CHAPTER SIX

The roar of the crowd was a physical weight, pressing against my eardrums until my head throbbed.

I stood just behind the plexiglass of the players’ bench, my fingers cramping as I gripped the cold metal of my clipboard.

A hot hockey match was going on. Even though I understood nothing, every time a player slammed into the boards, the vibration rattled through the soles of my shoes, making my teeth chatter.

My gaze was fixed on Mikel. As much as I didn't want to admit it, he was a total god on the ice. He moved with a ruthless, predatory grace that made the other players look like they were skating through molasses.

Every time he caught the puck, the stadium erupted into a thunderous chant of his name. He was fast, spinning past defenders with an arrogance that should have been infuriating, but was somehow hypnotic.

He scored the first goal within three minutes.

As the crowd went wild, Mikel's gaze swept through the ice, he didn't look at his teammates. He didn't look at the coach.

Instead, he skated a slow, deliberate circle near the bench, his eyes locking onto mine through the cage of his helmet like a silent command: Watch me.

I felt my face heat up despite the freezing air. He was insufferable, a peacock on skates, yet I couldn't tear my eyes away.

He skated back into the game and immediately the rivalry continued. And it was then, I seemed to remember who Mikel’s opponent was… Kenneth

Kenneth moved in to block him, his jaw set in that familiar, stubborn line. The clash of their sticks sounded like a gunshot.

Kenneth tried to hold his ground, but Mikel was too quick. With a flick of his wrists and a deceptive shimmy, Mikel spun past him, leaving Kenneth grasping at empty air.

The final buzzer blared, signaling a 4-1 victory.

The team swarmed Mikel, pounding on his shoulders.

His coach was shouting praise from the sidelines, and Mikel just offered that lazy, lopsided grin—the one that said he’d known the outcome before the first whistle.

Kenneth walked over, his face a mask of suppressed rage, as he walked past me, with his team mates trailing behind.

I exhaled a breath I hadn't realized I was holding. My heart was still hammering a frantic rhythm against my ribs.

It should have been a team win, but Mikel had turned it into a personal dare.

Two hours later, I was standing in front of the full-length mirror in my dorm, my breath hitching in my throat. I tugged at the hem of my swimsuit, feeling a surge of reckless adrenaline.

"Oh, shut up. You look absolutely lethal," Sarah said, pausing with a charcoal face mask halfway applied to her forehead.

"If you’re trying to give that hockey god a heart attack, you’re about three seconds away from success."

I looked at my reflection and barely recognized the girl staring back.

I wasn't wearing the oversized, moth-eaten sweaters I usually used as armor. Instead, I was wearing a hot pink one-piece swimsuit that hugged every curve I’d spent years trying to hide.

I’d layered a sheer, flowy kimono over it, but it did little to mask the bold statement I was making.

I knew Mikel’s preferences. I’d overheard him once telling his teammates that pink was "too loud, too girly, too distracting" and I was definitely not wearing it for that exact reason. I wasn't dressing to fit into his world; I was dressing to annoy him. I wanted to be a thorn in his side, a distraction he couldn't ignore, just he was to me.

Sarah leaned in, expertly flicking a wing of eyeliner across my lid. "You look dangerous, Brianna. Like you’re finally ready to burn the school down."

I offered a small, hesitant grin. I was damn nervous about this.

**

The "Hockey House" was a sprawling, three-story nightmare of loud bass, flashing LED strips, and the smell of cheap beer.

Even from the sidewalk, I could feel the floorboards vibrating. My palms were sweaty as I adjusted the silk of my kimono and walked toward the porch.

Mikel was there, surrounded by a circle of teammates. He was wearing red board shorts and a white linen shirt that he hadn't bothered to button more than halfway.

His hair was still damp from the post-game shower, curling at the nape of his neck in a way that made my stomach flip. He was leaning back, a red cup in his hand, looking like the king of the campus.

Well…until he saw me.

The lazy smile vanished instantly. His cup halted mid-air. His gaze traveled down slowly, starting at my face—now free of the heavy glasses—and lingering on the bright pink fabric and the line of my legs. The silence that stretched between us was louder than the music.

