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Holland

ColdAsIce17

Hey, just wanted to say... I get it. Feeling like you’re carrying too much and everyone expects you to keep it together even though you’re barely holding on. Just remember, you don’t have to be perfect for everyone else. Certainly not me.

I read over the message again, letting the words sink into my bones. It’s almost eerie how Ice knows exactly what to say, how he sees straight through my carefully constructed walls to the mess underneath. I’ve never experienced this kind of understanding with anyone else.

Not even Willow.

Most days I feel adrift, like I don’t quite fit anywhere. The weight of responsibility has been crushing me for so long, I’ve almost forgotten what it feels like to breathe freely.

My fingers hover over the screen to reply when a shadow falls across my table. I look up to find Bridger Sanderson looming over me, and just like that, the peace from Ice’s message evaporates.

He drops into the chair across from me without a word.

When my stomach dips, I tell myself it’s irritation and not the lingering attraction I can’t seem to kill. I slip my phone into my bag, trying to ignore how his eyes track the movement.

“Who were you texting?” The question comes out sharp, almost possessive.

“That would be none of your business.” I shove the phone deeper into my bag. “Can we just get started? The sooner we hash this out, the quicker I can move on with my life.”

His lips twitch as his gaze lingers on my bag for a beat longer before he nods. “Fine by me, Tate. Not like I’m any more thrilled to be partnered up with you.” He leans back in his chair and folds his arms over his broad chest. “Just to be clear, if you think I’m going to get stuck doing all the work, you’re delusional.”

Barely do I resist the urge to bare my teeth and leap across the table at him. “Let me get this straight. You actually think I’d rely on you for my grade? I’d rather chew broken glass than take that risk.”

His eyes darken before the corners of his mouth lift into something that almost resembles a smile, and for a second, I forget why I can’t stand him. Until he looks at me with that infuriatingly smug expression and I’m reminded of the reason.

With a huff, I flip open my laptop and bring up the assignment details.

“Abbott wants a mock business pitch,” I say. “We’ve got two weeks to come up with an original concept, research the market, and put together a full financial plan.”

I reluctantly glance up only to find him watching me. When our eyes collide, a shiver dances down my spine.

“As usual, I’m way ahead of you, Tate. I read over the rubric and already have a list of potential ideas.”

I pop a brow. “Oh?”

Well, color me surprised.

“The first one is a digital platform that pairs college athletes with local businesses for sponsorships and endorsements.”

Even though I secretly think it’s an interesting idea, I roll my eyes. “Of course your brain would go there first. What else do you have?”

“How about a sustainable clothing line that only uses recycled and eco-friendly materials? The pitch could focus on filling a growing demand for green fashion that targets Gen Z and Millennials who care about the environment.”

Damn. That’s actually good.

I’d rather rip out my own vocal cords than admit it, though.

“Hmmm. I suppose that could work.” When his brows rise, I add, “Let’s just say I don’t totally hate the idea.”

His eyes narrow.

The fact that I can annoy him so easily calms me in a way nothing else can.

“I jotted down a few others,” he grinds out. “Should I continue?”

I wave a hand. “Nah. We’ll just go with that one. I’m sure you mentally taxed yourself coming up with the first two.”

“Not even close. I’ve got six other ideas ready to go. Want to hear them?”

A small smile spreads across my lips. “Nope. That’ll work.”

He taps his fingers on the table in a slow and deliberate rhythm as he contemplates me. “Are you certain?”

“Positive.”

He grunts before moving on. “I’ll take product development and financials. You can handle branding and social media.” There’s a pause before he adds, “You know, the fluffy stuff.”

“Fluffy stuff?” Is he kidding? “I didn’t realize financial projections could be done by someone who skated through his math classes because his daddy’s chancellor of the university.”

A muscle pops in his jaw before ticking a mad rhythm, but he doesn’t miss a beat. “Daddy’s never done a damn thing for me. And I didn’t realize you’d want to tackle market research. Do you even know the difference between organic cotton and recycled polyester?”

