Page 6

6

Piper

Two Weeks Earlier

I’m on the sidelines of the rink, fidgeting with my camera’s lens cap and mentally reviewing the shot list I need to fill for the sports magazine. Just another college hockey game, I tell myself—but the little jolt I get every time my gaze skates over Jake Ice says otherwise.

He’s a beast on the ice, no doubt about it. The second the puck drops, he’s off like a shot. #21. Center. Captain. His skating is viciously smooth—long, efficient strides that cut through defenders like he’s got the entire game slowed down in his head. He picks off a pass, dangles around a defenseman, and feeds a no-look assist straight to his winger, who buries it in the top corner.

The crowd erupts. My shutter clicks in rapid fire.

He doesn’t celebrate. Just taps gloves, resets. Cold and clinical, like scoring’s a business transaction.

Then he takes a hit behind the net and pops right back up with a snarl, chasing the guy down and finishing his check so hard it rattles the glass in front of me. The arena hums with that electric mix of awe and danger. My pulse is racing, and I’m just standing there behind a lens.

Jake Ice plays like he’s got something to prove—and something to punish.

He gets a breakaway late in the third, toe-drags the goalie out of position, and roofs it backhand, effortless. I catch it frame-by-frame, already knowing I’ve got a cover shot in there somewhere.

Each time he glances toward the press row, my stomach does this traitorous flutter I refuse to call attraction. Maybe I’m imagining it, but I swear we lock eyes more than once. And those eyes? Pure ice, despite the heat behind them.

By the time the buzzer sounds and his team wins 4–2, I’m convinced I caught him staring. Twice.

So when I’m packing up my gear near the locker room exit and suddenly hear, “Damn, took me long enough to track you down. You’re not easy to get, huh?” I pivot, pulse thumping, certain he’s talking to me.

My heart slams. He’s still in half his gear, jersey hanging open, pads clinging to him, hair damp and mussed from the helmet. That cocky grin plastered on his face like he was born wearing it. Everything about him screams smug, golden-boy energy—and unfortunately, I feel it in places I wish I didn’t.

“Wow,” I huff, crossing my arms. “That’s the worst pickup line I’ve ever heard. Maybe try talking to a woman like she’s a person, not a prize.”

He stares at me like I’ve grown a second head. Brow furrowed. Eyes flicking with confusion.

Then—with a short laugh—he says, “I wasn’t talking to you.”

And walks straight past me.

Extends his hand to someone behind me and claps his friend into a hug. “Dude, I’ve been looking for you everywhere. You owe me dinner!”

I stand there, mortified. Heat floods my cheeks. I just made a complete fool of myself.

The worst part?

He doesn’t even spare me a second glance.

My gut twists. Embarrassment hardens into something sharper—grudging indignation at the casual way he dismissed me. At the smug smirk. At myself, for thinking for even one second that the arrogant golden boy might be interested in someone like me.

What a prick.

***

Present Day

“I’d rather eat nails for a week than deal with that jerk.”

I flop into a chair at our tiny kitchen table, dropping my forehead onto the worn surface with a dramatic groan. Morning light slices through the window like a personal attack, and the faint scent of coffee does little to revive my will to live.

Madison slides a steaming mug in front of me, smirking. "You’re hungover."

"And you’re observant," I grumble, wrapping my hands around the cup.

She leans back, crossing her arms. "You also asked him out. So, explain that."

I peek up at her, scowling. "Ugh. Why did I let Sadie push me into that stupid dare? One minute, I’m ranting about how no man at the bonfire was worth my time, and the next, I’m running my mouth about how I could make Jake Ice fall for me." I sit up, fighting off a headache-yawn. "In my defense, I was blackout confident. Doesn’t change the fact that I’d rather serve a life sentence than pretend to like him."

Madison bites back a laugh. "Must’ve been some performance last night."

"Hate is a strong word," I say, blowing on my coffee. "But he’s arrogant, fake, and I’m determined to expose him for the fraud he is."

