corner I was supposed to be guarding.

He pumped his fist. "One to zero."

"You got lucky."

"Skill," he said, throwing my word back at me.

I gritted my teeth. "Best of three."

"Whatever you want, princess."

We went again. He scored. I was blocked. He scored again. I got one past his skate when he wasn't paying attention.

Three to one. He won.

I was breathing hard. My cheeks were flushed. I hated losing. I hated the way he was looking at me now. Like he was seeing me for the first time. Like maybe I wasn't just some figure skater in his way.

"You're not bad," he said. "For a figure skater."

"I'm not bad for anyone," I said. "I'm good."

"Modest too."

"I don't have time for modesty. I have regionals."

He skated closer. Too close. His chest was inches from mine. I could feel the heat coming off him. It made my skin tingle.

"What's your name?"

"You know my name."

"I want to hear you say it."

I swallowed. "Mia."

"Mia." He said it slow. Like he was tasting it. "I'm Cole."

"I know who you are."

"Everyone does." He smirked again. "But I'm not Lucas."

My stomach dropped. "What?"

"You heard me. I'm not my brother. Don't lump me in with him."

"I wasn't."

"You were. Everyone does." He looked at me differently now. Softer. "I'm not him, Mia. Whatever he did to you, that's not me."

I wanted to say something. I wanted to push him away. But my mouth wouldn't move. My body wouldn't listen. All I could do was look at him and wonder how he could see through me so fast.

His team started filing in. Coaches shouting. Equipment clattering. The moment shattered like glass.

Cole stepped back. "Same time tomorrow?"

"Same time tomorrow."

He skated away. Then stopped. Turned back.

"And Mia?"

"What?"

"Lucas was stupid. That's all I'm saying."

He left before I could respond.

I stood there on the ice. Cold and confused and angry. I hated him. I hated his smirk and his confidence and the way he looked at me like he could see through everything.

But I also couldn't stop thinking about the way he said my name. Like it mattered. Like I mattered.

What was wrong with me?

My phone buzzed in my bag. I skated over and pulled it out.

One new message.

Lucas.

"Hey Mia. Coming home for winter break. I've been thinking about you. We need to talk. I'm not giving up."

I stared at the screen. My heart raced. But not in a good way.

Lucas was coming back.

And everything was about to change.