PUCK ME ON ICE

Chapter 2

Tessy’s POV

“Tristan,” I whispered to myself, a smile tugging at my lips.

He was sitting alone on the stairway, elbows on his knees, looking effortlessly good in a way that felt personally unfair. This is it. I smoothed my hair, took a breath, and started toward him — only for a group of girls to swarm him at the last second. I froze mid-step.

“Have you talked to him yet?” Sophie’s voice pulled me back. She followed my line of sight and shrugged. “He has company. Doesn’t matter.”

“Look at them, Soph.”

“Hey. We’re not doing this tonight.” Her voice softened. “You look perfect. Better than all of them. Stop doubting yourself and go talk to him when you get the chance.”

“I will. When he’s actually alone.”

“Sophie, come here!” Owen’s voice cut through the music.

“Be right back,” she said, already slipping away.

My eyes stayed locked on Tristan. The girls were finally peeling off. My pulse kicked up. This is my chance —

He stood up too.

No, no, no. I pushed through the crowd, heart hammering, bodies pressing in from every side, someone’s elbow catching my ribs. By the time I broke free he was already stepping outside. I straightened my shoulders, lifted my chin, and followed, rehearsing something — anything — to say.

He turned around before I got the chance.

My heart dropped straight through the floor. My foot caught on nothing, my balance went sideways, and for one horrifying second the whole world tilted.

“Hey—” Tristan’s hand shot out and caught mine, pulling me forward. I stumbled straight into his chest, heat rushing up my neck as I automatically, stupidly, smiled.

“You okay?”

“Y-yes. Thanks for catching me,” I managed.

“Had to.” A small smile tugged at his mouth. “Would’ve been a shame to let a pretty girl fall.”

Pretty. The word did something embarrassing to my heart rate.

“Wait.” He studied me for a second, head tilting. “I know you. You’re the girl who served my coffee, right?”

A nervous laugh escaped before I could stop it. “Yes. I mean — yes, I served your coffee.”

“It was really good, actually.”

Oh my God. I’m actually talking to him.

“I can make it for you anytime,” I blurted. “Since I’m — you know. The coffee girl.”

What the hell did I just say.

He gave me a faint, polite smile — the kind you give someone when you’re already halfway to leaving — and started to turn.

Panic. Say something. Anything.

“You don’t want to be inside with everyone else?”

“Nah, parties aren’t really my thing.” He shrugged. “My buddy’s hosting, whole team showed up, so — obligation.”

“Right. I mean, you’re the captain. It’d be strange if you skipped it.”

He gave me an odd look, and I rushed to fill the silence. “For the team’s sake, I mean.”

“I’m not the captain.”

Wait — what? I’d been so sure.

“But it’s nice you thought I was.” His smile came back, a little warmer this time. “You came with someone?”

“My best friend,” I said quickly.

He opened his mouth to say something else — and a voice cut through the noise before he could.

“Tristan, buddy! Come on!”

“Gotta go.” He grinned. “Captain’s calling.”

He walked off, and I stood there, glowing and a little embarrassed, replaying the whole thing on a loop. Coffee girl. I told him I was the coffee girl. Twice.

I turned and found the actual captain — Ryder King, arrogant and unbothered as ever, watching the crowd like he was mildly disappointed in all of it. How did they let someone this insufferable run a team?

I shook my head and went back inside, where I found Sophie and Owen fully making out in the middle of the living room, oblivious to the party happening around them.

“Okay, five minutes are up,” Ryder called out, not even looking up from his phone. They didn’t stop. “It’s fine, take your time,” he added, laughing.

They finally broke apart. Sophie’s eyes found mine, glowing with pride.

“Best five minutes of my life.”

“I think it was closer to fifteen,” I said. “So — are you two a thing now?”

“Oh, we’re not a thing.” She said it like the idea was funny. “We just really like making out.”

“Ohh.”

“You have to play this game,” she said, already grabbing my arm.

“Absolutely not.”

“This could be your shot at Tristan.”

“I’m not doing that.”

“Tessy’s playing next round!” she announced to the room, loud enough that several heads turned.

Please, someone, kill me now.

Before I could argue, she shoved me forward. I stumbled straight into a wall of a person and would’ve hit the floor if a pair of hands hadn’t caught my waist first.

“Careful,” Ryder drawled, clearly entertained. “Do you always crash into strangers, or am I just lucky?”

I stepped back fast, face burning. “S-sorry.”

His mouth tipped into that annoyingly confident smirk. “Cute.”

Before I could decide if that was an insult, he’d already turned to the room.

“Okay, Miss Tessy. Rules are simple. Pick anyone here, kiss them for five minutes.”

My stomach dropped straight to my shoes. The room felt suddenly too hot, too full of eyes. I’d had my first kiss already, but not like this — not in front of a house full of strangers with a countdown running.

“My friend’s mistaken,” I said, voice thinner than I wanted. “I’m not playing.”

The crowd booed on cue. “No fun!” someone shouted from the kitchen.

“Party pooper, Miss Tessy?” Ryder’s smirk didn’t move. “If you can’t do it, you drink this.” He held up a half-full bottle of whiskey like a verdict.

“Are you insane?”

He just nodded, entirely serious, entirely delighted with himself. I shot Sophie a look. She mouthed I’m sorry with an apologetic little air-quote.

“So?” Ryder raised the bottle slightly. “What’s it going to be?”

I opened my mouth with no plan for what would come out of it. My pulse was loud enough to drown out the music, and every second of silence felt like it was being timed.

“I’ll drink it for her.”

Tristan’s voice. My head snapped toward him as he stepped through the crowd, took the bottle straight from Ryder’s hand, and tipped it back without hesitation. The room erupted — whistles, someone chanting his name — while he drank the entire thing in one go like it was nothing.

He lowered the empty bottle and looked right at me. “Thanks for getting me out of practice tomorrow,” he said, and winked before disappearing back into the crowd.

I stared after him, heart hammering so hard it felt audible.

“You look at him like he hung the moon,” Ryder’s voice said beside me, lazy and unbothered.

I blinked, turning. “What?”

He shrugged, spinning the empty bottle idly between two fingers. “Nothing.” A knowing look flickered across his face. “Just don’t look so disappointed when he walks away.”

Before I could ask what that meant, he’d already turned back to the game, calling out the next name like our entire conversation had never happened.

I frowned after him. What was his problem?