“I know exactly what they are,” I fire back, my blood starting to boil. As much as I hate to admit it, arousal blooms in my core. It’s so sick and twisted.

Am I seriously getting off on our verbal sparring?

The answer to that question is yes.

Yes, I am.

I quash it before continuing. “And I understand that we need them both if we want to stand out in a market that’s oversaturated with people trying to be ‘eco’ without any actual commitment. How about you handle social media and branding, and I’ll work on something with a little more substance.”

Bridger leans forward, his gaze sharp. “Sounds like you’ve got a lot to say about people who pretend to care about sustainability. Let me guess… personal crusade of yours?”

“It’s called integrity, Sanderson. Try looking it up sometime.”

He laughs, the sound low and annoyingly attractive. “Fine, Tate. Have it your way. You take product development and the financials. I’ll figure out what our branding and social media presence will look like. Just know that you better bring A-level work. There’s no way I’m taking a hit to my grade just so you can attempt to prove something.”

“Excuse me? I’m a four-point-oh student and can run academic circles around you.” When he opens his mouth to argue, I raise my hand. “You know what? Let’s stop bickering and just get to work. We’re wasting time.” I can’t resist tacking on, “Not to mention brain cells. And you have so few to spare.”

Satisfaction floods through me when his lips tighten into a thin line and he growls out his response in one snappy syllable. “Fine.”

Even though it’s tempting to glance at him, I force myself to open a new document on the computer and start typing notes. With his gaze pinned to mine, ignoring him feels impossible.

After a handful of silent minutes, he finally opens his own laptop and gets to work. Just as I lose myself in an industry report, he says, “We should probably look for eco-friendly influencers.”

“That was my thought as well. Do you follow any?”

“Nope.”

“I guess it would have been more helpful if our project focused on something fluffy and meaningless like what the next viral challenge was,” I say innocently, scrolling through lists of eco-conscious brands for inspiration.

“Whatever you say, Tate,” he mutters. “Just make sure your influencer buddies know what they’re actually selling.”

“Oh, don’t worry,” I reply, voice saccharine-sweet, “I’ll even teach you how to do a sustainable brand launch without blowing the budget on a massive ego trip. If you’re not careful, you just might learn a thing or two.”

His smirk never falters. “Huh. It kind of sounds like you should take the fluffy stuff after all.”

Before I can come up with a scathing comeback, our phones buzz simultaneously. Bridger glances at his cell, and his expression hardens. I reluctantly fish mine out of my bag to see a new anonymous message lighting up the screen.

Anonymous Message

Looks like Sanderson is getting downsized from the hockey team. Apparently Daddy’s money and power can’t buy everything. Hey, Sanderson… Don’t let the locker room door hit you in the ass on the way out.

I glance back at him as fury leaps to life in his eyes.

For just a second, I almost feel sorry for him.

It’s one thing to deal with someone like Bridger head-on but quite another to continually get shit on by some faceless troll on a public forum. The entire university is reading that message.

And what did it even mean?

Did Bridger get benched?

Or worse, cut from the team?

Before I can come up with something to say, he scowls and holds up his phone. “Just fucking admit it, Tate. You’re the one behind this, aren’t you?”

My mouth drops open as my eyes pop wide. “Excuse me?”

He leans in, pressing against the table that separates us, as his expression turns thunderous. “Save the innocent act for someone who’ll buy it. I know you’ve had it out for me since—” His words fall off and his jaw tightens. I blink as a mixture of sorrow and regret flash in his eyes before being quickly masked. “Whatever game you’re intent on playing ends right now.”

A burst of anger flares to life inside me that’s fueled by two years of buried resentment and hurt. “Do you seriously think I’d waste my time or energy messing with you? Please. Like I told you before, what happened between us didn’t mean anything, and it certainly wasn’t something I thought twice about. Hate to burst your bubble, but it was just as boring and unforgettable as every other interaction we’ve had.”

