Chapter 2: Buttons and Golden Boys
1123 Words
"First clip starts in twenty minutes," Marisol found me in the office Derek had shown me was mine. "Jax volunteered. He’s already at the Ice rink. Don't make me regret giving you creative control."
I blinked. "Jax volunteered?"
"Apparently." She gave me a look I couldn't interpret. "He's not usually the cooperative type. Must like your energy."
Or he wants to torture me up close.
I smiled and gathered my equipment like a professional, because that's what I was. A professional. Not a traumatized college girl. A professional with a camera and a plan and absolutely nothing to be afraid of.
***
The ice rink was freezing in that bone-deep way that made my lungs hurt, and my fingers ache even through gloves. The air smelled of metal and rubber and something that made every hair on my body stand at attention.
I set up my camera on a tripod near the boards, trying to look like I knew what I was doing. I'd filmed plenty of content before. Some freelance gigs, influencer partnerships, but never professional athletes. Never on ice. Never with someone who made my hands shake for reasons that had nothing to do with the temperature.
Jax skated out of the tunnel like he owned the rink.
He wasn't wearing full gear—just skates, compression pants, and a thin practice jersey that did absolutely nothing to hide the breadth of his shoulders or the lean cut of his body. His dark hair was damp, pushed back from his face, and his eyes found me immediately, locking on them sharply.
"Riley Bennett," he said, gliding to a stop so close to the boards that ice spray dusted my boots. "Ready for your close-up?"
"I'm supposed to be asking you that."
One corner of his mouth lifted in response. I fumbled with my phone. "Okay. Um. This is just a test run. I'll ask you a few questions, you answer naturally, and we'll see what works."
"Natural. Got it."
He leaned against the boards, forearms resting on the top rail, and the position stretched his jersey tight across his chest. I forced my eyes to stay on the camera screen.
"Question one. What's your pre-game ritual?"
"Same playlist. Same meal. Same left skate before right." His eyes never left my face. "Superstition's just another word for control."
"Deep."
"You asked."
"Unpopular opinion. Go."
"Pineapple belongs on pizza."
I looked up, surprised. "That's your unpopular opinion? That's basic."
His eyes sparked with amusement. "Fine. Hockey players are overpaid crybabies who'd last ten minutes in a real job."
I laughed before I could stop myself. "You can't say that. You're a hockey player."
"Exactly." He pushed off the boards and skated a slow circle around me, blades slicing the ice with a sound like tearing silk. "Makes it more controversial. Better content, right?"
I watched him move, unable to look away. He was graceful, it shouldn't have been possible for someone his size.
"You're good at this," I admitted, lowering the phone.
"At what?"
"Acting."
He stopped skating. Turned to face me. The distance between us suddenly felt like nothing.
"Is that what you think I'm doing?" he asked quietly. "Acting?"
My throat went tight.
Something flickered in his eyes. He skated closer, stopping just on the other side of the boards. I could see the flecks of gold in his dark irises.
"Funny," he said, his voice lower now, and it made my stomach flip. "I've been thinking the same thing about you."
My breath caught.
He knows.
The thought slammed into me with the force of a body check. He was talking about me. He had to be talking about me. No one else would phrase it that way, no one else would look at me with that knowing, assessing—
"Riley!"
I jumped, nearly dropping my phone.
Kent skated up from the tunnel, waving, his golden hair catching the arena lights like a halo. "Marisol said you were doing test clips. Can I get in on this? I've got opinions about pineapple pizza too."
Jax's expression shuttered instantly. He pushed off the boards and skated backward, putting distance between us with the ease of someone who'd spent his entire life on ice.
"Wait your turn, golden boy," he said, and there was an edge to his voice I didn't understand.
“Actually, no, it’s fine. We are done,” I said quickly and looked at Jax.
"Jealous?" Kent smirked playfully.
"Of you?" Jax scoffed and skated away without another word, disappearing into the tunnel.
I stared after him, my heart hammering, my hands shaking so badly I had to grip the tripod to steady them.
"You okay?" Kent asked, genuine concern in his hazel eyes. "You look like you've seen a ghost."
Not a ghost, I thought. Something worse.
"I'm fine," I lied, forcing a smile. "Just cold."
Kent's expression softened. He reached out and squeezed my gloved hand, his touch warm and grounding and everything Jax's wasn't.
"You should take a break," he said gently, already pulling me out of the rink. "You're doing great."
I looked into his kind, open face and felt something inside me settle.
Kent was good like that. He could always tell when something was wrong. Kent was the dream I'd carried with me through every dark moment, and he was standing right here, holding my hand, telling me I mattered.
"Thanks," I whispered.
He smiled, and it was like the sun coming out. "How about later, I give you the real tour. The one Derek doesn't know about."
My heart did a complicated somersault. "I'd like that."
"Perfect." He squeezed my hand once more and pushed off back, toward center ice, calling over his shoulder, "Can't wait to see what you do with this team, Riley Bennett. Something tells me it's gonna be unforgettable."
I watched him go, warmth spreading through my chest like honey.
Then I looked down at my phone and saw something that made my blood run cold.
The camera was still recording.
It had been recording the entire time.
Every loaded glance from Jax, the words he'd spoken in that low voice were captured in crisp HD.
I fumbled for the stop button, my fingers numb with panic.
But before I could delete it, a notification popped up on my screen.
AUTO-SYNC COMPLETE. FILE UPLOADED TO SHARED DRIVE.
No.
No, no, no.“Shit.” I stabbed at the delete button. Permission denied. “Damn it.”
I stared at the screen, my mind racing through every terrible possibility. The shared drive was accessible to the entire PR team.
The clip had already been opened.
Viewed by: Marisol Vega.
A second notification appeared.
Forwarded. To: Detroit Thunder Official Media.
- Writer
