THE HOCKEY CAPTAIN AND HIS VIRGIN STRIPPER

CHAPTER 2

HELENA POV.

I hated dragging Jennifer into my mess.

Just because she said she was fine did not mean she was. Jenny loved journalism. She lived for breaking stories, for asking hard questions, for chasing truth even when it was inconvenient. Watching her scholarship hang in the balance because of me felt like swallowing glass.

If anyone deserved that spot, it was her.

So I went to the rink despite my pride telling me not to do.

The air inside was cold, smelling faintly of ice and sweat. The echo of skates cutting across the surface rang through the arena.

Even from where I stood, Kaine Jackson was impossible to miss. Six foot four of confidence and command, moving like he owned not just the rink but ever goddamn thing in this place.

I stood near the railing, waiting for someone to acknowledge me. A few players glanced my way, but when I waved to get their attention, they turned back to their training.

Fine, I will wait.

Over an hour later, practice finally ended. The team skated off the ice, tossing insults at each other as they headed toward the locker room.

I stood quickly. “Kaine!”

He walked past me like I was invisible.

My jaw tightened. I stepped forward and caught his wrist.

He stopped and turned his head to where I was touching him. His gaze traced a slow path from my hand to my face, and the look in his eyes made heat crawl up my neck.

I dropped his wrist immediately. “Sorry,” I muttered, then forced myself to continue before he could walk away again. “I need to talk to you.”

He studied me for a second, then said lazily, “Since we’re talking about what we need, I need to shower.”

“I just need a minute of your time.”

He sighed as if I had asked for something unreasonable. “I’m sure, sweetheart, you’ve already used more than a minute of my time. And I’m certain you know that in hockey, every minute counts.”

I opened my mouth, but he cut me off.

“I hate being dried up in my own sweat,” he said smoothly. “So if what you have to say is very important, you are welcome to wash me in the shower.”

I frowned. “You are unbelievable!.”

His smirk deepened. “Many would’ve jumped at my proposal. But in case you haven’t heard, the view is quite nice.”

I forced my tone to stay level. “I’ll wait for you.”

His brow lifted slightly, as if he hadn’t expected that answer. Then he shrugged and walked away.

One by one, his teammates disappeared into the locker room and reemerged in fresh clothes, tossing me curious looks. After an excruciating stretch of time, he finally stepped out.

Black tank top. Grey joggers. Damp hair pushed back from his forehead. The fabric clung to his chest and arms, outlining muscle earned from years of training.

I understood, in that moment, why girls clustered around him like moths to flame.

He was breathtaking.

But beauty had never impressed me when it came wrapped in arrogance.

He approached with a knowing smile. “Forgive me. I had no idea you were still waiting. Got caught up watching cat videos.” He held his phone up, showing me a clip of some ridiculous kitten falling off a couch.

We both knew he had delayed on purpose.

“Can we not do this?” I said evenly. “I came here for something important.”

“Well,” he replied, tone sharpening, “I was trying to make a good impression. Since you thought I was a mediocre bully who didn’t deserve my achievements.” His face remained straight, but there was steel beneath it. “Isn’t this what you wanted to see?”

My stomach tightened.

“Look, if you think I’m here to apologize for what I wrote, you’re wrong. I stand by what I said.”

His eyes darkened slightly. “So why are you here?”

The question stripped me of the small shield of pride I had been hiding behind.

I exhaled. “I want my spot back on the press team. If not mine, then at least give Jennifer hers. She doesn’t deserve any of this.”

For a second, something unreadable flickered across his face.

Then it was gone.

“And what,” he asked quietly, stepping closer, “makes you think I have anything to do with that?”

He was definitely f*****g with me.

I exhaled slowly. “You know exactly why. Your family is the biggest sponsor of Crescent Ridge University. If you say the word, they’ll reinstate us.”

He tilted his head as if I’d just presented him with a fascinating theory. Then he pretended to consider it, rubbing his jaw thoughtfully before shaking his head.

“Isn’t that nepotism?” he asked mildly. “Using my family name to get favors? I believe you wrote something about that. Something about how I don’t deserve my achievements because of my last name.”

My stomach tightened.

“And if the Director of Student Media says you and your friend are unfit to be on the press team,” he continued, shrugging lightly, “who am I to object? I only know hockey.”

He started walking.

I had to half-walk, half-jog to keep up with his long strides.

“Please,” I said finally, the word tasting sour. “I’m sorry.”

He stopped so abruptly I nearly crashed into his back.

“So you’re admitting you were jealous?” he asked, turning slowly.

“I wouldn’t say jealous—”

He gave me a look.

He wasn’t going to help unless I said it.

“Yes,” I forced out.

“Louder,” he said, smirking. “Didn’t quite hear you.”

My nails dug into my palm. “Yes. The article was born out of jealousy.”

The smirk that spread across his face was infuriatingly satisfied. He nodded once. “You can go.”

I blinked. “Does that mean I get my position back?”

“Nope.” He resumed walking. “That’s between you and your director. But I understand the jealousy. It’s not easy being hot and talented. Must be hard for someone like you.”

Heat flooded my face. “You made me say that for nothing.”

He stopped again, turning to face me. “Nobody made you do anything, sweetheart.”

His gaze slowly traveled over my body.

“And before you go around judging people’s morality,” he added smoothly, “maybe you shouldn’t be dancing on a pole for money. Because from what I understand, we are both just using what we have to our advantage.”

My entire body went still.

“How did you—” I cut myself off. Of course, he knew. He had connections.

“I do it because I have to,” I snapped, my voice trembling despite my effort to steady it.

He lifted his hands slightly in mock surrender. “I’m not judging. You’re the one judging yourself.”

He stepped closer again, close enough that the warmth radiating off him clashed with the cold bite of the rink air. My pulse betrayed me, quick and uneven.

“I like being a player,” he said quietly. “I like being the douchebag you think I am.” His eyes locked onto mine, unblinking. “Can you say the same for yourself?”

“I’m nothing like you,” I shot back.

He burst into laughter.

“Alright, sweetheart,” he said once he’d composed himself, dragging a hand through his damp hair. “If I’m not too busy, I’ll try to stop by your workplace and give you the attention you so desperately seek.”

“I don’t want your attention.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” he replied smoothly. “You wrote an entire exposé.”

“That wasn’t about attention.”

“And yet here you are,” he said, stepping even closer, forcing me to tilt my head up to meet his gaze. “Begging.”