Hockey Hearttrob

Anneliese Lang's POV “You’re too slow,” he muttered, slamming me back. Words rough and slightly muffled through his mouthguard, his breath warm behind the cage, his gloved hand braced beside my head. Five years ago, I would have screamed in this situation, having been intimidated. But the past two weeks with him had gotten me used to it. And the past four years had prepared me for it. In the indoor ice rink, around us, the team didn’t stop, but a few slowed, watching just enough to notice the difference. Because though our captain didn’t go easy on anyone… with me, he didn’t seem to go easy at all. The ice rink lights glared down, reflecting off his visor, turning his eyes into something cold. Assessing and visibly annoyed. Around us, the rink was alive with motion. Sharp cuts of skates against ice, the c***k of sticks, the low murmur of players calling drills to each other. Overhead lights blazed against the frozen surface, casting everything in a cold, relentless glow. It wasn’t an actual game, just practice, but nothing about it felt relaxed. The entire team was on the ice, running full-contact drills under Coach Reynolds’ watchful eye from the sidelines. Everyone was geared up, helmets strapped, gloves tight, jerseys damp with effort, moving fast, hitting hard. And yet, despite the chaos, attention had a way of drifting toward one pairing more than the others. Yes, Leo and I. Because he loves to pick on me. Gritting my teeth, thanking the mouthguard for saving my teeth, I shoved against his chest, hard, even though he remained on the spot. My chest was heaving. “Or maybe you just can’t keep up with me, Captain.” That earned me a look and the kind that promised consequences. Why do I keep provoking him? Leopold Hayes- team captain, golden boy, walking ego- hated two things: losing, and me. Correction. He hated that I didn’t back down. “Again,” Coach barked from across the ice. Coach Reynolds wasn’t loud for the sake of it- he was precise. Every drill, every lineup change, every clipped command had purpose. He watched his players like a strategist, always calculating, always adjusting. He didn’t tolerate excuses, but he also didn’t overlook effort. And lately, his attention had been lingering a little too long on one particular rivalry brewing on his team. Leo didn’t move right away. His body stayed close, skates trapping mine against the boards, his breath warm even through the chill of the rink. His hand slid, deliberately slow, to my hip. “Your stance is off,” he said, voice rougher now, pushing his mouthguard to the side. “You’ll get knocked flat in a real game.” “Then maybe stop pinning me like this,” I shot back angrily. We are locked into a one-on-one along the boards, the kind of drill meant to test control and positioning, but his version of it felt personal. Every shove was harder, every move sharper, like he had something to prove. His grip tightened slightly. “Maybe stop giving me a reason to.” For a second, something flickered between us. Not anger and not rivalry. Something heavier and hotter. Then he pushed off as if nothing had happened, fixing the mouthpiece back. Like he hadn’t just pressed me into the boards with his entire body. Like my pulse hadn’t gone completely out of control as I stared into his vanishing blue irises. — Our college had traditional dorms for varsity athletes. Basketball had its own block across campus. Football took up half the west residences. Track and field rotated between dorm wings depending on the season. Hockey too. If you made the roster, you got assigned to team housing- off-campus apartments grouped by unit- four players per place. No exceptions. Except this year, there was an exception. Me. The only girl to ever make the team. “Wait- you’re kidding,” I said, later that evening, staring at Coach as he’d just told me I’d been traded to another planet. The bulky man in his “coach” labelled T-shirt and tracks glared at me from where he had been busy checking a helmet. He stood in front of the supply room, back bent, not bothering to straighten up. Coach Bart Reynolds carried his age well. The gray in his hair only made him look more distinguished, not older, and the lines around his eyes hinted more at experience than wear. He was still handsome, just in a quieter, steadier way. “Dorms are full,” he said simply, his brown eyes unmoving. “Temporary arrangement.” Temporary? He said he’d look into it and place me elsewhere. He’d make an exception for me- well, Coach did say he would try, and not that he would get me another dorm. But… I’m a girl! He should have made an extra- wow. I mean, I always preached about equality, and look at me now wanting special preferences, right? “I can’t stay here!” Because nothing about sharing an apartment with Leo Hayes sits right with me. Especially not the way he leaned in the doorway later that night, arms crossed, eyes dragging slowly over me like he was trying to figure something out. Blue eyes- glacial, unreadable, and they never stayed on anyone too long unless they mattered. His blond hair fell in careless strands that somehow made him look even more controlled, not less. A straight, sculpted nose and full lips that rarely showed softness completed a face that never gave anything away. He didn’t look approachable. He looked like a challenge, and one of those magazines should print warning labels about. “This isn’t going to work,” I grumble, making a sound with my tongue, folding my arms across my chest, my dislike of full display for him to see. “It’ll work,” he replied coolly. “You stay out of my way, I stay out of yours.” He pointed to my door, which was opposite the one he and three others occupied. We did not share the same room, and Coach made sure I had my room to myself, since only males surrounded me. He also cautioned me about shower time and suggested I use the girls' dorm on the other side of campus. Literally, I cannot walk across campus morning and evening to shower. I need to trust my team. Like now, I know they will shower, and I wait an extra hour before I head in. And I always check and lock the door when I do. I let out a sharp laugh. “You literally don’t know how to stay out of my way.” I lifted my cheeks, holding a smile I did not feel. His jaw tightened. Then he stepped closer, bringing his sweaty smell nearer. I should be grossed out, but no, I am not. That’s the issue with me. Nothing about him grosses me out- except…well, him. Yeah, I know, complicated. He’s hot, okay. So fricking hot. But his personality is s**t. Towards me anyway. So yeah, naturally, I hate him, the way he hates me. Well, maybe he hates me differently because the time I made the team was a move I made, and he, being the team’s captain, felt embarrassed- long story. Short story is that he thinks a girl should not be on the team. Not that he thinks, “Boys are better than girls in any way, but girls should have their own team.” His words, not mine. “You think I want you in some secretive way?” he murmured, lowering his head, seeming very intimidating now. Did I mention he was fricking tall? He’s the only guy who makes me feel tiny. My back hit the wall before I even realized I’d stepped back. God. Not again. His hand came up in that slow, controlled, but very mocking way he did, resting just beside my shoulder, caging me in without touching me. But I felt it anyway. “That attitude?” he said softly. “Fix it. Because on the ice, I don’t go easy.” My breath caught. “Good,” I whispered. “Neither do I.” And he smiled. No, not in that nice way, hot guys would smile and flirt with you type of nice. But in a way that said, I’ll rip you apart out there myself if I have to, tomorrow.