"You’re late," he finally said, his voice lower and rougher than usual. He stepped toward me, his eyes dark with something I couldn't quite read. Anger? Shock? Or maybe just the realization that his puppet had teeth.

"I’m exactly on time," I countered, rolling my eyes and stepping past him into the house. "Try to keep up, Captain."

The moment we crossed the threshold, I regretted ever rushing forward.

Every gaze was on me. Conversations dying mid-sentence.

I saw a group of girls near the punch bowl actually gasp, their eyes darting between my pink swimsuit and Mikel’s hand, which had found its way to the small of my back.

Without my glasses and my protective layers of wool, I was a stranger to them.

Those were the reactions I avoided, that's why I always wore oversize.

We moved deeper into the party, the bass vibrating in my very bones.

Every time his fingers brushed against my skin, a spark of electricity shot up my spine.

“It was a performance,” I reminded myself. “Just an act.”

But the way he looked at me when he thought no one was watching felt terrifyingly real.

"Well, well. Look at the little mouse trying to play dress-up."

I stiffened.

Imogen was standing near the fireplace, her arms crossed, her eyes dripping with venom.

She looked me up and down, her lip curling in mock surprise. "A pink swimsuit, Brianna? Really? It’s a bit... desperate, don't you think? You don't belong here, and no amount of neon fabric is going to change the fact that you’re just a temporary fix for Mikel’s GPA."

I felt the familiar sting of shame, the urge to shrink back into the shadows. But then I felt Mikel’s grip tighten on my waist. He didn't say a word, but his presence was a solid wall at my back.

I took a breath, meeting Imogen’s gaze with a coolness I didn't know I possessed.

"I didn't dress for the house, Imogen. I dressed for myself. If you’re intimidated by a bit of color, maybe that’s something you should take up with your therapist."

The surrounding crowd "oohed," and Imogen’s face turned a mottled red anger flashing in her eyes.

Before I could say something else, she walked up to me with a growl.

Mikel tried to step in front of me but I waved him off and removed his grip from me.

I was done being controlled by Imogen.

"You…" Before I could utter any other word, she suddenly shoved me hard.

I stumbled backwards, losing my balance and fell into the swimming pool. Hard!

I struggle upward, feeling the water filling up my nostril as I gasp for her. My life flashing before my eyes.

“Help. I can't swim!" I shrieked.

The freezing water rushed into my nose and throat, extinguishing the loud bass of the Hockey House party in an instant.

Suddenly, I wasn’t eighteen anymore. Terrifying flashes of drowning as a kid filled my head, the suffocating memory of struggling helplessly against a weightless monster. My deep-seated phobia kicked in with a vengeance. My breath became more labored under the surface, panic draining the oxygen from my lungs as my body began sinking like a stone into the dark depths of the pool.

Just as the blackness started edging into my vision, a powerful grip yanked my upper body upward.

I felt myself break the surface, gasping into the cool night air, but I couldn't seem to respond. My limbs felt heavy, paralyzed by pure terror.

"Brianna, wake up… open your eyes!"

Mikel's voice pierced through the ringing in my ears, rough and stripped of its usual lazy arrogance. I could hear him desperately calling out to me, but my body just wasn’t responding.

"Shit!" Mikel cursed loudly.

He swam with powerful, frantic strokes toward the shallow end, dragging me with him until he reached the shore of the pool. Slowly and carefully, he rested my shivering body on the hard concrete floor. Without wasting a single second, he placed two hands firmly on the center of my chest and began pumping, desperate to clear my lungs.

I jolted upward, violently coughing up a mouthful of chlorinated water, before dropping weakly back to the floor.

My vision was still swimming, but suddenly, I felt his fingers on my nose, pinching it shut. My breath hitched in my throat, knowing exactly what was coming up next. He was going to give me mouth-to-mouth.

