During last night’s Cha Cha, Martinez appeared in a cropped Hammerheads jersey bearing Eriksson’s name and number, prompting the NHL defenseman to respond on live television: “She didn’t wear my jersey by accident.”
The moment has already racked up over 12 million views across platforms, with fans speculating that the couple’s dynamic has shifted topermanence…READ MORE →
71
NO MEDIA. NO MERCY
Holly
“Therapy is great. So is pinning your boyfriend to a dressing room door.”
They barely made it off the floor before the world started closing in again. Producers. Cameras. Assistants with headsets and laminated schedules. The bright, frantic hum of live television snapping back into place around them like nothing monumental had just happened in the middle of their loaded Cha Cha. Holly could hear Indie’s voice somewhere behind them, the audience still roaring, the judges laughing.
But the moment the stage lights faded, something inside her snapped loose.
A production assistant materialized at her elbow with a clipboard and a smile that said please cooperate with the machinery of fame.
“Press line this way, guys.”
“No media.”
Holly didn’t even slow down. Didn’t look back. She just tightened her grip on Nate’s hand and kept walking like thecorridor belonged to her and everyone in it was an inconvenience.
“Sorry?” the assistant stammered.
“No media,” Holly repeated, already halfway down the hall. “We’ll be back for results.”
Behind them came the inevitable ripple of panic. Whispers into headsets, hurried footsteps, the quiet chaos of a production team watching their carefully scheduled evening wobble.
Holly didn’t care. The noise of the show felt miles away now. Like it belonged to a different life. A different version of her. Right now there was only the feel of Nate’s hand in hers and the terrifying, electrifying certainty burning through her bloodstream. She needed him now, so she didn’t have time to convince herself she’d imagined what had just happened out there.
She’d ambushed him on live television. Whispered life-changing words into his skin under studio lighting. Chosen him in front of millions of people without warning. And he’d looked at her like the world had tilted on its axis. Her heart was still sprinting like it hadn’t realized the dance was over as they reached their dressing room. She pushed the door open, dragged him inside, and kicked it shut behind them with enough force to rattle the frame.
A single second slammed down around them like a Faraday cage. Nothing got in, nothing got out. Holly turned to face him and immediately forgot every coherent sentence she’d rehearsed in her head on the way here from the sound stage. The muffled roar of the studio faded to a distant, meaningless hum. For the first time all night, they were alone, and Holly felt the tension crackle in the air like a jolt of static electricity.
And then she fucking moved. She surged forward, her hands landing on his shoulders to shove him back against the door. Full body, full force, as though she’d been holding herself together with duct tape and adrenaline since the final beat of their music.
“What thefuck,Martinez,” he started, but the rest of his sentence was swallowed up when she crashed her lips into his for a kiss that went from zero to a hundred in less than two seconds. She bit his bottom lip for half a second, teeth grazing him like she was just too desperate to contain herself, before she leaned in to claim him with her tongue.
His head hit the door with a dull thud, but she didn’t give him time to notice it because she was everywhere. Hands in his hair, fingers fisting the back of his shirt, Holly pressed her body into him against that door like she needed proof he was solid, and real, andstill hers.Nate groaned in the back of his throat, the vibration tasting like honey as she fumbled with his belt buckle.
He was still in performance mode in the most devastating way. Hair damp at the temples, that ridiculous blue coach-esque jacket clinging faintly to his broad chest. Eyes stormy, dialed in on her as if he was trying to read the last ten minutes in reverse, like a play he hadn’t seen coming.
“Fuck!What’re you doing?” he managed, voice already gritty, hands automatically bracketing her waist like he’d been slowly dying forpermission.
“Shut up,” she said, kissing him again as though she needed him more than air before opening her mouth mid-kiss. “I told you I was done,” she said, flicking her tongue at the corner ofhis mouth like a true addict while she finished undoing his belt. “Imeantit.”
“Youambushedme,” he muttered against her mouth, more turned on than mad. “You hurricane’d onto that stage and broke my entire fucking nervous system.”
Honestly? Fair. She’d broken her own first.
His hands pushed up under the short hem of the jersey she was wearing, scraping up her ribs like he wanted to feel the resistance of her skin against his palms. He didn’t stop until he was cupping her breasts, and Holly felt like she’d crawl out of her skin if he didn’t justfuck her already.
“I chose you,” she cut in, voice shaking with need. “On live TV. In your stupid hat. In your stupid jersey. Ichose youand you’re still talking.”
He dragged in a breath and flicked his thumbs over her bra-covered nipples. Holly jolted, hips grinding into him as she moaned against his jaw, already desperate for more.
“God, look at you,” he said, bending down to worship her. His lips found her collarbone and he laid a melted, open-mouthed kiss there as he reached back to unclasp her bra. “I don’t care about Denmark. You just wrecked me in front of the whole country.”
