My Hockey Heartthrob: Face Off

The Enforcer - The Deal

The hallway outside the Frost Wolves press room wasn't meant for waiting. It was concrete, too bright, lined with motivational posters that said things like DEFENSE WINS CHAMPIONSHIPS and NO PAIN NO GAIN. It smelled like floor cleaner and old sweat. It was the kind of hallway where you didn't linger unless you had a reason.

Cole Maddox had a reason. Me.

He was exactly as advertised. I had seen him on TV a hundred times — the hit that got him suspended, the fight where he bled and smiled through it, the charity calendar where he was Mr. July and somehow made holding a puppy look threatening — but TV didn't do him justice. In person he was bigger. Not just tall — Jax was tall too — but wide. Shoulders that blocked the hallway light. Tattoos that started at his knuckles — STAY COLD on the right hand, I noticed — and disappeared under the sleeves of his black Steel Hawks hoodie. His hair was still wet, curling a little at the ends. That split lip was fresher than it looked on camera.

And he was looking at me like I was a problem he'd already solved.

"You're taking too long to answer," he said. "A girl who says yes fast is a girl who knows what she wants."

"I haven't said yes," I said, clutching my notebook to my chest like it was armor. My hands were still shaking from Jax.

"You said 'we have a deal' through the door. I have good ears."

"You were eavesdropping."

"I was waiting for my own PR-mandated hell. You were screaming. Kind of hard not to hear 'It was YOUR truck' through a thin wall. Very passionate. Very teenage." His grin widened. "So — truck or car? For my own notes."

"None of your business."

"Everything about you is my business if you're going to be my girlfriend."

I stared at him. "I'm not going to be your girlfriend."

"Fake girlfriend. There are rules. I even printed them." He actually pulled a folded piece of printer paper from his hoodie pocket. It was crumpled and had a coffee stain on it.

I unfolded it. In messy black Sharpie:

COLE'S RULES FOR FAKE DATING ELLA REYES

1. No real feelings. Seriously. Don't fall for me. 2. Hold hands in public. Look at me like I'm not disgusting. 3. One i********: post a day minimum. Caption must have a heart emoji. 4. You come to my games, I come to yours? You have games? No you write. You come to my games. 5. No kissing unless cameras. Or unless you beg. 6. Don't talk to Jax alone. He's still in love with you and it's pathetic.

My face went hot. "You think I'm going to beg to kiss you?"

"They all do." He said it so casually it shouldn't have stung. But it did.

"And what do I get out of this, besides your massive ego following me around?"

"You get to keep your job." He leaned against the wall, arms crossing, biceps stretching the sleeves. "Right now, Metro Sports has you on a three-month trial. If your embedded piece doesn't hit a million views, they cut you. Diane told me. We're friends. She told me you cry in the bathroom after budget meetings."

My throat tightened. "She did not."

"She did. She also said you have $217 in your checking account and your apartment has mold. So let me translate the deal into journalist: I have 2.1 million followers on i********:. You post a photo with me, you get 100k followers overnight. You get to interview both teams — Frost Wolves and Steel Hawks — because as my 'girlfriend,' the Hawks will have to let you in. You get an angle: 'From Rivalry to Romance: Inside Hockey's Most Hated Love Story.' That's your million views. That's your staff writer contract."

He knew too much. That was the most terrifying part.

"And what do YOU get?" I asked, my voice small.

"I get to not get traded to Canada." He finally dropped the cocky act for two seconds. "I have an image problem. I hit too hard. I fight too much. Sponsors think I'm unstable. My GM said if I don't show I can be a 'team player' and a 'family guy' before playoffs, they're sending me to Winnipeg. I hate Winnipeg. It's too cold and too nice."

"You want me to make you look stable."

"I want you to make me look whipped. Domesticated. Like a man who brings soup when you're sick and remembers your cat's birthday."

"I don't have a cat."

"You will after this. The internet loves cats."

I should have said no. Every rational bone in my body screamed no. This was Cole Maddox — the guy who once broke Jax's best friend's nose so badly he needed three surgeries. The guy Jax hated more than anyone in the world. If I fake-dated him, Jax would never speak to me again.

But then again — Jax wasn't speaking to me anyway. Not really.

And I had $217 in my bank account.

"Rule number six is not happening," I said. "You don't get to tell me who I can talk to."

