Temptation On Ice: My Rival Is A Girl

PRICKLING GAZE

CHAPTER 5

Hannah~

The shower in the spare bathroom runs hotter than anything I’ve had in weeks. Steam fills the small space while I scrub the rink dust and leftover nerves off my skin. I stand under the water longer than I need to, letting it beat against my shoulders until the ache from the sled and the wall shot finally loosens. When I step out, the mirror is fogged. I wipe a streak clear with the side of my hand and stare at myself for a second.

Messy brown hair sticks to my neck. No makeup. Same face that has gotten me through thirty days of dishwater. I pull on the only clean clothes I have—black leggings and an oversized gray T-shirt that still smells faintly like the shared apartment laundry detergent. It will have to do.

My phone sits on the edge of the sink. I check the time. Coach said practice starts in fifty minutes. Forty-five of those are already gone. I have five minutes left.

“Shit.”

I grab my hair, twist it into a tight bun at the back of my head, and shove the ends under so it won’t come loose. No time for anything fancy. I shove my feet into my worn trainers, snatch my cracked phone, and slip out of the room as quietly as I can.

I follow the sound of voices and the cold bite of rink air down the campus path until I step out onto the wide concrete area outside the ice.

Everyone is already there.

A full group of guys in practice gear, some stretching, some bouncing on their skates near the boards, a few talking in low clusters. Every single one of them male. The second I appear, a few heads turn. Conversations dip for half a second, then pick back up like nothing has happened.

Nervousness slides under my skin—not the scared kind, just the weird, restless kind that makes my shoulders tight. I roll them back and keep walking forward anyway.

Mark stands near the open gate with a clipboard. He spots me and lifts a hand.

“Hannah. Over here.”

I head that way. Before I reach him, someone else moves toward me from the side. He isn’t in gear. He’s in dark jeans, a simple navy long-sleeve shirt with the team logo on the chest, and a calm walk that doesn’t match the restless energy of the players. Young. Attractive in a clean, put-together way. Soft brown hair, easy smile that shows up the second he gets closer.

“Hey,” he says, stopping a polite distance away. “You must be Hannah. I’m Nate. Team doctor.”

I blink. “Doctor?”

“Yep. Coach asked me to do a quick check before you hit the ice. Nothing major—vitals, basic mobility, make sure you’re cleared.” He holds up a small portable device that looks like a fancy blood-pressure cuff mixed with a tablet. “Won’t take long.”

My wolf stirs the second he speaks. Not the sharp, interested way she had with Colton. It’s like she finds his presence… acceptable, safe almost. I don’t understand it and I don’t like not understanding it.

He’s fine, she says simply.

That’s new coming from you. I reply.

Don’t overthink it.

I nod at Nate. “Okay. Sure.”

We step a little off to the side while the rest of the team keeps warming up. He is professional and quick—blood pressure, heart rate, a couple of simple balance checks, a few questions about any recent injuries. I answer honestly enough.

Somewhere in the middle of it, the nervous edge under my skin loosens. Talking to him feels strangely easy. He doesn’t stare like the others. Doesn’t make jokes about the girl on the men’s team. Just does his job and asks normal questions.

“So you really never played hockey?” he asks while checking my pulse again.

“Watched it on TV. That’s about it.”

He smiles small and real. “Bold first step then.”

“Didn’t feel bold at the time. Felt like rent was due and I had to find a job.”

That gets a quiet laugh out of him. “That’s reasonable.”

I’m mid-sentence answering something about my last physical activity when the back of my neck prickles hard. The kind of heat that has nothing to do with the rink air. I turn my head without thinking.

Colton stands near the boards, already in full practice gear, stick resting against his shoulder. His gray eyes are locked on us. On me, if I’m being specific.

I straighten immediately, my posture shifting without my permission as Nate finishes the last reading and glances up.

“You’re good,” he says, still smiling. “Vitals are solid. Better than half the guys on this team after a late night, honestly. Coach already got the clearance from me.” He points down a side hallway. “My office is that way if you need anything—ice, tape, whatever.”

“Thanks.”

He gives me one more easy nod and walks off. I watch him go for a second longer than necessary, mostly so I won’t look back at Colton.

Mark blows his whistle. “Alright, listen up. Same groups as last week for the first block. Ethan—you’re with Hannah today. Start with edge work and controlled stops, then move into puck retrievals. Keep it clean.”

Ethan looks genuinely surprised. His eyebrows shoot up as he skates over, already in full gear. “Me?”

“Yes you,” Mark confirms. “You’re new. She’s new. But you were here before her so you explain. She listens. Go.”

Ethan shoots me a quick glance that says this should be interesting, then tilts his head toward the open ice. “Come on. Let’s get you moving before they start taking bets.”

I step onto the ice.

The first few strides are fine. My balance holds. The power is there—too much of it, actually. My third push sends me gliding farther and faster than I mean to. I have to throw my weight back hard to keep from slamming into the boards. Ethan catches up easily, skating backward in front of me like it costs him nothing.

“Ease up on the push,” he calls. “You’re driving like you’re still on the sled. Ice doesn’t need that much force, Hannah.”

I try again. But I’m still a little wild.

We work the edges next. Inside, outside, slow transitions. My feet want to do one thing; the skates want to do another. Twice I catch an edge wrong and have to throw a hand out to the boards to stay upright.

“You’re strong as hell,” Ethan says after the second near-fall. “But strength without control just means you eat ice faster. Watch my shoulder. See how I’m keeping it quiet?”

I copy him. It helps, a little.

On the second try I overcorrect and nearly trip myself. Third try I finally get the blade under it—only to send it flying five feet past the target because I’ve put too much power behind the pass.

Frustration burns low in my chest as Ethan skates up beside me, voice low so only I can hear. “You’re thinking too much about not looking weak. Stop. Everyone falls when they’re learning. I heard even the captain did. Especially the captain.”

I shoot him a look. “You’re lying.”

“Only a little. They said he was twelve then and it was ugly.” He grins. “Come on. Do it again.”

We keep going. Laps. Stops. More puck work. I still make mistakes—too much speed into the corners, weight too far forward on the turns.

Just then, my skate catches a rough patch and my wolf strength does nothing to save the landing. I hit the ice hard enough to knock the breath out of me, then push back up before anyone can offer a hand.

By the time Coach blows the whistle for water, my legs are shaking and my lungs burn. I’m sweating through the borrowed practice jersey someone has tossed me.

“Not bad for day one,” Ethan says when I finally step off. “Tomorrow’ll be uglier. That’s when the real skating starts.”

I’m still catching my breath, pulling the elastic out of my bun so my hair can fall free, when the main doors at the far end of the rink suddenly slam open.

A girl walks in.

She’s pretty—long dark hair, a fitted jacket, and a contagious smile. She doesn’t look around for directions or hesitate. She walks straight toward the group of players near the far boards like she’s done it a lot of times.

Then she lifts her voice brightly. “Colt!”

Colton turns and the smile she gives him is pure heat.

My wolf’s reaction is instant and sharp. Who the hell is that