DANGEROUS ICE: MY HOCKEY NEMESIS IS MY SINFUL OBSESSION

HEATED

Miller asked, stepping out from the row of lockers with a damp towel slung casually over his broad shoulder and a deeply amused expression on his face. He walked closer to the center of the room and crossed his arms over his bare chest while the rest of the team watched in complete silence.

Liam did not even bother to reply to the taunt. He shoved the locker room door open with enough physical force to rattle the heavy metal frame and stormed out into the hallway with Chloe hurrying anxiously close behind him. The heavy doors swung shut loudly, cutting off the sound of his heavy footsteps and leaving the rest of us entirely alone with the State Rebels’ star forward.

The quiet atmosphere lasted for exactly three seconds before the entire locker room erupted into a chaotic chorus of shouts, whistles, and loud groans of disbelief.

"I absolutely cannot believe I just watched that happen," Carter yelled from the far corner, tossing a roll of white athletic tape directly into his open gym bag. "Thorne actually kissed a Rebel again in front of everyone. Willingly. Well, I know they are dating now, but then,,,"

"And he definitely used tongue," another familiar voice added from the back row, prompting another wave of loud laughter.

Feeling the intense heat rushing straight to my cheeks, I quickly reached down to grab my discarded towel from the wooden bench. Securing it tightly around my waist, I tried desperately to focus on the rough cotton texture of the fabric instead of the twenty guys currently staring directly at my flushed face. My chest was still heaving rapidly from the intense adrenaline of the confrontation, and my lips tingled continuously with the unmistakable, heavy pressure of Michael's mouth.

Miller walked a few steps closer and tilted his head, looking me up and down with a completely unapologetic grin spreading across his face. "I have to say, Axel, as your friend, I am actually a little bit offended right now. If I had known you were going to start batting for the other team this semester, I absolutely would have asked you out myself. I definitely would not have let Rossi just walk in here and take you right out from under us."

Several of the surrounding guys laughed loudly, clearly appreciating Miller's attempt to break the incredibly thick tension in the room.

Opening my mouth to tell Miller to shut up, I realized Michael was already moving before I could even form the necessary words. The smug, relaxed posture Michael had maintained while arguing with Liam vanished instantly and was completely replaced by a dark, feral energy. He uncrossed his arms and took two long, deliberate strides forward, placing his massive frame squarely between Miller and me.

"You can keep your opinions entirely to yourself, Miller," Michael stated, his voice dropping into a harsh, territorial register that immediately silenced the remaining laughter in the room. He did not yell, but the absolute, unwavering certainty in his tone carried a very clear warning to everyone present. "He is not an option for you, and he never was an option for you. He is mine. I strongly suggest you remember that fact the next time you decide to make a joke about taking him anywhere."

Miller held both of his hands up in a quick, placating gesture, although his eyes widened slightly at the genuine intensity radiating from the larger forward. "Relax, man. It was just a harmless joke. We are all just trying to process the shocking fact that our defensive wall is suddenly dating the enemy. Even though I am coming to terms with it, it is still bizarre."

"I am not the enemy anymore," Michael corrected him firmly, stepping backward just enough to press his warm shoulder directly against mine. The sudden physical contact sent a fresh jolt of hyper-awareness straight down my spine, forcing me to shift my weight nervously. "We belong together now. You all had better get used to seeing me walking around this locker room."

Reaching up, I rubbed the back of my neck and found the exact spot where Michael had left his dark mark earlier that morning. The reality of the current situation was completely overwhelming, and I needed to get away from the staring eyes to put my clothes on.

Turning toward my locker, I reached for the combination dial because I was desperate for a few minutes of quiet to process the lingering taste of Michael on my tongue.

Before my fingers could even spin the dial to the first number, the double doors at the main entrance of the locker room banged open with a deafening crash.

Coach Gregory marched straight into the room without hesitating. He bypassed the front row of benches entirely, his heavy black shoes squeaking aggressively against the rubber floor mats with every furious step. His face was flushed a deep, alarming shade of red, and he held a rolled-up clipboard tightly in his right hand. The entire room went completely silent once again, and the remaining guys scrambled to sit down and pretend they were focused solely on untangling their skate laces.

"Thorne! Rossi!" Coach Gregory bellowed loudly, stopping right in the center of the walkway and pointing the plastic end of his clipboard directly at my bare chest. "Get over here right now."

Abandoning my locker immediately, I walked over to stand in front of him while instinctively pulling the edges of my towel tighter together for modesty. Michael followed at a much slower, infuriatingly casual pace, stopping right beside me with his hands tucked loosely into the front pockets of his dark practice pants.