His jaw clenches as his expression hardens into an unreadable mask. “Kind of coincidental that you mentioned my daddy and seconds later, this message with the same reference pops up.”

I stare at the cell in his hand.

Yeah… it is an odd coincidence. I can see how it could paint me in a suspicious light.

I straighten on the chair and notch my chin higher. “It wasn’t me. I know you don’t think much of my word, but I swear it wasn’t.”

“Well, you’re right about one thing.” He tosses the cell onto the table, where it clatters. “I don’t think much of your word.”

The silence between us stretches until it turns taut and electric. When I can’t stand another second of it, I shove my chair back and pop to my feet. There’s zero point in us going around in circles.

“You know what? Screw this and screw you. I’m out of here.”

My hands tremble as I snap my laptop shut and shove it into my bag. Before I can haul it onto my shoulder, Bridger leaps to his feet.

“You’re not going anywhere until I get some answers.”

His fingers close around my upper arm, holding me in place.

Shock floods my system as my gaze drops to his hand. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“We’re not done talking,” he grits out.

My pulse quickens as I stare up at him. He’s so close that it would be impossible not to feel the heat radiating off his body. A yelp escapes from me as he steers me toward the shelves, guiding me into the stacks, away from prying eyes. Even though my legs are long, I have to hasten my steps to keep pace with him.

“Bridger!” I hiss, trying to yank my arm free, but his grip remains tight.

Punishing.

We turn another corner before he grinds to a halt and locks his other hand around my upper arm before taking a step forward, forcing me to retreat until my spine meets the cold metal of the bookcase. My breath catches as he swallows up the space between us until his hard body is pressed against my softer one.

It’s so tempting to shift against him.

Instead, I force myself to remain perfectly still.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” My voice comes out far breathier than intended as I hold his gaze, refusing to back down.

His gaze searches mine before dipping to my mouth.

“I don’t know,” he admits, sounding strangely confused. “I’m tired of feeling this way where you’re concerned.”

I swallow hard, almost afraid to push out the words but needing to know the answer just the same. “Feeling what way?”

I couldn’t be more aware of how close we’re standing or the hard length of his erection that juts against my abdomen. When I have to stifle the urge to wriggle against it, I realize that it’s been a couple months since I had sex.

Clearly, that’s the only reason I’m so turned on.

It has absolutely nothing to do with Bridger Sanderson.

I can’t stand this guy.

At all.

My pulse quickens as his gaze lingers on my lips. When my tongue darts out to moisten them, his eyes darken, and a groan rumbles up from his chest. The sound of it strums something deep within my core.

Without another word, his mouth captures mine in a kiss that’s all heat and fury. As tempting as it is to give in, I keep my lips clamped together. The frustrated growl that breaks loose from him is sweet music to my ears.

It’s only when he nips my lower lip that I open my mouth on a gasp. It’s just enough for him to force his way inside until his tongue can tangle with mine. The kiss is nothing like the ones we shared in the past. There’s not an ounce of softness to be found. It’s hard and demanding, bursting with everything neither of us are willing to voice out loud.

I don’t realize that he’s released my arms until his hands rise to cup my cheeks so I’m held firmly in place.

He pulls away just enough to mutter, “This. This is exactly what I can’t forget about.”

Before my brain can process the words, his mouth reclaims mine, devouring it. When he deepens the caress, my defenses crumble, giving way to the heat and chaos we always seem to generate. I’ve never felt anything like it before, and I’m scared to death I won’t feel anything like it again.

He can’t be the only one capable of stoking this fire to life inside me.

That’s exactly when reality crashes down on me. It takes every bit of strength I possess to shove him away. My breathing turns harsh as I stare at him in shock. Every beat of my heart pumps a mixture of anger and something far more dangerous through my bloodstream.

“I’m not the one behind the messages,” I whisper, my voice thick. “But I wish I were.”

With that, I shove past Bridger, leaving him in the shadows of the stacks as I stalk away, my head a mess of confusion and anger.

Exactly what I don’t need where this guy is concerned.