Woke Up Married To My Hockey Rival

Chapter one : A mix of hate and Tequila “THE BULLDOGS WIN!" The shout nearly drowned out the music. A wave of fresh cheers swept through the hall, followed by the whistles and sound of students banging their cups against tables. Someone climbed onto a chair, waving a bulldogs jersey over his head like the team had just won an international championship and instead of a hockey game. Ciara watched him for three seconds before looking away. "Ridiculous.” She hissed. She didn't want to be there. She didn't even want to breathe the same air as them but as coach of the silver knight hockey team, her presence was mandatory, even though she had just lost to them. The party was supposed to be a peace treaty between the two teams, a celebration of a good game but the hall seemed determined to remind everyone that the bulldogs were better than the eagles. And of course, Ryder was at the center of it all. He stood near the makeshift bar with several of his teammates, looking perfectly comfortable with the attention. His gaze drifted to where Ciara stood, his cup at the tip of his mouth. The moment their eyes met, he smiled. That infuriating smile that made Ciara want to throw something at his head. “It was just one win, coach. We'll get them next time.” Ciara turned to her team captain. She let out a nervous laugh and took the cup from his hand. “Next time." She repeated before sipping from the cup. She frowned at the cup like it had done something to her. She didn't even remember how many times she had taken the red cup from someone just to quench the anger inside her. The weed had already left her pleasantly light headed, and she wanted to enjoy the night without hearing Ryder Ashton's name. To everyone, Ryder Ashton was the team captain of her rival hockey game. But their rivalry went way back, long before they even became rivals on ice. "Everyone, listen up!” A boy standing over the DJ raised his voice over the music. “Since we're all here to celebrate the game, we're playing a game!" A few people cheered. Ciara rolled her eyes, uninterested. Her eyes followed Ryder around the hall, watching him flock over a blonde girl. She diverted her gaze to the shot of tequilas arranged on the table. Without thinking, she picked up one glass and swallowed it at once. Soon, a game was picked and everyone started arguing about how it would be played, what rules would be applied. “Who wants to go first? coach Ciara!" Ciara's defender called, pointing at her. Ciara looked up, her eyes narrowing slightly. “Uh… no.” Her voice came out lower than she expected. The crowd sighed in defeat. Someone grabbed Ryder to the front line almost immediately. "Captain will go first then.” Ryder rubbed his palms together before dipping his hand into the bowl of paper and picked one. He opened it. Before he could read it, someone beside him did it for him. “GET MARRIED!" The crowd burst into laughter. “Who's the lucky bride, dude?" His friends teased. Ryder chuckled, tossing the paper aside. “Ain't no way I'm doing that." The laughter grew louder. “What's wrong captain, scared?" Ryder glared at the guy. "It's just a game, you can take my place though.” The game continued and soon enough, the game was caught up in another round of laughter. The music grew louder, people crowded the dance floor. Ciara slipped out of the crowd without anyone noticing. The hallway was quieter than the main room. She passed two students arguing over something on a phone, stepped around an abandoned cup and reached for the nearest door. She froze at the door the moment she saw who was inside. Ryder looked up from where he stood near the bed. “You're following me now?" He asked, his voice rough, scraped raw. “Don't flatter yourself, Ashton." She stayed by the door. “I didn't know you were in here.” He frowned. "Then leave.” "You leave.” For a long second, neither of them spoke. The only sound was the distant thump of the party and the quiet earnest voices in the television. Ciara stared at the tv. It displayed a show of two couples with wide smiles on their faces, exchanging their vows in front of the priest. Ryder folded his arms, watching her. The high made his eyes darker, slower. “I never got my congratulations." He said. She stared at him. "On what?” "The game, Wilson,” he recalled. “My team beat yours. I won.” Her fist clenched by the side of her dress. She wanted to punch his face and ruin the smudge playing on his lips. She crossed her arms, her expression blank. He couldn't figure out if it was from the highness or she was actually unbothered. "Congratulations,” she muttered. "You won a game, do you feel better now?" The mockery in her voice didn't go unnoticed. “Not really." He replied, almost immediately. She scoffed. “Then you need to get a therapist, Ashton." That hit a nerve. He pushed away from the side of the bed and walked towards her. “Why do you hate losing to me so much, Wilson?" He asked. The question caught her off guard. She blinked, confused. “Who said I hate losing to you? I'm a coach, I hate losing to anyone.” He let out a small humorless laugh. "Your face does. Every time someone mentions the bulldogs." "That's my face when someone mentions your name.” She uttered, the defiance in her voice was unmistakable. His expression hardened, she knew exactly how to get under his skin, but he wasn't far behind. "The feeling is mutual, Wilson." He said. She cackled dramatically, throwing her head back. “You're still the same arrogant piece of s**t you were when we were sixteen.” Before he could respond, she turned to leave. "And you're a sassy coach who thinks she can lead a team of men to victory!” The words slipped before Ryder could stop. He regretted it but it was too late. Ciara turned, her face going still. The easy, chemical looseness of the night evaporated in a single second. She slammed the door shut behind and moved forward without thinking. Her hand was already coming up like she was about to shove him or slap him or finally say the ugliest things she'd been saving. Suddenly, her foot caught his abandoned hoodie on the floor. She pitched forward hard and slammed into his chest. Ryder's balance went with hers. They hit the edge of the bed together in a messy, graceless tangle of limbs and breath and startled sound. The mattress dipped. Someone’s knee cracked against wood. For a second they just lay there in a heap, her half on top of him, his back flat, her fist knotted in his shirt like she hadn’t decided whether to let go or pull harder. The television kept murmuring vows no one was listening to. Ciara’s pulse was loud in her ears. She could feel the heat of him under her, the quick rise of his chest, the way his hands had landed on her waist without permission. Neither of them moved to get up. “Are you always this graceful when you’re pissed?” he muttered, voice rough from the impact. She glares at him. “Shut up." She should have scrambled off. Instead her fingers tightened in the fabric once more, and then the anger and the high and the years of unfinished business collapsed into the same narrow space. They stared at each other, breathing hard. Their eyes carried the same softness from whatever they had taken and by the simple fact that their lips were inches apart. Then Ciara leaned down.