Playing Dirty

Chapter 3: Home Ice Advantage

The Westridge University Ice Arena was a cathedral built for violence, testosterone, and sub-zero temperatures. Maya hated it the second she stepped through the heavy glass doors.

By 7:55 PM, the stadium was mostly deserted, save for the distant, echoing scrape of a Zamboni resurfacing the main rink. Maya navigated the concrete labyrinth beneath the bleachers, her sharp heels clicking a solitary rhythm against the floor. She pulled her tailored trench coat tighter around her body. The air down here was brutally cold, engineered to keep the ice frozen and the athletes acclimated.

She pushed open the heavy door labeled Varsity Lounge.

The room was expansive, smelling strongly of floor wax, cedarwood, and the lingering musk of exhausting physical exertion. Leather sofas faced a massive flat-screen TV, and a long tactical table sat in the center.

Sprawled across one of the leather sofas, looking entirely too comfortable, was Liam Vance.

He was fresh off the ice. He had stripped off his heavy jersey and shoulder pads, but he was still wearing his bulky, padded hockey pants and a tight, sweat-drenched black compression shirt that clung ruthlessly to every sculpted ridge of his chest and abs. His dark hair was wet, sticking to his forehead, and he was casually tossing a hockey puck up in the air and catching it with one massive hand.

He didn’t bother sitting up when she walked in. He just tracked her with those sharp, predatory blue eyes.

"You're early, Counselor," Liam noted, his voice a low, echoing rumble in the quiet room. "Eager to see me?"

"I operate on absolute punctuality," Maya replied coldly. She walked over to the large tactical table, setting her briefcase down with a sharp thud. She pulled out a fresh legal pad, two pens, and her laptop. "Unlike you, I respect the concept of time. Sit at the table, Vance. We have two hours."

Liam caught the puck and held it. He let out a slow, deliberate sigh, making a show of how much she was inconveniencing him. He pushed himself off the sofa, his massive frame unfolding with a lazy, athletic grace that made Maya’s stomach tighten involuntarily.

He walked over to the table but didn’t sit across from her. Instead, he pulled out the chair directly to her right, scraping the metal legs loudly against the floor. He dropped into it, sprawling his long legs out beneath the table so that his knee deliberately brushed against hers.

Maya flinched, pulling her leg back instantly as if she had been burned.

Liam smirked, resting his elbow on the table and propping his chin on his hand. He was so close that the ambient cold of the room was completely neutralized by the sheer, radiating heat of his body. "Alright, tutor. Teach me."

Maya opened her laptop, refusing to look at his face. "Where is your textbook?"

"Don't have one."

Maya’s fingers paused on the keyboard. She turned her head slowly, her dark eyes narrowing into slits. "You don't have the textbook for a class you are failing?"

"I lost it somewhere around week three," Liam said smoothly, completely unbothered. He leaned in a fraction of an inch closer, his gaze dropping to the furious pulse beating at the base of her throat. "I figured you'd just let me share yours. You look like the type of girl who highlights everything perfectly."

Breathe, Maya, she commanded herself. She refused to give him the satisfaction of a reaction.

She reached into her briefcase and slammed a heavy, eight-hundred-page Macroeconomics textbook onto the table between them. "Chapter Four. Elasticity of Demand. Read the first ten pages and summarize the core formula for me."

Liam didn't touch the book. Instead, he stared at her profile. The silence stretched, thick and suffocating. The temperature in the room felt like it was dropping by the second, yet Maya’s skin felt flushed, prickling under the weight of his unwavering attention.

"Is the text too small for you, Vance?" Maya snapped, finally turning to face him. "Or do you need me to sound out the syllables?"

"I’m just trying to figure you out," Liam murmured. His voice had dropped the mocking edge, replaced by something much darker and far more dangerous. He reached out, his large, calloused index finger tracing the edge of the textbook, stopping mere inches from Maya’s hand. "You walk in here in your little designer trench coat, acting like you run the world. But you're shivering, Maya."

Maya stiffened. "The ventilation in here is excessive."

"No," Liam said softly. He shifted his weight, closing the remaining distance between them until his broad shoulder pressed firmly against hers. The contact sent a violent jolt of electricity straight down Maya’s spine, a shocking contrast to the frigid air of the lounge. "You're shivering because you’re in my territory now. And you hate that you have absolutely no control over it."

"I am the one holding your academic future in my hands," Maya whispered fiercely, refusing to lean away, even as her heart hammered a frantic rhythm against her ribs. "That is the definition of control."

Liam’s eyes darkened, the blue turning into a stormy, turbulent midnight. Slowly, deliberately, he lowered his head until his lips were hovering just beside her ear.

"Academic control, sure," he breathed, the heat of his words sending a wicked shiver straight down her neck. "But physical control? You’re wound so tight, Counselor. One little push, and you’d completely shatter. I can practically smell how desperate you are to let it all go."

A hot, shameful flush exploded across Maya’s chest and crept up her neck. Her mind flashed violently back to the morning—her tangled sheets, her ragged breathing, the desperate, lonely release. Did he know? Was he just guessing, or could he somehow sense the restless, unfulfilled energy simmering beneath her skin?

She slammed the textbook shut with a crack that echoed like a gunshot.

Liam pulled back, an infuriating, victorious smirk dancing on his lips.

"Read the chapter," Maya ordered, her voice trembling just enough to make her furious. She stood up, grabbing her briefcase. "I have a mock trial brief to review. I will be in the bleachers where the lighting is better. You have exactly forty-five minutes to finish the reading and complete the first ten practice equations. If they aren't done, I walk, and the Dean gets my resignation email tonight."

Liam’s smirk faltered slightly, clearly not expecting her to abandon him with the work. "Hey, you're supposed to be tutoring me."

"I am," Maya said coldly, buttoning her trench coat with sharp, trembling fingers. "I'm teaching you that your cheap intimidation tactics don't work on me. Forty-five minutes, Captain."

She turned on her heel and marched out of the lounge, slamming the heavy door behind her.

As she climbed the concrete stairs to the freezing bleachers, Maya’s mind was racing. Liam Vance thought he had the upper hand because they were on his home turf. He thought he could break her focus with a few whispered threats and deliberate touches.

She sat down on the cold metal bench, her eyes fixing on the empty, gleaming expanse of the ice rink below. A slow, calculating smile finally broke through her icy facade.

If Liam wanted to play a dirty game of control, he was about to learn a very harsh legal precedent: Maya Chen never, ever played on the defensive. It was time to go on the attack.