Julian's POV

This is exactly what I live for.

The Morrison house is packed with people, music loud enough to make conversation impossible unless you're shouting. Beer everywhere, students from Blackridge getting drunk and stupid.

And they're all looking at me like I'm the reason this party matters.

I'm holding court in the main living room, sprawled across the biggest couch with my teammates flanking me like bodyguards. Marcus is telling some story about practice yesterday, but I'm only half listening. I'm too busy enjoying the way people keep glancing over at us, the way conversations pause when I laugh, the way girls keep finding excuses to walk past our corner.

This is my world. These are my people.

Jake appears with another round of drinks, expensive stuff that his parents probably don't even know is missing from their liquor cabinet.

"Hayes," he says, handing me a beer. "You see the turnout? Half the freshman class showed up just because they heard you'd be here."

I take a sip and grin. "What can I say? I'm irresistible."

The guys laugh, and a few girls nearby giggle like I've said something incredibly clever. It's all so easy, so natural. This is where I belong - at the center of everything, with everyone wanting to be close to me.

I'm scanning the crowd, noting who's here and who's trying too hard to get my attention, when I spot something that makes me do a double-take.

No way.

Across the crowded room, standing near the kitchen entrance, is the coffee shop disaster himself. The little brunette transfer student who's been occupying way too much space in my head lately.

What the hell is he doing here?

He looks completely out of place, just like he did that first day on campus. His clothes are wrong - some cheap button-down shirt that probably came from a department store, jeans that don't fit quite right. But somehow he's not standing alone in a corner like I expected.

He's talking to a group of girls.

And they're laughing.

I watch, irritated, as one of the girls touches his arm while she says something. He smiles - that shy, genuine smile that makes his whole face light up - and I feel something hot and uncomfortable twist in my chest.

Since when do people find him charming?

"Earth to Julian," Tyler says, snapping his fingers in front of my face. "You okay, man? You look like you've seen a ghost."

"I'm fine," I mutter, forcing myself to look away from the brunette.

But I can't stop glancing back. Every time I look, he's still there, still talking to those girls, still looking perfectly comfortable despite being surrounded by people who should be way out of his league.

It's irritating as hell.

"Oh, this is going to be fun," someone shouts from across the room. "Truth or dare time!"

A cheer goes up from the crowd, and I watch as people start gathering in the center of the living room, pushing furniture aside to make space for a circle. It's juvenile as hell - the kind of game we played in middle school - but at parties like this, people will do anything for entertainment.

"Come on, Julian," Jake says, standing up. "You know you can't miss this."

He's right. I never back down from anything, especially not party games that give me another chance to be the center of attention. Plus, if I'm being honest, I'm curious to see if the transfer student will join in.

I don't have to wonder for long. As the circle forms, I watch the group of girls he was talking to literally drag him into the ring of people sitting on the floor. He looks nervous but not scared, and when his eyes meet mine across the circle, there's something defiant in them.

Interesting.

The game starts with some easy truths and boring dares. Sarah admits to hooking up with her TA, and Tom has to text his ex; typical college party stuff. But the energy builds as the bottle keeps spinning, and people start getting more creative with their challenges.

Then the bottle lands on him.

The brunette stares at the bottle pointing directly at him, and the room goes quiet for a beat. Someone calls out, "Truth or dare?" and without hesitating, he says, "Dare."

His voice is steady, confident, even. There's a challenge in the way he says it, like he's daring us to try to embarrass him.

"Dance on the coffee table!" someone shouts from across the circle.

A few people laugh, but the brunette just nods and stands up. I expect him to be awkward, maybe stumble through some embarrassing attempt at dancing that will give everyone something to laugh about.

I'm completely wrong.

The music shifts to something with a beat, and he steps onto the coffee table. For a second, he just stands there. Then he starts to move.

And it's good. Really good.

He knows how to dance, not like the awkward stuff most guys do at parties. His whole body moves with the music, confident and smooth. Like he's done this before.