Every panicked nerve in my body wanted to scream ‘no’. I could already feel his warm breath ghosting over my lips. I didn't know where I found the strength or the sheer willpower, but I forced my eyes open, snapped my hand up, and pressed my palm directly against his lips, effectively blocking his kiss.

We stared at each other, both panting, my hand still plastered over his mouth.

I weakly pushed myself up to sit. The moment I did, Mikel immediately grabbed a large, dry towel from nearby and wrapped it tightly around my shoulders. As he hovered over me, the raw, unfiltered worry blazing in his green eyes made my chest clench painfully.

*Don't fall for it,* I fiercely reminded myself. He was an elite player, a master of control. He was probably just pretending to care for the sake of the audience, maintaining the doting boyfriend act so nothing messed up his pristine image.

"Are you fine?" he breathed, his hands still hovering near my arms.

I swallowed the lump in my throat and offered a small nod. "Yes," I whispered, my voice trembling.

Satisfied that I was breathing, the worry in Mikel's face vanished, instantly replaced by a terrifying, dark rage. He suddenly rose to his feet and whirled around toward the crowd, his eyes locking onto a stunned Imogen.

"How dare you touch her?!" Mikel yelled, his voice echoing fiercely over the quieted party. "You could have killed her, you sick fool!"

Imogen, though momentarily startled by his fury, quickly recovered and rolled her eyes. She crossed her arms, crossing her ankles casually. "At least she didn't die," she said, her voice dripping with malice. "Stop overexaggerating, Mikel."

Seeing that cold, unapologetic smirk on her lips made my blood boil. I wanted nothing more than to watch Mikel tear her apart, but seeing how red his face was from pure anger, a sudden wave of panic hit me. If Mikel laid a hand on her, or if a violent scandal broke out at a team house, it would get back to the athletic department. He could really be benched or completely expelled from playing hockey—and his scout reports would go up in smoke, destroying the very deal we made. I had to stop him first.

Slowly, my legs shaking like jelly, I stood up, still shivering violently from the cold water. I stepped close to him and placed my small, damp hand on Mikel’s tense forearm.

Mikel snapped his head down to look at me. My breath caught, and I swallowed hard because, despite the absolute chaos of the moment, I couldn't understand why he looked so incredibly hot when he was angry. The absolute intensity in his eyes was dizzying.

"Can you take me somewhere to change?" I whispered, pulling the towel tighter around my hot pink swimsuit. "It's getting really cold."

Mikel’s rigid posture melted slightly, his eyes softening instantly as he looked at my shivering frame. Without a word, he bent down and effortlessly swept me up into his arms, cradling me against his chest.

My eyes widened in genuine shock at the sudden movement, but the sheer exhaustion took over. I felt myself leaning into his solid frame, my arms instinctively wrapping around his neck. I tried to tell myself it wasn't personal; I just desperately craved warmth, and his linen shirt was radiating heat. I offered Mikel a small, grateful smile and dunked my head into the crook of his neck as he began to walk off.

But before I could fully dwell on how safe I felt in his embrace, Mikel paused. With a swift, brutal movement of his leg, he kicked Imogen squarely in the back, sending her flying straight into the swimming pool.

A shrill, undignified scream echoed through the backyard as she hit the water with a massive splash.

A burst of laughter bubbled up in my chest. I bit my lip hard, trying to contain it, but a satisfied chuckle escaped me anyway. She entirely deserved it.

As Mikel turned back toward the house to carry me inside, my eyes casually swept over the remaining crowd—and froze.

Standing by the left side of the patio was Kenneth. He was standing completely still, but what caught my attention was that he was completely drenched, water dripping from his clothes and hair onto the concrete.

My brows furrowed in deep confusion. *Did he… did he also jump in to save me?*

I immediately shook the thought from my head. No, he wouldn't. Kenneth had made his disgust perfectly clear in the cafeteria, and he didn't care about me anymore. Not to mention, Kenneth had a well-known phobia of deep water himself; he would never risk jumping into a pool. He probably just took a clumsy shower or someone spilled a drink on him.

