The Boy Who Checked Me First

Chapter 10: The Charity Date Auction

I had never owned a dress that cost more than my hockey stick until Coach Jensen forced me into one.

"Black tie, Chen. It's for charity. And for your image rehab after the ice bath incident. No arguments."

That was his exact email at 7 a.m. The "image rehab" part had three exclamation marks. Coach never uses exclamation marks.

So now I was standing in our tiny apartment bathroom, trying not to fall over in borrowed heels, while my captain and roommate leaned against the doorframe in a full black tux looking like he walked off a GQ cover and knew it.

"Aria Chen in a dress," Cole Maddox said, slow. "Did hell freeze over?"

"Don't," I warned, pointing my mascara wand at him. "Lena forced me to borrow this. If I rip it, I have to pay her with my firstborn and my playoff spot."

It was dark green, satin, with a slit up to my knee. Not my usual oversized Whitmore Hockey hoodie. I felt naked without padding.

Cole didn't laugh. His eyes did that slow sweep from my borrowed heels to my face, and his jaw tightened.

"You good?" I asked.

"You have a bruise," he said quietly. He stepped closer, and before I could stop him, his fingers brushed just above the slit where that purple-yellow bruise from last week's check still bloomed on my ribs. His knuckles were warm.

"It was covered during video review," I whispered.

"Not covered now."

We were too close. In this tiny bathroom, with his cologne - clean, ice and cedar - and my stupid perfume Lena sprayed on me, and his hand barely touching my skin.

He dropped his hand like it burned him. "Coach said we need to arrive together. United front. For the photo."

Right. The photo. The ice bath photo that now had 27k likes and its own hashtag. #IceBathGate.

"The united front that is totally just teammates," I said.

"Totally," he agreed, but he didn't move away. He reached behind me and fixed the zipper that I couldn't reach. His fingers lingered on my back for one second too long.

The Whitmore Hockey Hearts Gala was held every year at the Alumni Center. It was supposed to be charity - raising money for youth hockey. In reality, it was a puck bunny hunting ground in evening wear. Every girl in a five-mile radius in a tight dress, every hockey player pretending he knew which fork to use.

When Cole and I walked in together, the entire room turned.

Whispers. Phones out. Of course.

"Smile," Cole muttered, his hand finding the small of my back. Possessive. Protective. The kind of touch that said mine even though I wasn't.

"They're staring at the bruise," I muttered back.

"They're staring because you look..." He swallowed. "Different. Good different."

Before I could answer, our captain's girlfriend - ex-girlfriend? It was complicated - Tiffany from Tri-Delt floated over in red.

"Cole! You made it! And you brought... your roommate." She looked me up and down and smiled with all her teeth.

"Aria," Cole said flatly.

"Right! The ice bath girl! You're so brave." She turned to me. "So, is it true you're being auctioned tonight?"

I choked on my water. "What?"

Tiffany's eyes lit up. "Oh my god, you didn't know? Jensen added a new lot last minute. For PR! The History-Maker and her Heartthrob. It's so cute!"

Cole went rigid beside me. "What auction?"

On stage, our assistant coach grabbed the mic. The lights dimmed. A big screen lit up: WHITMORE HOCKEY HEARTS - DATE AUCTION! BID A DATE WITH YOUR FAVORITE WOLVERINE!

The crowd screamed.

"First up, #33 Park! Starting at $100!"

Park was pushed on stage in his tux, bright red, waving awkwardly. Girls started bidding.

I grabbed Cole's sleeve. "Jensen didn't tell us about this."

"He told me it was a silent jersey auction," Cole hissed, his hand clenching. "I'm going to kill him."

Lot after lot went. $300 for Park. $800 for our goalie. $1500 for our alternate captain.

Then Coach Jensen took the mic, his eyes finding us in the crowd. "And now, folks, our special final lot. As you all know, Whitmore made history this year. Our first woman on the men's varsity roster. She's tough, she's talented, and she's single - at least officially. All proceeds go to girls' youth hockey. Please welcome to the stage - Aria Chen!"

The spotlight hit me. Like a penalty box light.

My blood froze. "No. Nope. No way."

Cole's hand tightened on my back. "You don't have to."

"I have to," I whispered. Because Jensen was staring at me with that you-owe-me-for-the-i********:-disaster look. And because girls' youth hockey actually needed the money.

I walked up. The slit in my dress felt like it went up to my hip now. I could feel 200 pairs of eyes on my legs, my bruise, my face.

