Puck My Sins On Ruthless Ice

Chapter 6: Paper Line

Gianna’s POV

The morning sun came through the kitchen blinds in sharp, cold needles of light. I sat at the granite island, a mug of black coffee cooling between my palms. I hadn't slept a wink. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw either the flashing camera from the quad or the text message on my phone.

A heavy door creaked open at the back of the hallway.

I didn't turn my head, but my shoulders instantly went rigid. Ryker walked into the kitchen, wearing a gray Blackwood Hockey sweatshirt and dark training pants. His shaggy brown hair was uncombed, and his eyes were bloodshot. He looked just as exhausted as I felt, but his movements were still heavy and deliberate.

He didn't say good morning. He just slid a thick, white folder onto the dark granite right next to my coffee mug.

"What's this?" I asked, my voice dry.

"The standard Barrett non-disclosure and partnership template," Ryker said, pulling out the stool next to mine and dropping his massive frame into it. He smelled like mint and old ice. “I had my lawyers email the draft at four AM."

I opened the folder. The top page was covered in thick, dense legal text. Names were left blank, but the terms were clear.

"Let's go over the main rules," I said, flipping to the second page. "I'm not signing anything until my personal boundaries are in black and white."

"Fine," Ryker muttered, leaning back and crossing his massive arms over his chest. "Speak."

"First," I said, pointing a finger at the paper. "This is strictly a public performance. In this suite, we are strangers. You stay on your side of the hall. I stay on mine."

"Agreed," he said without hesitation. "I don't have time to chase a freshman around the kitchen."

"Second," I continued, my jaw tightening. "No press or students inside this apartment. The media stays outside the gates. If a single reporter gets our address or a photo of the interior, the deal is off and I walk."

Ryker nodded once, his gray eyes tracking the movement of my lips. "Done. What else?"

"The most important rule," I said, turning my body to face him directly. "No physical intimacy. The contract says we play a couple for the cameras, but behind closed doors, you do not touch me. No exceptions."

Ryker stayed completely still. The silence stretched between us until the refrigerator made a slight noise in the room. A slow, dark intensity filled his gray eyes as he leaned forward, resting his thick forearms on the edge of the island. He brought his face close enough that I could see the tiny gold flecks in his iris.

"We have a problem with that one, Cole," he whispered, his voice deep and gravelly.

My breath caught. "What do you mean?"

"The board isn't stupid," Ryker said, his eyes dropping down to the collar of my oversized hoodie before snapping back to my face. "And neither are the NHL scouts. If we look like two wooden statues standing next to each other at the team dinners, they'll see right through it. If we're going to sell this, we have to sell it completely. When the cameras are on, I'm going to hold your hand. I'm going to put my arm around your waist. And if the situation requires it, I'm going to kiss you."

A sudden, sharp wave of heat flooded my stomach, completely at odds with the freezing air coming through the window. My mind flashed back to the dark kitchen last night—the iron-hard grip of his hands on my hips, the warmth of his chest against my back.

"Only in public," I insisted, my voice shaking slightly. "The second we step inside this door, the touching stops."

"Deal," Ryker said. He pulled a heavy black pen from his sweatshirt pocket and slid it across the table, his fingers brushing against mine. The tiny spark of skin-to-skin contact made my pulse jump.

I picked up the pen. My hand hovered over the signature line at the bottom of the page. Signing this meant binding myself to the most dangerous, volatile guy on campus. It meant stepping right back into the media circus I had nearly died escaping.

But it also meant survival.

I pressed the pen to the paper and wrote Gianna Cole.

Ryker snatched the folder back the second I finished, checking the ink with a grim smile. He stood up, towering over me once more. "Put something decent on. The season opener is tonight, and you're sitting in the center VIP box wearing my number."

He turned and walked toward the door, but stopped with his hand on the handle. He looked back over his shoulder, his eyes dark. "And Cole? Leave the black hood in the closet. I want everyone in that stadium looking at what belongs to me."