I tightened my grip around Mikel's neck, forcing myself to look away from my stepbrother. I really, desperately needed to get my mind off Kenneth and focus on surviving the boy currently carrying me.

*Click.*

The sharp, heavy sound of the door lock snapping into place echoed through the quiet space, cutting off the distant, muffled bass of the party downstairs. My head snapped up instantly at the sound.

My chest tightened in a sudden, suffocating grip—not just because Mikel had pushed the door open and shut it behind us, but because of exactly where he had taken me. When I whispered for him to take me somewhere to change, I expected a guest bathroom, a communal locker room, or maybe a disorganized laundry area. Instead, we were standing in a massive, lavishly decorated bedroom suite.

And right in the center of the room sat a massive king-sized bed, complete with silk sheets and an elaborate arrangement of dark red rose petals meticulously shaped into a giant heart.

"Mikel, what is this?" I breathed, my voice trembling as my eyes darted around the room.

He didn’t answer right away. He slowly walked over to the bed and carefully placed me down on the edge of the mattress. The velvet-like petals crinkled beneath my weight, and my mind immediately went completely bonkers.

Why is there a heart on the bed?

Is this his room?

Did he set this up beforehand?

Panic, mixed with a sudden, dizzying rush of adrenaline, surged through my veins. Was he trying to have sex with me? I mean, I couldn't deny the obvious: he was breathtakingly handsome, all sharp jawlines, messy blonde hair, and broad shoulders that practically radiated heat. A part of my treacherous brain even whispered that the friction and warmth of his body could definitely help soothe the deep, shivering cold rattling my bones. But I wasn’t ready for that. We had rules. We had a strictly professional arrangement.

I swallowed hard, my throat completely dry as I watched him step closer, towering over me.

Mikel leaned down, his green eyes burning into mine with an intensity that made it hard to breathe. Then, his large, warm hand slipped behind me, gliding slowly and deliberately up my bare back where the sheer kimono had parted.

My breathing became incredibly labored. The heat of his palm sent a violent shiver straight up my spine, completely unrelated to the cold water. My gaze instinctively shifted downward, locking onto his lips. They were parted slightly, just inches away from mine. For a fraction of a second, the temptation to just lean in and let the current pull me under was overwhelming.

No. No, I couldn’t do this! I couldn't let myself become another conquest, another temporary fix in his playboy lifestyle, no matter how much my heart was hammering against my ribs.

Suddenly, a jolt of panic gave me a burst of strength. I planted both of my palms firmly against his solid chest and pushed him off with everything I had, scrambling backward and getting frantically onto my feet.

"What is wrong with you?!" I yelled, my voice cracking with emotion as I pointed a shaking finger at him. "Stay away from me!"

Mikel stumbled backward a few steps from the unexpected force of my shove, but managed to get a firm grip on his balance before he actually fell, straightening his spine to his full, imposing height.

His brows furrowed in deep, utter confusion as he looked at me, his hands hanging loosely at his sides. "Why did you push me off?" he asked, his voice low and genuinely baffled.

"I-I don't know what you're thinking," I stuttered, my hands gripping the edges of the oversized towel to cover as much of my hot pink swimsuit as humanly possible. "But I am not one of those girls you can have so easily! I won't let you use me or take advantage of me just because I'm wet and freezing. I won't let you!"

The confusion in his brow crept even lower, his eyes scanning my defensive posture and my flushed, panicked face. For a long, agonizing second, the room was completely silent.

Then, his chest began to heave and without another word, he burst out laughing.

It wasn't a mocking laugh, but a rich, deep, genuine chuckle that vibrated right through the quiet suite. He shook his head, running a hand through his damp hair. "You really have such interesting thoughts, Ghost Writer," he said, the corner of his mouth twitching upward.

"What is so funny?" I snapped, crossing my arms defensively.

"Brianna, I only brought you in here because this is the team captain’s private suite, and it's the only room with a lock where people wouldn't barge in on you," he explained, his laughter finally dying down into a low rumble. "And as for my hand on your back... I was only trying to help you dust away the loose rose flowers that got stuck to your skin when I carried you in. You had petals glued to your back when I placed you on the bed."

