Fake Dating My Ex’s Rival Hockey Star

Just give it a try

Piper

The address Connor sent me belonged to a building that made Liam’s upscale downtown apartment look like a college dorm.

The security at the front desk had my name on a strict, pre-approved list. The private elevator required a retinal scan from the concierge just to move. By the time the silver doors slid open directly into the foyer of the penthouse, my nerves were buzzing.

I tightened my grip on my medical bag. You need this job, I reminded myself. You need the money, and you need to win.

I stepped up to the massive double doors and pressed the doorbell. I barely had time to drop my hand before the door swung open.

Whatever professional greeting I had prepared died instantly in my throat as soon as I saw the man standing in front of me

Ryder Vance.

He was massive, easily well over six-foot-three, with the broad, heavily built frame of someone who had spent years turning ice into a battlefield and men into collisions.

But it wasn’t his size that made my breath catch.

It was the fact that he was standing there completely soaked, wearing nothing but a white towel slung low on his hips.

Water still clung to his skin and ran in thin lines down his chest, tracing every hard line of muscle before disappearing into the terrycloth. His shoulders were wide enough to block the entire doorway and faint scars marked his skin like old reminders of a life built on impact and pain.

He leaned against the doorframe, crossing his arms loosely over his chest. His hair was dark and damp, pushed messily off his forehead, and his eyes, a deep ocean blue, landed on me with boredom.

“I told Connor to cancel…” he said.

How rude!

I forced my gaze up from the very obvious distraction in front of me and focused on his face. “Good morning to you too, Mr. Vance. I am Piper Lawrence. Your new rehabilitation therapist.”

"I don't need a therapist.” He replied coldly, making no move to let me in. "And I definitely don't need my coach sending a babysitter to my front door. You can turn around and take the elevator back down."

He started to close the door.

I didn't think. I just stuck my boot into the doorjamb.

Ryder stopped, his intimidating eyes snapping down to my foot and then back up to my face. A muscle in his jaw twitched. "Move your foot."

"No." I said calmly even though my heart was racing against my ribs. "Connor hired me to do a job. You need someone off the books who won't report to the team doctors. I need the paycheck. We don't have to like each other but I am not leaving until I do an assessment."

Ryder stared at me with a blank face. Tension settled over the doorway. He was a man who expected people to back down. I could see it in the arrogant set of his mouth and the cold confidence in his eyes. Most people probably folded the second he glared at them.

But after yesterday, after standing there while Liam smirked at me and Chloe laughed like I was nothing, a grumpy hockey player wrapped in a towel wasn’t going to be the thing that broke me.

“Just give it a try…” I said, holding his gaze. “Ten minutes. If I don’t know what I am doing, I will walk right back out that door and tell Connor to stop bothering you.”

For a long, painful moment, he simply stared. Then he let out a rough breath and stepped aside, pulling the door wider.

"Ten minutes." He warned. "In the gym. Down the hall, last door on the right."

Without waiting for a response, he turned and walked away.

I released a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding and followed him.

His penthouse was aggressively modern, all dark wood, steel and floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city. The gym was fully equipped with a professional padded treatment table in the center.

Ryder was already sitting on the table. He hadn't bothered to put on a shirt or sweatpants like the idea for changing for someone was too much for him.

The towel was still hanging low around his waist and now that we were alone in the enclosed room, the size of him suddenly felt impossible to ignore. Broad shoulders, powerful arms, and years of hard training were written into every line of his body.

"Lie face down." I instructed as I set my bag on a nearby bench.

He obeyed without complaint, though his jaw was clenched so tightly it looked painful. He shifted onto his stomach and folded his arms beneath his forehead.

I walked over to the small sink in the corner and washed my hands, taking an extra few seconds to calm the wild rhythm of my heartbeat.

When I walked back to the table, the heat radiating off his skin made me swallow. He smelled like damp cedar, sharp mint soap and something uniquely masculine.

"Connor said it's the old shoulder injury…" I cleared my throat. "I am going to check the muscles around the scapula first. Tell me if the pain is sharp or dull."

"Just get it over with.” He muttered into his arms.

I placed my hands on his upper back.

The moment my bare skin met his, Ryder’s entire body went rigid. A sharp, audible breath hissed through his teeth.

"Did that hurt?" I asked, pulling back slightly.

"No." He said gruffly. "Keep going."

I pressed my thumbs into the thick, corded muscles at the base of his neck, slowly working my way down toward his right shoulder. His skin was incredibly warm, and under my fingertips, his muscles felt like carved stone.

It took more strength than I expected to work deep enough into the tissue.

As I leaned forward to apply more pressure, the distance between us disappeared.

My hip brushed the side of the table and my chest hovered only inches above his back. I could feel the slow rise and fall of each breath he took.

Then my fingers found it.

A hard, angry knot buried beneath the muscle near his shoulder blade.

The second I pressed into it, a low groan escaped him.

The sound rolled through the quiet room and sent an involuntary shiver racing down my spine.

My hands froze.

Silence settled around us. Suddenly, the room felt much smaller.

The careful professional distance I had built in my mind began to crumble beneath the simple reality of touching him. Feeling him. Being this close.

Ryder turned his head slightly and rested his cheek against his folded arms. His dark eyes were hooded, intense, and fixed on my face with a level of focus that made my pulse stumble.

“You are holding back.” he murmured.

I swallowed hard, my mouth suddenly felt very dry. "If I press harder, it will cause micro-tears in the inflamed tissue."

"I can take it." He challenged softly as his gaze dropped briefly to my lips before locking onto my eyes again.

“That’s not how healing works.” I whispered.

At some point, I had forgotten to step away. My hands still rested on his shoulder and the contrast between his scarred skin and my soft palms sent tiny sparks racing up my arms.

His eyes darkened. “Then show me how it works, Lawrence.”

The way he said my name made something inside me tighten.

I forced myself to breathe and pressed down again, applying slightly more pressure.

His eyes fluttered shut. Another slow sigh escaped his chest.

And somehow that simple sound felt far too intimate.

Ten minutes was not going to be nearly enough. And suddenly, I wasn't just worried about his shoulder. I was terrified of what working this closely with Ryder Vance was going to do to me.