“Shouldn’t you be holding your fiancé’s hand, sweetheart?” he shot back, each word dripping with challenge.
“Shouldn’t you be punching someone on live TV?” I retorted, anger igniting within me like gasoline thrown on a fire.
His smirk widened; it was infuriating yet somehow intoxicating. Maddox had this dangerous aura about him—the kind that sent shivers down my spine while making my heart race with adrenaline. He was every bit the rival I had heard about: hot-headed and fierce with an edge that promised chaos.
“You know me too well,” he said casually as he leaned back further against the bar.
My pulse quickened. Here stood Nick Maddox—the Bomb—whose reputation for aggression both on and off the ice loomed large over everyone’s conversations lately. He played to destroy, both in hockey and in life itself.
The tension crackled in the air like static electricity, an invisible thread binding us in this moment. Nick Maddox leaned against the bar with a casual confidence that sent my heart racing,. Everything about him screamed danger, a wildness that terrified and thrilled me all at once.
He was everything I shouldn’t want—my brother’s biggest rival, a known troublemaker whose reputation echoed through the league. I could almost hear the warnings in my mind, repeating the same refrain: Stay away from him. Yet here I was, staring at him like he held all the secrets to freedom.
I crossed my arms, leaning against the bar as I shot him a challenging look.
“You know, you’re just like every other hockey player,” I said, a playful smirk dancing on my lips. “All muscles and bravado. Think you’re hot stuff just because you can skate and hit people.”
He chuckled, eyes sparkling with mischief. “You really think so? You must not know much about me then.”
“Oh, I know enough,” I countered, tilting my head slightly. “Every story paints you as a reckless brute with a big mouth and an even bigger ego.”
His grin widened, that cocky glimmer making my stomach flutter against my better judgment. “And what about you? What’s your story? Just a pretty doll for your fiancé to show off?”
A flicker of anger sparked within me at his words. “Doll? Really? Is that how you see me?”
“Let’s be honest.” He leaned closer, lowering his voice to draw me in. “You think that ring makes you untouchable? It just makes you his.”
Something in the way he said it made my skin prickle, an unwelcome sensation coursing through me like electricity. His words echoed in my mind—just makes you his—and for the first time, I didn’t want to be owned.
“That’s rich coming from someone who thrives on competition,” I shot back, masking the turmoil beneath my bravado. “At least I have more going on than a game plan for scoring goals.”
“Right,” he said, laughter rumbling in his chest. “Tell me more about how special you are while Delgado’s out there polishing his trophy fiancée act.”
“Maybe if you had someone waiting for you like I do, you'd understand,” I replied defiantly.
He raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “I doubt it. But hey, whatever keeps you warm at night.”
That teasing glint in his eyes only fueled my irritation; I wanted to claw back at him but found myself captivated by the fire behind those words—like he saw right through me.
“You’re insufferable,” I snapped, yet part of me thrilled at the banter; it felt exhilarating to challenge someone who seemed immune to the chains that bound me so tightly.
“I’m just saying it how it is.” Nick shrugged casually. “But keep pretending if it helps.”
I leaned in closer to Nick. “Polishing trophies isn’t all it’s cracked up to be,” I said, letting a coy smile slip onto my lips. “You might want to try a real, meaningful relationship sometime. You know, if you can handle the heat.”
He leaned forward, his expression shifting into something darker, more intense. “Careful, sweetheart. You’re playing with fire.” His voice dropped low, each word a challenge that sent shivers racing down my spine.
I tilted my chin up defiantly, feeling boldness swell within me. “Maybe I want to get burned.”
My heart raced as I held his gaze, every heartbeat thrumming in rhythm with the tension.
Then a hand closed around my wrist.
Gary’s grip felt like ice as he pulled me away from Nick, his fingers digging into my skin hard enough to sting. My pulse quickened, shock rippling through me at his sudden appearance.
His smile remained perfect for the cameras—broad and confident—but the coldness in his voice shattered any illusion of warmth. “Let’s go. Now.”
Gary’s grip tightened around my wrist, sending a jolt of pain up my arm. His smile remained plastered on his face, but I could see the irritation simmering beneath the surface.