Madison gives me a pointed look. "Emma says he’s actually pretty responsible for a guy his age. You’ve been calling him a jerk for months now. I don’t know… I just don’t see it."

I snort. "Just because Emma worships her brother doesn’t mean he’s not full of it. He was working the bonfire like a sleazy politician—smiling, shaking hands, probably kissing babies just out of sight." I roll my eyes. "I can’t stand phonies."

Madison shrugs. "Okay, but you were the one bragging to Sadie about having a date with him."

I groan, scrubbing a hand over my face. "Yeah, well, that was just to shut Sadie up. I can’t believe I sold it so well. I was literally batting my eyelashes like some lovesick groupie."

Madison raises a brow. "You practically giggled, Piper. Hell, you might as well have twirled your hair with your finger while you were at it.”

I wince. "I feel dirty."

And I should. Playing that part was bad enough, but now I have real problems—like my sponsors dropping me. Some of them because of the lawsuit from a certain hockey player I eviscerated under my secret pen name, Penelope Darling. If anyone finds out I’m her, my entire career will tank.

And Sadie? She knows I’m in deep. She dangled the offer to help me find new sponsors—if I get Jake to "fall for me." It’s manipulative, but I’m desperate.

"All right," I say, straightening. "I’ll handle it."

"Handle it how?" Madison eyes me warily.

I take a slow sip of coffee. "By playing along with Sadie’s dare, exposing Jake for the fraud he is, and keeping my blog—and bank account—alive."

Madison doesn’t look convinced. "So…you’re going to keep flirting with him."

I scoff. "Flirting? Please. This is strategic infiltration. Jake’s not the golden boy everyone thinks he is, and I’m going to prove it."

Even if, deep down, a tiny, annoying part of me wonders if I already know the truth.

*

We arrive at Emma’s family ranch a few hours later for the festival’s first official day. The land’s been transformed into a busy fairground: food trucks line the gravel path, a temporary hockey rink gleams in the sun, booths sell everything from crocheted hats to homemade jam. Live music drifts from a small stage, and families wander around with smiles so big it looks like a Hallmark movie.

Madison and I weave through the crowd, heading for a pop-up tent where Emma’s stationed. She’s waving frantically, apparently excited that we came to help.

“Girls!” Emma calls, hurrying over with a grin. She’s wearing a festival T-shirt that reads Boots and Blades. “Thank you so much for volunteering. I’m stuck fixing the electronic scoreboard, so I’ll be back in a bit. Until then, check out the booths, or watch the bachelor auction.”

“Bachelor auction?” I arch an eyebrow.

Emma nods. “Yup. Half the single hockey guys—and a few local ranch hands—are auctioned off to raise money for youth hockey.” Her eyes flick to me. “My two single brothers are on the roster, of course. Blake and Jake. The crowd always goes wild for them.”

I force a shrug. “Good for them.” But my chest clenches inexplicably. I hate how easily Jake garners attention.

Emma’s about to dash off when I nudge her with a smirk. “You do have four hockey-playing brothers, right? Not that I’ve obsessively blogged about the Ice Dynasty or anything.”

She laughs. “Close. Sort of. Sean, was a pro until a shoulder injury benched him—now he coaches kids and hosts Puck Talk , a podcast that’s weirdly popular. Blake and Blaze are the twins—both play for different NHL teams—and Jake’s our college superstar.”

“Got it. Blake’s single, and Blaze…?”

“Just married Savannah. And Sean’s married to Aubrey—Savannah's business partner. But don’t worry, you don’t need the full roster now. You’ll meet everyone at the festival.”

She’s already stepping back when she glances over my shoulder and grins. “Actually, scratch that—here come Blake and Blaze now.”

I swallow thickly. The Blake Ice and Blaze Ice? They’re recognized pro players; half my blog readers worship them. If I land an exclusive, my page views might skyrocket—even if my pen name is swirling in controversy.