"So, Aria," the auctioneer - a smarmy alum in a bow tie - said, "tell us what a lucky bidder would get on a date with Whitmore's Ice Queen?"

I grabbed the mic. My hands shook. "Uh. I don't... I don't really date. I have practice at 5 a.m. And I eat like a linebacker. And I will absolutely destroy you at air hockey. So... bid if you want to lose?"

A few people laughed. One guy in the front - mid-40s, Whitmore Hockey alumni ring, already sweaty - raised his paddle.

"$500!"

"$600!" another guy.

"$1000!" from the sweaty alum.

My stomach dropped. I looked for Cole in the crowd. He was standing at the edge of the stage, his tux jacket off now, sleeves pushed up, his face a thundercloud. His hands were fists.

"$1500!" Sweaty Alum grinned at me. He winked. I wanted to vomit.

"$2000!" yelled someone else.

"$2500!" Sweaty Alum again, louder, like he owned me.

That's when Cole stepped forward.

"$3000," he said, calm, but his voice carried through the whole silent room.

The auctioneer blinked. "Uh, Cole? You're not supposed to bid - you're also a lot -"

"I'm bidding on Chen. $3000."

The room erupted in whispers. Phones came out. Recording.

Sweaty Alum turned red. "$3500!"

Cole didn't even look at him. He looked straight at me, up on that stage, terrified in green satin.

"$4000."

"$4500!" Alum shouted, standing now, trying to make it a pissing contest.

Cole smiled. It wasn't a nice smile. It was Captain Maddox on the ice when someone high-sticks his rookie. Cold. Dangerous. Heartthrob and heartbreaker all at once.

"$5000."

Silence.

The auctioneer looked at the alum. "Sir? $5500?"

The alum looked at Cole - 6'3", captain, his fists, his reputation for ending guys who messed with his team - and sat down.

"Sold! For $5000 to Captain Cole Maddox!"

The crowd screamed. Not cheered. Screamed.

I stood frozen as Cole walked up the three steps to the stage, took the mic from the auctioneer, and slid his tux jacket around my shoulders. It was warm. It smelled like him.

"For the record," he said into the mic, looking out at the room full of people filming us, "that was for youth hockey. Not for gossip. And if anyone posts this without permission, I will personally make sure you skate suicides until you puke. Thank you."

He grabbed my hand and pulled me off stage.

He didn't stop in the ballroom. He pulled me through the side door, onto the cold stone balcony overlooking the rink. The night air hit my bare legs.

"Aria -"

"Are you insane?" I exploded, whipping around, his jacket swallowing me. "Five thousand dollars? Cole, that's your entire textbook budget for next year! And now everyone thinks -"

"I don't care what everyone thinks," he snapped. Then softer, "I care that some creep in an alumni ring was looking at you like you were something he could buy."

He was breathing hard. His bow tie was undone, hanging loose. His hair was messed up from running his hands through it.

"You didn't have to do that," I whispered.

"Yeah, I did," he said, same as he did in the flooded shower stall after the photo. "You're my roommate. My problem. My..."

"Your what?"

He stared at me. At my mouth. At the dress. At his jacket on my shoulders.

"My history-making rookie who deserves better than being auctioned like a puck bunny," he said, but his voice was rough.

We were inches apart. The balcony was dark except for the rink lights below. I could see his chest rising and falling. I could see the faint scar on his lip from last season.

"Coach is going to kill us," I said, because if I didn't talk I'd do something stupid like kiss my captain who just bought me for charity.

"Let him," Cole murmured. He reached up, his thumb brushing the edge of my jaw, right where my makeup was smudged. "For the cameras on Saturday, we needed a story, right? Just teammates? Just roommates?"

"Yeah," I breathed.

"What if we gave them a better story?"

My heart stopped. "Cole -"

The balcony door slammed open. Coach Jensen stood there, holding two glasses of champagne, looking like he might have a stroke.

"Maddox! Chen! Get in here! Channel 5 News wants an interview with Whitmore's hottest charity couple! And Maddox - you owe the youth fund five grand, you i***t romantic!"

Cole didn't let go of my hand. He laced his fingers through mine, tight, and looked down at me.

"Ready, Ice Queen?"

I looked at our hands. At the cameras flashing inside. At the boy who checked me first, who just checked every other guy in the room for me.

"No," I said honestly. "But let's go sell it."

He grinned - that rare, real, crooked grin that made him my hockey heartthrob in the first place - and pulled me back into the fire.