The room goes quiet except for the music. Everyone's staring as this quiet transfer student turns into something completely different. Something that makes people pay attention.

Several people whistle appreciatively. A few girls call out encouragement. But I can't make a sound. I can't even breathe properly.

When the song ends, he climbs down from the table. His face is red from moving around, his hair messed up. He's got this smile like he knows everyone's still staring.

His eyes find mine across the circle, and there's something there. Like he's asking what I think now.

My mouth is dry.

The bottle spins again, and this time it lands on me. The room buzzes with anticipation - everyone knows I never back down from a dare, and they're all waiting to see what I'll choose.

"Truth or dare, Hayes?" Jake asks, grinning like he already knows what I'll say.

"Dare," I say automatically, even though my head is still spinning from watching that dance.

There's a moment of excited whispering as people try to come up with something good. Finally, a voice calls out from somewhere in the circle.

"Kiss the hottest person in the room!"

The crowd erupts in cheers and laughter. It's exactly the kind of dare they'd give me - something that plays into my reputation, something that gives me a chance to show off.

I should pick one of the girls who's been eyeing me all night. Should choose someone safe, someone expected. Should play this exactly the way everyone thinks I will.

Instead, I look right at the brunette sitting across the circle. Still red-faced from dancing, still looking at me like he's waiting for something.

He's the hottest person in this room.

That thought hits me hard.

I shake my head and force myself to look away. What the hell am I thinking?

"Come on, Julian!" someone shouts. "Pick someone!"

I scan the circle and grab the first safe option I see. Some blonde girl who's been eyeing me all night. She squeals when I walk over and kiss her, and the crowd cheers.

But the whole time, I can feel dark eyes watching me from across the circle.

My phone won't shut up. Seven AM on a Monday morning, and Mom's already texting me like crazy.

"Good luck today, honey! Richard is so excited that you're trying out for hockey. He says it's a Hayes family tradition!"

"I know you'll do amazing. You've always been so athletic. Love you!"

I'm standing outside the athletics building with a bag of borrowed hockey gear that smells like ass. This is the stupidest thing I've ever done.

But here I am anyway, because Mom sounded so damn happy when I told her about tryouts. She spent forever on the phone last night talking about how proud she was, how this would help me fit in, how Richard was excited about it.

Couldn't tell her the real reason I'm doing this. That I'm sick of being the guy everyone thinks will just fuck off if they push hard enough.

The equipment room guy barely looked at me yesterday. Just handed me skates, pads, a helmet, everything I need to make a complete fool of myself on ice.

"You sure about this?" he asked. "Hockey tryouts are brutal."

"Yeah, I'm sure," I lied.

Now I'm definitely not sure. But it's too late to bail.

The athletics building is huge and intimidating, all glass and steel. I follow the signs to the locker room, my stomach getting worse with each step.

The locker room is full of guys who've probably been playing hockey since they were five. They're talking and laughing while getting dressed, totally casual about the whole thing.

I find an empty corner and start putting on the borrowed gear. The pads are too big, the helmet doesn't fit right, and the skates feel like boats. Everything screams that I don't belong here.

"You lost, transfer boy?"

Shit. I know that voice.

Julian Hayes is standing by a locker, arms crossed. He's already half-dressed in gear that actually fits him, looking at me like I'm some kind of bug.

Of course, he's on the hockey team. Of fucking course.

"Nope," I say, going back to my skates. "Just getting ready for tryouts."

He laughs. "You? Hockey tryouts?"

A few other guys look over. I can see them nudging each other, getting ready for a show.

"Yeah, me," I say, standing up on wobbly skate blades. "Got a problem with that?"

His expression changes from amusement to something else. Like he's excited to watch me fail.

"No problem at all," he says. "This should be interesting."

Walking to the rink is hell. Every step on these skates feels like I'm about to eat shit, and I can hear guys behind me making bets.

"Five minutes," someone says.

"Two minutes tops."

"He'll be crying before the first drill."

I ignore them and focus on not falling before I even get on the ice.