"Care to explain what the hell is going on out there?" Coach Gregory demanded, glaring back and forth between the two of us while tapping his foot impatiently. "Because I just had three different members of the athletic board call my personal cell phone while I was trying to eat my lunch. They are actively asking me why the star defenseman of the Northwood Knights and the leading scorer of the State Rebels are currently trending on social media for a highly explicit locker room display again. It’s as if you guys can’t keep your tongues off each other."

Swallowing hard, I stared directly at the embroidered Northwood logo printed on the front of the coach's jacket. "We were just having a conversation with Liam, Coach. Things got a little bit heated."

"Heated?" Coach Gregory repeated, his voice rising significantly in volume. "The board is not interested in heated conversations, Axel. They are strictly interested in managing a public relations disaster. The video from your incident on the ice last week was bad enough, but now half the student body is whispering about physical fights and forced transfers. We need to control the narrative immediately before the sponsors pull their funding."

Michael shifted his weight effortlessly and looked directly at the frustrated coach. "What exactly do you want us to do?"

"I want you to do your jobs," Coach Gregory snapped, tapping the clipboard rhythmically against his open palm. "The PR department just sent over a strict mandate. They want the two of you seen together in a controlled, highly visible environment. No hockey rinks, no locker rooms, and absolutely no sweaty confrontations with ex-boyfriends. They want a formal, indisputable display of a stable relationship."

"A formal display?" I asked, feeling a cold, heavy sensation form directly in the center of my stomach. "What does that mean for us?"

"It means you are going on an official date," Coach Gregory answered flatly, leaving absolutely no room for negotiation. "Tonight. Vanessa from PR has already booked a private table at The Sterling Room downtown. It is the most expensive, highly photographed restaurant in the entire city. You will both show up at exactly seven o'clock, you will dress appropriately in formal wear, and you will sit there and look completely infatuated with each other for at least two full hours."

Staring at him in complete disbelief, I tried to process the ridiculous demand. The Sterling Room was the specific type of place people went to celebrate golden anniversaries and propose marriage. Going there with Michael Rossi felt entirely too real and far too dangerous for my current mental state.

"Coach, I really do not think that is a good idea at all," I started to argue, shaking my head frantically. "We can just interview for the campus paper. We can post a smiling picture online. We absolutely do not need to go sit in a fancy restaurant and pretend to eat a four-course meal."

"You do not have a choice, Thorne," Coach Gregory stated firmly, cutting off my desperate argument completely. "You voluntarily signed the contract. You agreed to play the necessary part. If you do not show up tonight, the board is going to suspend both of you for the next three games pending a formal conduct review. I am definitely not losing my best defenseman right before the playoffs just because you cannot handle eating a steak with your fake boyfriend."

Michael reached out slowly and wrapped his large, warm hand around my bare upper arm, his strong fingers pressing firmly into my bicep. The sudden physical contact served as a stark, undeniable reminder of the immense physical power he held over me.

"We will be there, Coach," Michael promised, his voice perfectly smooth and entirely confident. "You do not have to worry about a single thing. Axel and I are going to put on a fantastic show for the cameras tonight."

Coach Gregory glared at Michael for a long, calculating moment before giving a single, curt nod of approval. "Seven o'clock sharp. Do not be late, and do not cause another scene."

He turned around sharply and marched right back out of the locker room, leaving the heavy doors swinging back and forth rapidly in his wake. Standing completely still, I stared at the space he had just occupied while the reality of the upcoming evening crashed down heavily on my tired shoulders. I was going to have to spend two solid hours sitting directly across from the man who currently had his hand wrapped tightly around my arm.

Pulling my arm away from Michael's intense grip, I turned to face him with my jaw clenched tightly together. "I am absolutely not doing this. I am going to call Vanessa right now and tell her we are both sick."

"You are not calling anyone, Axel," Michael said quietly, taking a deliberate step closer until I was forced to look directly up into his dark, calculating eyes. He reached out and adjusted the edge of the towel sitting securely on my hip, his knuckles brushing deliberately against my bare skin to send a shiver down my leg. "You are going to go back to your dorm room, take a very long bath, and find the nicest shirt you own. And then you are going to let me buy you an expensive dinner."

Crossing my arms over my chest, I glared at him and refused to back down, even though my pulse was racing erratically in my throat. "And what happens if I just decide to stay in my room and lock the front door?"

Michael tilted his head slightly, a slow, incredibly wicked smile spreading across his handsome face as he leaned in so close I could feel the heat of his breath against my cheek.

"If you lock the door, Golden Boy," Michael whispered, his voice dropping into that dark, thrilling register, "how exactly am I supposed to come inside and get you dressed?"