The freezing air of the Horizon Center smelled like stale sweat, expensive rubber, and pure aggression.

Liam Vance pulled his worn sports duffel bag tighter against his shoulder, his fingers trembling slightly inside his knit gloves. It wasn’t from the cold, Liam was a figure skater; ice was his home. It was from the sheer humiliation of why he was here.

Just forty-eight hours ago, the National Athletic Board had quietly revoked his training grant. No funding meant no coach, no ice time, and his Olympic dreams dead in the water at twenty-three. His bank account held a pathetic $14.22. This job, the one his former choreographer had begged him to take—was his absolute last lifeline.

“Power skating coach for the New York Warriors,” Liam muttered to himself, stepping through the heavy double doors leading to the main rink. “Basically, babysitting a bunch of neanderthals who think brute force solves everything.”*

The thunderous CRACK of a hockey puck slamming against the plexiglass echoed through the arena, making him flinch.

Down on the ice, a dozen massive men clad in heavy black-and-gold armor were tearing across the rink. They moved like freight trains, fast, heavy, and destructive. But to Liam’s trained eye, they were incredibly sloppy. Their turns were wide, their balance was centered entirely in their upper bodies, and their footwork was a chaotic mess.

"Hey! Pixie! You're blocking the gate!" a booming voice roared.

Liam snapped his head up. Standing at the team bench was the head coach, a gruff man with a clipboard named Coach Miller. But Liam’s eyes didn’t linger on the coach. They instantly locked onto the man skating hard toward the boards.

Number 87. The Captain. Jaxson Thorne.

Jaxson stopped on a dime, spraying a massive wave of ice shavings directly over the boards, hitting the bottom of Liam’s jeans. Jaxson ripped his helmet off, shaking out a mop of sweat-dampened dark hair. He was broad-shouldered, towering over Liam even without the skates, and his jawline looked like it had been chiseled out of granite. His dark eyes swept down Liam’s lean frame, lingering on his fitted sweater and thin figure skates, with an expression of pure, unadulterated disdain.

"Coach," Jaxson scoffed, his deep voice carrying across the empty arena. "Tell me this is a joke. You brought a ballet dancer to teach us how to play hockey?"

A few chuckles erupted from the players on the ice. Liam felt a hot flash of anger burn through his chest, replacing his anxiety. He stepped onto the ice, his blades cutting into the surface with silent, lethal precision. He didn't slip. He didn't stumble. He glided smoothly until he was standing bare inches from Jaxson’s massive padded chest.

"It's figure skating, Captain," Liam said, his voice deadly calm, tilting his chin up to meet Jaxson’s arrogant smirk. "And considering your team leads the league in tripping penalties and unforced turnovers, you don't need a hockey coach. You need someone who actually knows how to balance on two millimeters of steel."

Jaxson’s smirk vanished. His dark eyes narrowed, a dangerous heat flaring behind them. He stepped closer, using his massive size to crowd Liam, trying to intimidate him into backing down. The scent of wintergreen, sweat, and raw testosterone rolled off him.

"Listen to me, sweetheart," Jaxson growled, his voice dropping to a low, menacing register that vibrated right through Liam’s chest. "This is my ice. These guys don't take orders from someone they could snap in half with one body check. Why don't you take your pretty little skates and go back to dancing under a spotlight before you get hurt?"

"Is that a challenge, Thorne?" Liam challenged, refusing to take a single step back even as Jaxson’s heavy chest pressed against his shoulder.

"It's a promise," Jaxson whispered, his eyes dropping to Liam’s parted lips for a fraction of a second before hardening. He turned to his team. "Boys! Let's show the coach what happens when a tourist gets in our way. Line drill. Full speed. Don't avoid the obstacle."

The "obstacle" was Liam.

Before Coach Miller could even yell to stop them, five massive hockey players lined up at the opposite end of the rink. Jaxson blew his whistle, and the first player—a 220-pound defenseman—charged straight down the ice, accelerating directly toward Liam like a runaway semi-truck.

Liam didn't move. He stood perfectly still in the center of the ice, his heart hammering against his ribs.

"Move, kid!" the coach screamed from the bench.

The player was ten feet away. Five feet. The wind from his speed blasted into Liam's face.