My jaw dropped. The heat in my face instantly amplified, turning from a blush of anger into a scorching wave of absolute mortification. I wanted the floor to open up and swallow me whole. He hadn't been trying to make a move; he was literally just cleaning debris off me.

Before I could even attempt to stammer out an apology, the laughter completely vanished from Mikel's face. A slow, dangerous, and incredibly wicked smirk appeared on his lips.

His green eyes darkened as they slowly scanned my body, tracing the lines of the damp towel, the peek of vibrant pink fabric, and my long, bare legs.

The air in the room suddenly turned thick, heavy with a completely different kind of tension. He walked deliberately back toward the bed, stopping right where I had been sitting.

Slowly, sinfully, he placed one knee on the mattress, leaning his weight forward so he was closer to my level.

"But..." he muttered, his voice dropping into a deep, incredibly sexy register that sent a thrill straight to my core. "If you want something else, Brianna... I'm always down. I wouldn't want to keep my fake girlfriend from getting satisfied. If you're craving some warmth, all you have to do is ask."

The sheer boldness of his words made me swallow hard. For a wild, reckless second, my overactive writer's imagination took the bait visualizing his large hands gripping my waist, pulling me against his burning skin, his lips completely devouring mine without any rules or boundaries to hold us back.

The mental image was so vivid, so spicy, that it made my heart do a dangerous flip.

I violently shook my head, snapping myself back to reality before he could read the desire clear across my face.

"In your dreams!" I yelled, though my voice lacked any real bite. "You wish, Mikel!"

Without waiting for his response, I whirled around, pushed him away from my path, and ran toward the nearest door in the suite. I grabbed the handle and shoved it open, praying to whatever deity was listening that it wasn't a closet. Thankfully, a beautifully lit, modern bathroom greeted me.

As I rushed inside, I could hear Mikel’s deep, triumphant laughter echoing behind me before the door clicked shut.

I ran straight to the marble sink, gripped the edges, and stared at myself in the mirror. My cheeks were flushed a violent, dark red, and my eyes looked wide and wild.

What on earth was wrong with me?

Why did he have this much power to rattle me?

My heart was beating so incredibly fast against my ribs that I could feel the pulse in my throat, and no matter how many deep breaths I took, I couldn't control it.

Turning on the cold tap, I cupped the refreshing water in my hands and splashed it directly onto my face, trying to wash away the memory of his smirk and the intoxicating weight of his presence.

I rested my forehead against the cool mirror, shivering out a long, ragged breath. He was dangerous. Writing about fictional male leads was one thing, but dealing with a real-life, living breathing alpha hockey captain who knew exactly how to push my buttons was a completely different story.

“Knock. Knock,” The sharp rap on the wooden door made me jump.

"Get lost, Mikel!" I yelled at the door, my voice muffled by the towel I was using to dry my face.

"I would," Mikel's smooth, amused voice drifted through the wood panels. "But I'm currently holding a pair of fresh, dry clothes for you. Of course, if you don't want them, I don't mind. But I'm pretty sure you're not ready to wear those soaking wet clothes again. And unless you're planning on showing me your nakedness when you walk out... which, by the way, I wouldn't be complaining about at all..."

"Shut up!" I shouted, cutting him off before he could get any more descriptive.

How shameless could one person possibly be? He was entirely impossible. Yet, despite my internal scolding, my cheeks were already betraying me again, burning hotter than before.

Realizing I couldn't stay locked in the bathroom forever in a damp swimsuit, I walked over to the door. I unlocked it, snapped it open just a few inches, and thrust my hand through the gap. Mikel was standing right there, holding a neatly folded, thick grey hoodie and a pair of matching sweatpants.

Before he could say another word or flash that maddening smirk, I forcefully dragged the clothes right out of his hands and snapped the heavy door shut directly in his face, locking it with a loud, definitive thud.

"You're welcome, sweetheart!" his muffled voice called out from the bedroom, dripping with satisfaction.