The rink is bigger than I expected. Bright white ice that looks slippery as hell. Coach Williams is already there with his clipboard, looking like he could kill someone with his bare hands.

"Alright, ladies," he shouts. "Tryouts, get on the ice. Let's see what you've got."

This is it. No backing out now.

I step onto the ice and my legs immediately start shaking. The skates slide everywhere, and for a second, I think I'm going down right in front of everyone.

But I grab the boards and steady myself, then push off slowly.

It's terrible. I'm wobbly and slow and obviously have no clue what I'm doing. Guys glide past me like it's nothing.

"Having fun yet?" Julian asks, skating backwards next to me like he's showing off.

"Just getting started," I mutter, trying not to fall on my face.

Coach Williams blows his whistle and starts calling out drills. Skating around cones, stopping and starting, basic shit that everyone else makes look easy.

I suck at all of it.

But I'm not quitting. My legs are screaming, I've fallen three times, and people are definitely betting on when I'll give up.

Fuck that.

Halfway through, something changes. I start getting pissed. Really pissed. At the ice for being so damn slippery, at these guys for making this look easy, and at Julian for smirking every time I mess up.

When I get angry, I get mean.

Next drill is scrimmage time. Coach throws me in with some other tryouts. My skating still sucks, but now I'm throwing my body around. Getting in people's way. Making them work for everything.

"What the hell?" one guy says after I check him into the boards harder than necessary.

"Sorry," I say, but I'm not.

I play like that the whole time. Using anger instead of skill. Can't keep up with the fast guys, but I can make their lives difficult.

Coach Williams starts watching me.

"Transfer kid," he shouts during a break. "What's your name?"

"Bryson."

"You ever played before, Bryson?"

"No, sir."

He nods and writes something down. Can't tell if that's good or bad.

Practice goes on for two hours. Two hours of getting my ass kicked in every possible way. But I don't give up. Every time I fall, I get back up. Every drill, I throw myself into it.

By the end, everything hurts, and I might throw up. But I'm still standing.

Coach Williams gathers everyone around. "Results tomorrow morning," he says. "Most of you know what to expect. A few of you surprised me."

He looks right at me when he says that.

After everyone leaves, I'm in the locker room trying to get these damn skates off when Julian shows up.

"Not bad for someone who's never played," he says. But he doesn't sound happy about it.

"Thanks."

"Don't let it go to your head. Making the team and staying on it are different things."

I look up at him. He's back in regular clothes, looking perfect again. Not like someone who just spent two hours getting beaten up.

"We'll see."

The next morning, I check the roster outside the athletics building. My name is there. Third line, but it's there.

Bryson Chen - Forward.

I stare at it for a while, not believing it. I actually made the damn team.

My phone buzzes. Text from Mom. "How did tryouts go yesterday? I've been thinking about you!"

"I made the team," I text back.

Her response is immediate. "OH MY GOD! I'm so proud of you! Richard is going to be thrilled! This is amazing!"

I smile despite everything. She really is happy, and that makes this worth it.

Even if it means getting my ass kicked by Julian Hayes every day for the next few months.

I'm walking back to my dorm when I see him coming out of the athletics building. He stops when he sees me.

"Congratulations," he says, voice flat.

"Thanks."

Practice is at six AM every day. Don't be late."

"I won't."

He nods and walks away. Same team as the guy who's made my life hell.

Either I just made the biggest mistake of my life, or I signed up for something that might actually be good.

Guess I'll find out.

Julian's POV

Having Bryson on the team is driving me fucking crazy.

It's been two weeks since he made the roster, and I can't stop watching him. Every practice, every drill, every time he's on the ice. He's getting better fast - too fast for someone who'd never played before.

And my teammates are starting to notice.

"Did you see that play Bryson made yesterday?" Tyler says during lunch. "Kid's got some serious balls."

"Yeah, he checked Davidson so hard I thought he was going to cry," Marcus adds, laughing.