At the very last microsecond, Liam didn't dodge like a coward. He bent his knees, dug his outside edge into the ice, and executed a flawless, blindingly fast hydroblade, dropping his body mere inches from the ice surface as the hockey player sailed right over where he had just been standing, completely losing his balance and crashing hard into the padded boards.

Liam smoothly popped back up to his feet, spinning around effortlessly to face Jaxson, his breathing completely steady.

Jaxson’s jaw was dropped. The entire rink had gone dead silent.

"Your turn, Captain," Liam said, a sharp, mocking smile cutting across his face. "Let's see if you can actually catch me, or if you're all talk."

Jaxson’s eyes turned completely feral. A dark, possessive anger flashed in his gaze as he gripped his hockey stick. "You asked for it."

Jaxson dug his skates into the ice and charged. He was twice as fast as the first guy, his eyes locked onto Liam like a predator tracking prey. Liam waited, calculated the trajectory, and pivoted to slip past him but Jaxson anticipated it.

Instead of trying to out-skate him, Jaxson dropped his stick and threw his massive, padded arms forward.

Liam tried to spin away, but his blade caught a rut in the ice left by the previous crash. His balance faltered. In the next heartbeat, Jaxson’s heavy body collided with his.

Liam gasped as the breath was knocked out of him. The sheer momentum carried them both backward. Jaxson’s large hands slammed into Liam’s waist, gripping him tightly as they both crashed hard onto the cold ice.

The world spun. When it stopped, Liam was flat on his back, his hands pinned against the ice, and Jaxson’s massive, heavily padded body was draped directly on top of him, trapping him completely.

Jaxson was breathing heavily, his chest rising and falling against Liam’s. Their faces were inches apart. Liam could feel the searing heat radiating from Jaxson’s skin, contrasting violently with the freezing ice beneath them. Jaxson’s fingers dug tightly into the soft flesh of Liam’s waist, his grip so fierce it would surely leave bruises.

"I told you," Jaxson panted, his dark eyes staring down into Liam's with a terrifying, breathless intensity. "You don't belong here."

Liam glared up at him, his own chest heaving, his heart racing from a sudden, chaotic jolt of adrenaline that had nothing to do with fear. "Get. Off. Me."

Before Jaxson could reply, the heavy metal doors of the arena concourse flew open with a loud bang.

"Jaxson! Liam!" a frantic voice shouted.

It was Sarah, the team's public relations director, holding her phone up with a look of absolute horror on her face. "Get up! Right now! The paparazzi followed Liam here. A live-streamer just caught that entire collision from the glass—and the internet thinks you two just had a lovers' quarrel on the ice!"

The weight of Jaxson’s massive body vanished instantly as he scrambled backward on the ice. He swore loudly, his blades cutting deep, ragged gashes into the surface as he stood up. He looked down at Liam, his dark eyes a volatile mix of shock and fury, before snapping his head toward the arena gate where Sarah was standing.

"A what?" Jaxson’s voice boomed through the empty rafters. "Tell me you're joking, Sarah."

Liam pushed himself up onto his elbows, his breath still ragged. The cold from the ice was finally soaking through his thin training pants, making his skin sting, but the heat flashing across his face was pure humiliation. He brushed the ice shavings off his sweater, trying to maintain a shred of dignity as he glided back to his feet. His waist still tingled where Jaxson’s heavy hockey gloves had clamped down onto his skin.

"I wish I were joking," Sarah said. She stepped through the gate, her heels clicking sharply against the rubber mats. She held out her iPad, the bright screen displaying a frantic, fast-moving live chat next to a paused video screen.

Liam skated closer, reluctantly standing next to Jaxson. The captain smelled like ice and pure, unfiltered adrenaline, his massive shoulder nearly brushing against Liam's.

On the screen, a pixelated video showed their entire interaction through the glass. From the outside, it didn't look like an aggressive hockey captain trying to intimidate a figure skater. It looked intensely intimate. The way Liam had stepped directly into Jaxson's space, the way Jaxson had pinned him with his gaze, and finally, the spectacular crash that left them tangled on the ice with Jaxson’s hands locked around Liam’s waist.

