DIRTY LITTLE ROOMMATE: Claimed by the Hockey Captain

Free Donuts & Interview

"I love this!" Lia grins, taking a big bite of her glazed donut before slurping her strawberry smoothie.

We are sitting on a stone bench near the quad, surrounded by half the student body. Everyone in sight has a plastic smoothie cup and a bakery box in their hands.

It’s a Kingsley University tradition: whenever the hockey team wins a major home game, Captain Noah Bennett funds a huge free breakfast spread at the Golden Spoon Cafe just a few yards from our bench.

Last month, after they crushed State, Noah and Jaxon offered free hot dogs to anyone who walked past the arena. It’s a genius move, really. Knowing that eighty percent of their game attendance comes from college girls, the team keeps their fan base thriving with free sugar and handsome smiles.

A short distance away, near the patio of the cafe, a long line of students stretches past the brick pillars. Right at the front of the line is Maya, standing there for the second time today because her sweet tooth has no limit.

This time, she isn't even looking at the food. Her eyes are locked on Jaxon Hayes, the team’s power forward, who is leaning against a folding table handing out boxes of jelly donuts.

"Look at her," Lia snorts, shaking her head as she licks pink icing off her thumb. "Last week she was dying for Russo, and now she’s staring at Jaxon like he’s a buffet."

I laugh, taking a sip of my own mango smoothie. "Can you blame her? According to what I’ve heard, Jaxon is a walking green flag."

In reality, Carter told me about Jaxon over takeout three weeks ago. He described him as a 'certified frat prince who uses a southern accent and an acoustic guitar to trick naive freshmen into his bed.' But standing there in his grey athletic shirt, flashing dimples at every girl who takes a donut, Jaxon looks harmless.

"She’s going to embarrass herself," Lia snickers. "Watch her try to flirt."

We both watch as Maya takes a donut from Jaxon, flicks her dark curls over her shoulder, and says something that makes him laugh out loud. She practically floats back toward our bench, blushing like a tomato.

"He smiled at me!" Maya squeals, dropping onto the bench beside us. "Jaxon Hayes smiled at me, girls. My life is complete."

"You have a lecture in ten minutes, May," I remind her, checking my phone.

"Please, no one is going to class today," Lia says, waving her hand dismissively. "Even the professors are over there getting free coffee. It’s practically a campus holiday."

She isn't wrong. Half the morning lectures are empty because everyone is hanging around the quad.

Movement near the cafe door catches my eye, and my chest tightens automatically.

Carter walks out into the sunlight.

He’s wearing an oversized dark green Kingsley hoodie with the sleeves pulled up to his forearms, dark joggers, and a black baseball cap pulled low over his messy hair. He steps up to the table next to Liam, slinging a broad arm over his captain's shoulder and flashing that signature, effortless smirk at the crowd of squealing girls lined up in front of them.

He leans down, saying something cheeky to a blonde junior, making her cover her face and giggle hysterically.

I bite into my donut, watching him through narrowed eyes.

It still blows my mind how easily he wears that public persona.

No one here would ever guess that this same guy whimpered out loud when we watched Marley & Me last month, or that he routinely licks two fried chicken legs clean at the same time while sitting crisscross on our living room floor.

When I first moved into Apartment 3B, I hated his guts. For the first three months, we barely spoke a word to each other. Even when I tried to be polite and offer a simple 'good morning,' he’d just glare at me with those icy hazel-grey eyes and walk past like I was a ghost.

He was cold, rude, and constantly moody.

But then on a rainy Tuesday night in November.

I was sitting on the sofa watching Love Island at 12:00 AM when the front door unlocked. Carter stumbled inside. His lip was split, his eye was already swelling purple, and his knuckles were raw and cut up from a nasty bar fight after an away game.

Despite how mean he’d been to me, I couldn't just sit there. I grabbed the first-aid kit from the bathroom, sat him down on the kitchen stool, and cleaned his bloody knuckles with alcohol wipes while he hissed curses through his teeth.

I didn't ask questions, and I didn't expect the asshole to say thank you.

When I finished taping his fingers, he stared down at my hands for a long moment, let out a rough sigh, and muttered a quiet, 'Thanks, Davis.'

After that night, the ice between us slowly broke. We started sharing takeout, complaining about hard classes, and watching trashy reality TV together. A year and a half later, we aren't just roommates, we’re good mates.

Except for his one non-negotiable rule: secrecy on campus.

Out here in the open, we are unknown to each other. He warned me early on that if anyone found out we shared an apartment, the rumors would ruin both our lives, especially his. So I watch him charm half the female population from my stone bench, pretending I don't know the exact smell of his body wash.