I stab at my food and try to look like I don't care. But I do care. I care way too much.

The problem is, Bryson doesn't play scared. Most rookies come in trying not to mess up, trying to stay out of the way. Not him. He throws himself into every play like he's got nothing to lose.

It's making my game look boring.

I've been the team captain for two years. I'm the star player, the one everyone looks up to. But lately, I'm pushing harder in practice, taking stupid risks, trying to prove I'm still the best.

"Julian, what the hell was that?" Coach Williams yelled at me yesterday after I tried a fancy move that didn't work. "Play smart, not flashy."

But I can't help it. Every time Bryson makes a good play, I feel like I have to do something better.

Today's scrimmage is particularly brutal. Coach has us running full-contact drills, and everyone's amped up. Bryson's on the opposing line, and I can see him eyeing me across the ice.

"Alright, ladies," Coach shouts. "Let's see some real hockey."

The puck drops, and everything happens fast. I get possession and start driving toward the goal, but Bryson's coming at me from the side. He's smaller than me, but he hits like a truck.

I see him coming. I should brace for impact or pass the puck.

Instead, I try to deke around him.

Big mistake.

Bryson catches me off balance and sends me flying. I hit the ice hard, sliding into the boards while he steals the puck and skates away like nothing happened.

The entire team goes quiet for a second, then someone starts laughing.

"Holy shit, did the new guy just demolish Julian?"

"That was beautiful."

I get up, face burning. Bryson doesn't even look back. Just keeps skating like he didn't just embarrass me in front of everyone.

For the first time in my life, I feel threatened. Really threatened.

After practice, I'm pissed off and need to do something about it. I wait until most of the guys have cleared out, then corner Bryson in the equipment room.

He's pulling off his pads, sweaty and tired from practice. His hair is damp and sticking to his forehead, and his face is still red from the workout.

"We need to talk," I say, blocking the doorway.

He looks up at me. "About what?"

"About you thinking you can just waltz in here and take over my team."

Bryson stands up, still holding his shoulder pads. He's smaller than me, but he doesn't back down.

"Your team?" he says. "Pretty sure it's Coach Williams' team."

"Don't be a smartass. You know what I mean."

"Actually, I don't. What's your problem, Julian?"

My problem? My problem is that he's been here two weeks and already my teammates are talking about him like he's something special. My problem is that he plays with more heart than guys who've been skating their whole lives. My problem is that I can't stop watching him, can't stop thinking about him.

"My problem is that you don't know your place," I say, stepping closer.

"And where's that exactly?"

"Bottom of the roster. Bench warmer. Background player."

Bryson drops his pads and steps toward me. Now we're standing close enough that I can smell his shampoo, can see the sweat on his neck.

"Fuck that," he says. "I earned my spot on this team. Same as everyone else."

"You earned nothing. You got lucky."

"Lucky? I've been busting my ass every single practice while you've been showing off like some prima donna."

"Prima donna?" My voice gets louder. "I've been carrying this team for two years."

"Yeah? Well, maybe it's time someone else stepped up."

We're standing so close now that I can feel his breath when he talks. His eyes are dark and angry, and there's something about the way he's looking at me that makes my chest tight.

"You think you can replace me?" I ask.

"I think you're scared I might try."

He's right. I am scared. But not for the reasons he thinks.

I'm scared because when I look at him like this - sweaty and defiant and refusing to back down - all I want to do is grab him and kiss him until he shuts up.

The thought hits me like a punch to the gut.

What the fuck is wrong with me?

We're staring at each other, both breathing hard, and I can feel something electric in the air between us. Something that has nothing to do with hockey or team dynamics or any of the shit we've been arguing about.

"Julian," Bryson says, his voice quieter now. "What are you-"

"TEAM MEETING IN FIVE MINUTES!"

Coach Williams' voice echoes through the building, loud and sudden. We both jump apart like we've been caught doing something wrong.

I watch him go, my heart racing for reasons I don't want to think about.

Shit. This is bad.

This is really, really bad.