"Fine. Revised rule six: If you talk to Jax alone, you have to tell me what he said. So I know what I'm up against."

"You're not up against anything. This is fake."

"Right. Totally fake." He looked down at my shaking hands. Then, slowly, he reached out and took my notebook from me. Our fingers brushed. His were warm, rough.

He flipped it open to my notes from Jax's interview. My handwriting was messy: Carter says morale is good - LIE - still has prom photo??? - perfume - why did he ask for me then say he didn't?

"You write like a serial killer," he said.

"Give it back."

He did, but he kept his hand on it a second longer. "One more thing. For this to work, we need a photo. Today. Right now. Something that looks... not fake."

"How?"

He looked down the hall. At that exact moment, Jax came out of the equipment room, a stack of practice jerseys in his arms, laughing at something one of the rookies said. He stopped dead when he saw us. His smile vanished.

Cole saw his opening.

In one smooth motion, he stepped forward, cupped my face — his hand was enormous, tattooed, warm — and tilted my chin up.

"What are you doing?" I breathed.

"Making you famous," he whispered. And then he kissed my forehead. Soft. Lingering. The kind of forehead kiss that looks intimate even if it's not. His lips were warm and chapped and he smelled like mint gum and cold air.

I froze. Not because it was bad. Because it was good at being fake. It looked like a boyfriend who adored his girl.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Jax's hands clench around the jerseys so hard his knuckles went white. One jersey fell to the floor. Number 17.

Cole pulled back, but kept his hand on my cheek, his thumb stroking once. For the cameras that weren't there. For Jax.

"Good girl," he murmured, just loud enough for Jax to hear.

Jax dropped the rest of the jerseys. "Maddox. Hands off her."

Cole didn't move. He turned his head, his hand still on my face. "She's my girlfriend, Carter. You missed the memo?"

"She's not your girlfriend."

"She said yes. Didn't you, Goldilocks?"

Both of them looked at me. Jax — betrayed, angry, that burning stare from the cover. Cole — challenging, smirking, daring me to back out.

I made a choice.

I leaned into Cole's hand. "Yeah. I said yes."

Jax's face — God. I will never forget his face. Like I'd punched him in the chest after he was already down.

He didn't say another word. He walked past us, shoulder checking Cole so hard Cole stumbled a step, and disappeared into the locker room, slamming the door so hard the motivational posters shook.

The hallway was silent except for my breathing.

Cole slowly let go of my face. His hand lingered a second too long.

"Well," he said, voice a little hoarse now. "That went well."

My cheek burned where he kissed me. "You planned that."

"I improvised. There's a difference." He pulled out his phone. "And it worked. Look."

He'd had his friend — a Hawks equipment guy I hadn't noticed — take a photo from the far end of the hall. In it, Cole's huge frame dwarfed mine. His hand cradled my face like I was fragile. I was looking up at him, eyes wide, lips parted. It looked... real. It looked like the start of something.

"I'm posting it," he said. "Caption: 'Didn't expect to find this in the enemy's hallway. Mine. - C' With a heart. As per rule three."

"Wait —"

He posted it.

My phone buzzed instantly. Then again. And again. My i********: notifications exploded. 100 likes. 300. 1,000.

Cole's phone rang. "Yeah, it's me. No, it's real. Yeah, she's hot. No, I didn't kidnap her."

He hung up. "My agent. He says thank you. And my GM says I can stay out of Winnipeg for another week if I don't f**k this up."

He looked at me, and for the first time since I met him, he looked almost... nervous.

"So. Dinner? Fake girlfriends need to know their fake boyfriend's fake favorite food. Mine's tacos. Real."

I looked at my phone. A text from Diane: HOLY s**t ELLA WHAT DID YOU DO??? 500K VIEWS IN 10 MINUTES.

And a text from an unknown number: You okay? - J

Jax.

I locked my phone.

"Yeah," I told Cole. "Tacos. Let's go."

He held out his hand. Rule two: Hold hands in public.

I took it. His hand swallowed mine, warm and rough and wrong and right.

As we walked out of that hallway, the entire Frost Wolves team was peeking out of the locker room door, watching us. Whispering.

Let them whisper.

I was no longer just the girl who didn't make the team.

I was Cole Maddox's girl.

And the game had just changed.