He waves a hand up and down my body, sputtering like he can't quite process it.
"You're... still... all intact?"
I snort. "Intact? What am I, a factory-sealed action figure? Still in mint condition, collector's edition, never been out of the box?"
Liam's eyes go comically wide. He throws his hands up like he's presenting me onThe Price Is Right.
"Bro, you're telling me you're still shrink-wrapped? Do I need to slap a 'limited edition' sticker on your forehead?!"
Cody almost drops his dumbbell from laughing, Luke's wheezing like he just lost oxygen.
I flip them off.
Liam's still shaking his head, disbelief plastered across his face. "Wait—so what about the time you supposedly hooked up with two girls in the athletic lounge—total myth?"
I shake my head, still pulling the cable machine. "Never happened."
Cody leans forward, eyes gleaming. "Okay, fine. But what about the story that you were banned from the library last year for... uh... hooking up in the stacks?"
I gape at him. "What?! No! That was Dustin! Why am I taking the heat for Dustin's horn-dog habits?"
Luke squints at me, lips twitching. "What about that time you supposedly hooked up with the girl from Marketing in the penalty box after practice? Whole campus swore it was true."
I shake my head again.
Liam whistles low, leaning back like he's solving some crime. "So you're saying every single rumor about you being the Westbrook Casanova..."
"...all the rumors about my reputation are nothing but lies," I confirm.
Then I chuckle, tossing the cable back with a snap. "And hey, you can't pin all of this on me. Half those stories weren't mine to begin with—they were cooked up by the same girls I was supposedly 'hooking up' with. They sold my so-called performance like it was pay-per-view, and everyone else just ate it up."
Liam frowns, tilting his head. "Okay, but... what about Taylor? I really thought you two were, like... serious."
"Yeah, man," Luke chimes in, brows up. "I could've sworn you two were going at it every night. Whole house thought that."
I shake my head. "Nah. Taylor was the same deal as the others—except we made it exclusive. More of a business arrangement than anything else. She used me to keep her psycho ex at a distance—guy couldn't handle their breakup. Figured if he thought she had a boyfriend, he'd finally back off. And let's be real—me looking like a bigger, scarier version of him didn't hurt her case."
Their jaws are still hanging, so I push on. "And before you ask—no. Nothing happened. Never more than kissing or the occasional public flirting to sell the act."
I keep going. "Also, Taylor only ever came around the Pond when we were throwing parties, 'cause when she was there, the other girls backed off. Made it look legit without us having to actually... you know."
Cody groans, clutching his chest like I just stabbed him. "I feel cheated on! Man... I don't even know how to process this. I feel... betrayed."
I arch a brow. "Betrayed?"
"Yeah," he says, shaking his head dramatically. "I always looked up to you, not just for what you do on the ice but for, you know..." he gestures up and down at me, "...your legendary off-ice stats. The Westbrook Highlight Reel. The dude who supposedly turned every hookup into a masterclass."
Luke snorts. "Supposedly being the key word."
"Exactly," Cody goes on, nodding like he's uncovering the conspiracy of the century. "Turns out my hero's a fraud. Walking around like he's the second coming of Casanova when in reality he's pure as the Virgin Mary. Hell, Saint Zach of Ridgewater — patron saint of blue balls."
The guys snicker, and I groan, dragging a hand down my face.
Great. I'm never living this down.
Then Kentaro pushes off the bench, grabbing his water bottle. He takes a swig, side-eyes me as he squirts the rest over his face, and smirks — wickedly.
"That explains why you're always skating like you've got a rocket up your ass. All that pent-up energy's gotta go somewhere."