"Earth to Rhea!" Lia snaps her fingers in front of my face, pulling me out of my head.

"Sorry," I blink, shaking my head. "What?"

"I said finish your donut," Lia says, standing up and tossing her empty paper cup into the trash can. "We need to get going."

I glance at my phone screen. It’s 11:45 AM. "Right. I’m heading to my library study room."

"No, you’re not," Lia grabs my coat sleeve, pulling me up with her. "Did you forget? We have that volunteer internship interview at twelve sharp in the Athletic Department!"

I groan, rubbing my temples. "Lia, please. I told you I don't care about sports PR. I have three papers to write this week."

"Too bad, you promised you’d come with me for moral support!" Lia shooes me forward with a sharp flick of her wrist. "Now move your ass. If I get this internship, I get free access to the athlete lounge. You are not robbing me of this!"

I roll my eyes but let her drag me across the brick pathways, leaving behind the noise of the quad.

At 12:15 PM, we step through the heavy glass doors of the Kingsley Athletic Center.

The building smells like floor wax, polished leather, and serious money. The walls are lined with floor-to-ceiling glass display cases packed with golden trophies, silver cups, and framed photos of famous alumni who went on to the NHL.

My stomach does a nervous little flip as we walk down the quiet, carpeted administrative hallway. I really don't want this position. The last thing I need is a volunteer job that puts me in the same building as Carter during the day.

Lia knocks on a frosted glass door labeled Media & Sports PR Operations.

"Come in!" a sharp, professional voice calls out.

We walk inside. Sitting behind a large mahogany desk is Mrs. Higgins, the athletic department's head of communications. She’s a sharp-looking woman in her late fifties, wearing a crisp white blazer and glasses hanging from a chain around her neck.

"Ah, Miss Jacobs and Miss Davis. Take a seat," Mrs. Higgins says, gesturing to the two leather chairs across from her.

We sit down, placing our hands neatly in our laps.

Mrs. Higgins glances over our resumes, clicking her pen against the desk. "We are looking for two dedicated junior interns to manage game-day press kits, social media updates, and post-game locker room interviews for the men's hockey team. It's high-pressure, fast-paced work."

She leans forward, resting her chin on her laced fingers, her eyes sharp behind her glasses. "Tell me, why should I pick you two out of the forty students who applied?"

Lia instantly launches into a super polished, rehearsed speech about her passion for sports journalism, her editing skills, and her dream of working for ESPN. She sounds like a professional politician, making Mrs. Higgins nod in approval.

Then those sharp eyes turn to me. "And you, Miss Davis? What draws you to the hockey program?"

I swallow hard. I could lie and make up a fake passion for hockey, but I’m too tired. "Honestly, I like organizing. Hockey players are loud, fast, and notoriously messy when it comes to public relations. I’m good at staying quiet, keeping things running behind the scenes, and making sure chaos stays under control."

A small, amused smile tugs at the corner of Mrs. Higgins' lips. "A realistic answer. I like that."

She shifts her papers, leaning back in her chair. "Now, one final question for both of you. Working directly with the team means you will be around young men who receive a tremendous amount of public attention on this campus. Our department has a strict anti-fraternization rule. Can you both guarantee that your personal... distractions won't interfere with your professionalism?"

Lia practically chokes on her own spit before coughing quickly into her hand. "Oh, absolutely, Mrs. Higgins. Purely professional. Athletes aren't even my type."

I bite the inside of my cheek so hard I taste copper. Distractions. If only she knew that one of those 'distractions' walked around my living room in low-waisted grey sweatpants.

"I don't get distracted easily," I answer smoothly, keeping my face deadpan. "I treat sports like a job."

"Wonderful," Mrs. Higgins smiles, standing up to shake our hands. "We will email our final decisions by tomorrow afternoon. Thank you for your time, ladies."

The second the heavy office door clicks shut behind us, Lia grabs my arm and lets out a high-pitched squeal into the empty hallway.

"Oh my god, that went so well!" she gushes, practically skipping toward the exit doors. "Did you see her face when I talked about my editing portfolio? She loved us! I swear, if we get this, I am going to buy a bottle of champagne."

"Lia, calm down," I laugh, pulling my coat tighter around my shoulders as we step out into the chilly afternoon air.

"I can't calm down!" Lia sighs dreamily, looking back at the massive sports complex. "Imagine working right next to the ice every single week. Imagine staring at those thick hockey thighs in tailored suits during post-game interviews!"

I roll my eyes, pulling my gloves onto my cold hands as we walk back toward the quad.

God, please, I pray silently to the universe. Let them reject my application.