“Hey,” Blake says with a friendly grin. “So you’re Emma’s friends?”

Madison smiles back. “We’re housemates. I’m Madison, this is Piper.”

Blaze nods, quieter than Blake. “Glad you could make it. We always need extra hands for the festival.”

His easy tone sets me at ease. “Sure. Anything for Emma,” I say, hoping I sound genuine.

After some small talk, the guys excuse themselves. Emma hustles away to deal with a scoreboard glitch. Madison and I are left by the kettle corn booth, the sugary smell wafting toward us.

I’m debating whether to buy a bag when my gaze lands on Jake, a few yards away. He’s surrounded by a small group of older folks, smiling, shaking hands, listening attentively to some story. Within seconds, he’s helping one of them navigate a tricky patch of grass. Next, he turns to wave at a group of teens who squeal in excitement.

Seriously? He’s like a local hero. Something about the sight makes my stomach twist. Maybe it’s how comfortable he looks, how genuine he seems. But I shake off the thought. I’m sure it’s mostly for show.

I watch from the sidelines, arms crossed, as a little curly-haired redhead barrels out of the crowd, her copper curls bouncing as she latches onto Jake’s leg, yelling, “Dada!” My breath snags.

He lifts her easily, spinning her around. She squeals, burying her face against his shoulder. My chest goes tight. Wait, he’s a dad?

Madison gives a soft gasp beside me. “Didn’t Emma say he’s a single father?”

“I—I guess she never mentioned it to me.” My voice sounds strangled. Somehow, it didn’t occur to me that that might be the reason he’s always so serious. Focus, Piper. This is just more ammo to show his manipulative side, right? Maybe he flaunts fatherhood for good PR.

But there’s nothing staged about the way he’s hugging that kid, or how his expression softens. He gently hands her off to a gray-haired woman—perhaps a grandmother or neighbor—then steps aside to greet a friend.

I tear my gaze away, feeling weirdly off-balance. “Let’s go,” I mutter to Madison. “We’re wasting time.”

She frowns. “You okay?”

“Fine.” I grit my teeth. “We should find a spot near the stage if we want to see the bachelor auction.”

*

The stage is modest—just a platform with a microphone and some string lights overhead. A makeshift sign reads BACHELOR AUCTION: BID HIGH, CHANGE A CHILD’S LIFE. People crowd around, mostly women in their twenties and thirties, chattering excitedly. I catch snippets of conversation: “Jake’s definitely the big ticket,” “He’s so dreamy,” “That kid of his is adorable,” and “He’s a total sweetheart.”

I fold my arms tight, wishing I could drown out the noise. Sweetheart? More like heartbreak waiting to happen. Still, my eyes keep flicking to where Jake stands with a cluster of guys, presumably other 'bachelors.'

“Look at him,” I say under my breath to Madison. “Smiling like he's about to break the auction record.”

She smirks. “Someone’s threatened.”

I jolt. “I’m not threatened. I just—”

Before I can finish, Sadie sidles up beside me, arms crossed. “Better be on your game, Piper,” she drawls. “From what I hear, Layla’s planning to bid on Jake. She’s got deep pockets, and apparently, her boyfriend’s cool with it.”

Jealousy stabs me in the gut, hot and sudden. Why do I care if some random woman bids on him? Anger, I tell myself. I’m just angry because that ruins my plan to reel him in. “We’ll see who wins,” I say stiffly.

Sadie chuckles. “I look forward to the show.” She winks, then moves on.

Madison nudges me. “You look like you might commit a homicide.”

I exhale hard. “I’ll be fine. But if Layla outbids me, I’m done for—no hush money, no sponsor help. That’s it.”

Her face grows worried. “Pipes, you sure you want to blow a ton of cash on a fake date ?”

My stomach roils. “I don’t want to. But I don’t have a choice, do I?”

Here goes nothing.