Fake Dating My Ex’s Rival Hockey Star

Officially on your schedule

Piper

Ten minutes became twenty, and twenty became thirty as I worked through the angry knots wrapped around Ryder’s right shoulder blade.

He never reminded me about the time limit and I never offered to stop.

Every time my fingers pressed into the damaged tissue, the muscles beneath them tightened like steel cables stretched to their limit.

By the time I finally stepped away, my forearms were aching and my pulse was beating far too fast for someone who had spent the last half hour pretending she wasn’t painfully aware of the man lying under her hands.

“We’re done for today.” I said.

I reached for a clean towel from my bag and wiped my hands, putting some much-needed distance between us.

Ryder didn’t move right away. He remained face-down for several seconds, his breathing slow and deep. Then he pushed himself upright.

The white towel around his waist slipped lower, settling dangerously along the sharp V of his hips. He didn’t seem remotely bothered by it.

Rolling his shoulder back, he tested the movement. A loud pop echoed through the empty gym, followed by a smooth range of motion that hadn’t existed thirty minutes earlier.

He froze.

His eyes found mine.

He was studying me differently now, perhaps realizing I wasn’t some favor Connor had dumped on him.

“You actually know what you are doing.” He said and for the first time, there was a trace of respect beneath his arrogance.

I packed away the massage oils and zipped my bag. “I told you I did. Your supraspinatus is badly inflamed. You need treatment three times a week, ice therapy, and complete compliance with the stretches I give you.”

I met his eyes. “If you ignore me, it will tear completely. Then your season is over.”

Ryder slid off the treatment table.

Standing, he seemed even bigger, his broad shoulders swallowing the room around him and forcing me to tilt my head just to look at him.

“I don’t do complete compliance.” He said smoothly as he walked toward a sleek black cabinet in the corner.

“Then you will do surgery instead…” I replied before I could stop myself. “And your father gets exactly what he wants.”

He stopped.

The entire atmosphere shifted.

He turned slowly and the look in his eyes sent a chill down my spine.

He crossed the room without making a sound and stopped inches away from me. Heat rolled off his bare chest but his eyes were ice.

“Connor talks too much.” Ryder muttered. His voice had dropped enough to make the hairs on my arms stand up. “So let’s make something very clear, Lawrence. Whatever you think you know about me, my father, or my career stays inside your head. You don’t speak about it. You don’t ask questions.”

My heart was trying to claw its way out of my chest but I refused to back down. “I don’t care about your family problems, Mr. Vance. I care about your shoulder. I am here to do my job.”

For several long seconds, he simply stared at me. Then one corner of his mouth curved upward.

“Good.” He turned away and opened one of the drawers in the cabinet.

A second later, he tossed a cream-colored folder onto the treatment table.

“What is this?” I asked.

“Your life for the next six months, if you want the job.” He leaned against the equipment rack, crossing his massive arms over his chest.

I looked down at the folder, then up at his dark, unreadable eyes. I flipped it open.

It was a contract. Ten pages of dense, aggressive legal jargon.

I skimmed the first few paragraphs, my eyebrows rising higher with every line.

It wasn't just a standard non-disclosure agreement. It was a complete surrender of my time, my autonomy and my professional liability.

Clause 4: The Therapist agrees to be available on-call twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, barring active game times.

Clause 7: Any leak of medical information regarding the Client to the press, the team franchise, or any unapproved third party (including Head Coach Connor Lawrence) will result in immediate termination and a lawsuit designed to permanently revoke the Therapist's medical license.

Clause 12: The Client reserves the right to terminate this agreement at any time, without cause or severance.

I looked up. "You want me on-call twenty-four seven?"

“My life doesn’t operate on a standard nine-to-five,” Ryder replied evenly. “We play late. I train early. If I need treatment at two in the morning after a road trip, you show up. If I need you on an away game, you get on the plane.”

He stepped away from the rack and closed the distance between us. “The team doctors don’t know you. Management doesn’t know you. You exist off the books.” His voice dropped. “And belong to my schedule now.”

The intensity in his eyes hardened. "The pay is listed on page four." He added smoothly. "It’s enough to buy your complete silence. But if you breathe a single word of my condition to anyone, I will make sure you never work in sports medicine again."

He expected me to be intimidated. He had drawn up the most harsh, restrictive contract his lawyers could manage, fully expecting the "pathetic physical therapist" to take one look at it and run back to the safety of a normal clinic.

“But if you are the type to cry because I am in a bad mood, leave now.” He added.

Suddenly I saw Liam. I saw him pulling up his sweatpants while another woman sat in his bed. Saw the smirk on his face.

You’re nothing without me.

Something cold settled inside me.

I had no safety net anymore. No one coming to save me.

Fine.

I would save myself.

I closed the folder too fast. "Do you have a pen?" I asked calmly.

Ryder arched a brow. "You didn't read the whole thing."

"I read the parts that matter." I replied, meeting his intense gaze without flinching. "You want my silence, my time and my complete discretion. In exchange, you pay me an absurd amount of money and let me do my job without complaining. I understand the terms perfectly."

I held my hand out across the table.

Ryder stared at my outstretched hand for a long moment. Slowly, he reached into his pocket, pulled out a silver pen, and placed it in my palm.

His fingers brushed mine softly but I didn't let it affect me at all.

I clicked the pen, flipped to the last page and signed my name on the dotted lines. “I don’t scare easily, Mr. Vance,” I said calmly. “And I don’t cry over men who throw temper tantrums.”

For the first time since I had met him, Ryder Vance looked genuinely amused.

“There.” I closed the folder and slid it back across the table toward him. "I am officially on your schedule."

Ryder picked up the folder, his dark eyes never leaving my face. He looked at my signature, then back up at me and something crossed his features that I couldn't fully recognize. I didn't try to.

"I will be back tomorrow at 6:00 AM for your ice therapy." I said, grabbing my bag and slinging it over my shoulder. "Put some clothes on before I get here."

I didn't wait to see his reaction. I turned and walked out of the gym.