Page 9

9

Stellan

It’s been a few days since that night in the limo, and I can’t get Fiona out of my head.

The way her lips felt against mine. How everything just stopped for that moment—like the world outside the limo didn’t matter, like it was just us, alone in that bubble of heat and tension. I can still feel the soft pressure of her mouth against mine, the way her breath mingled with mine. That kiss was so much more than I expected, and now it’s driving me crazy.

Every time I close my eyes, I see her—her eyes, the way she smiled at me, how she fit so perfectly against me. I can’t stop thinking about her. The line between what’s real and what’s fake has started to blur, and it’s getting harder and harder to pretend that what we have isn’t something more.

I’m standing in the locker room before a big game, the guys are all buzzing around, getting ready. My head’s still partially in the clouds, though. I try to focus on the game, on the upcoming faceoff, but my mind keeps drifting back to Fiona. What the hell is happening to me? I’m not supposed to be this wrapped up in her. It’s just a PR stunt, right?

But when I look at her, really look at her, I don’t know how to feel anymore.

“Yo, Stellan!” Zyon’s voice snaps me out of my thoughts. “You and the Green girl are still playing nice, huh? What’s the deal with that kiss, man? You two are all over the papers.”

I force a laugh, though it’s not as easy as it used to be. “It was for the cameras,” I say, trying to sound casual, but my voice betrays me. There’s more to it now. The guys are laughing, but I know they’re all dying to know what’s really going on.

“You’re full of shit, Stephenson,” Alaric says with a grin. “We saw how you were looking at her. Don’t act like you don’t have real feelings for her.”

I sigh, running my fingers through my hair. The truth’s starting to hit me like a truck. I have real feelings for Fiona. The problem is, I didn’t plan for this. I wasn’t supposed to care. But now I can’t stop thinking about her.

“You guys are a bunch of idiots,” I say, but there’s a smile tugging at the corner of my mouth despite myself. “It’s complicated.”

“Oh, it’s complicated, alright,” Zyon chimes in, leaning in with that typical shit-eating grin of his. “I saw how you two were looking at each other after the kiss. That was more than just for the cameras.”

“Yeah, well,” I say, trying to keep my tone light, “sometimes the fake stuff feels real, okay?”

I can feel their eyes on me, and I know they’re waiting for me to crack, for me to admit that this isn’t just a PR stunt. But I can’t do that—not yet. I’m not ready to admit it to anyone, let alone myself. I just nod, grabbing my stick and gear.

“You two are gonna make it, huh?” Alaric says, slapping me on the back as I start heading toward the locker room door.

I can’t tell if he’s serious or just messing with me, but either way, I don’t answer. I head out onto the ice, pushing the thoughts of Fiona aside for now. I’ve got a game to focus on, and that’s what matters.

The arena is packed. The noise is deafening as we take our positions on the ice, the crowd’s energy vibrating through the boards, the adrenaline buzzing in my veins. I can feel the intensity of the game in my muscles as I stretch and get into position. The anticipation in the air is thick, the energy contagious. This is what I live for.

But as the puck drops and the game starts, I can’t keep my focus entirely on the game.

Fiona’s face keeps appearing in my mind, and it’s getting harder and harder to block her out.

I’m skating hard, checking players, passing the puck, but every time I get a free second, my eyes dart to the stands. It’s a habit now, like I’m searching for her—looking for her smile, looking for any sign that she’s watching me.

And then I see her.

She’s not in the VIP box where she normally sits with her father, but in the general stands—sitting there like she’s just another fan. She’s surrounded by a few of her friends, but there’s no mistaking it—it’s her.

Her eyes lock with mine across the rink, and my heart skips a beat. For a moment, the whole world disappears. The noise of the crowd, the sharp whistle of the referee—it all fades into the background. All I can see is her.

I smile at her, a grin that feels a little too wide, a little too honest, but I don’t care. She smiles back, and for a second, it feels like we’re the only two people in the arena. I wish I could skate over to her, pull her into my arms, kiss her in front of everyone. But I can’t. I’ve got a game to play.

The play starts up again, and I push my focus back to the puck, back to the game, but my eyes keep drifting back to her. I don’t know what it is about her, but every time I see her, every time she looks at me, I feel like I can’t breathe.

The game continues, but every time I get a break, I look for her in the stands. I’m playing like a man possessed, pushing my body to the limit, but my mind keeps drifting back to her.

The final buzzer goes off, signaling the end of the game. We’ve won, and the crowd erupts in applause, but I don’t care about that.

I’m already heading off the ice, glancing up to the stands where Fiona’s still sitting, still looking at me. I can’t help but smile. My team’s all slapping each other on the back, celebrating the win, but I’m not really paying attention to them. I’m paying attention to her.

As I head to the locker room, I catch myself grinning like an idiot. I don’t care. I don’t care that it’s just for the media, that it’s all supposed to be fake. Because right now, in this moment, with her looking at me like that, I know I don’t want to fake it anymore.

I want her.

I can’t wait for this to be over so I can go to her. So I can finally kiss her again. This time, I won’t pull away. This time, I won’t let the cameras get in the way.

But for now, the game’s over. And I’ve got to go through the motions. But damn, I can’t stop thinking about her.