The headline flashing across the sports blog stream read: *Warriors Captain Jaxson Thorne Swept Off His Feet By New Figure Skating Coach?*

"Delete it," Jaxson growled, his jaw clenching so hard a muscle twitched beneath his stubble. "Call the network. Threaten a lawsuit. I don't care what you have to do. I’m straight, Sarah. I’ve only ever dated women. The media knows this."

"It's a public live stream, Jaxson, it's already been clipped and re-uploaded a thousand times on TikTok," Sarah countered, rubbing her temples. "And it gets worse. Look at the comments."

Liam leaned in slightly, his eyes scanning the rapidly scrolling text.

*– Oh my god, the way he caught him? That wasn't a hockey check, that was a tackle of passion.*

*– Wait, is Jaxson Thorne actually dating a figure skater? Please say yes.*

*– Look at his hands on the little guy's waist! He’s so protective!*

"This is ridiculous," Liam snapped, his voice sharp with disgust. "I am a professional athlete, not some prop for your team's media circus. Tell them the truth. Tell them your captain has the agility of a brick wall and tripped over his own ego. And for the record, I’m into women too. I’ve never looked at a guy like that in my life."

"Is that right, pixie?" Jaxson whipped his head around, glaring down at Liam with a harsh, defensive scoff. "Good. Because you’re definitely not my type. I like curves, not sharp edges."

"Enough! Both of you!" Coach Miller’s voice cut through the tension like a circular saw. He walked over from the bench, his face completely pale. "The front office just called. The team owner is on his way to the executive conference room. He wants both of you up there in five minutes. And Thorne? Don't bother taking off your pads."

Ten minutes later, Liam found himself sitting in a plush leather chair on the top floor of the stadium, looking through the floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the city. The room practically oozed old money and corporate power.

Jaxson sat in the chair right next to him, still in his bulky hockey pants and jersey, looking utterly out of place but completely unbothered. He leaned back, his long legs stretched out in front of him, tapping his fingers against the polished mahogany table.

At the head of the table stood Mr. Sterling, the billionaire owner of the New York Warriors. He wasn't looking at them; he was staring at a massive television screen that was currently broadcasting a sports entertainment segment breaking down the "rink collision."

"Jaxson," Mr. Sterling began, his voice dangerously soft as he turned around. "Two weeks ago, you got into a bar fight that cost this franchise half a million dollars in PR cleanup. The league is already looking for any excuse to suspend you for the season."

Jaxson opened his mouth to defend himself, but Sterling held up a single, manicured hand to silence him.

"And Liam," Sterling continued, turning his sharp gaze toward the figure skater. "I’ve reviewed your file. A phenomenal talent, but completely broke. The athletic board dropped your funding, and you can't even afford the ice time required to train for the upcoming Olympic trials."

Liam’s fingers tightened into fists against his knees. Having his financial desperation laid out on a silver platter in front of his arrogant new boss—and his rival—felt like a physical blow. He didn't look at Jaxson, but he could feel the captain's eyes shifting toward him, the heavy gaze suddenly quiet.

"The way I see it," Mr. Sterling said, leaning against the table, "this viral disaster is actually a miracle."

"What do you mean?" Jaxson asked, his brow furrowing.

"The public loves a romance, especially an unexpected one," Sterling explained, a cold, calculating smile spreading across his face. "If we tell the media that the bar fight two weeks ago happened because someone insulted your boyfriend, the suspension threat vanishes. You're no longer a violent liability. You're a protective partner."

Liam’s heart skipped a beat. A terrible, sinking feeling formed in his stomach. "Mr. Sterling, you can't be suggesting—"

"An exclusive relationship contract," Sterling interrupted smoothly, sliding two thick folders across the mahogany table. One stopped in front of Liam; the other in front of Jaxson. "Six months. You move into Jaxson’s penthouse to make it look authentic to the paparazzi. In exchange, the Warriors franchise will fully fund Liam's Olympic training, including elite coaching and private ice time."

"Are you insane?" Jaxson roared, slamming his hands on the table as he stood up, his massive hockey pads rattling. "We just told you, we’re both straight! I don't date guys. He doesn't date guys. How the hell are we supposed to sell a fake gay romance to the entire country?"

"You're athletes. Act like it's a team play," Sterling said flatly, completely unmoved by the outburst. "The media already bought the narrative based on that video. If you deny it now, Jaxson, you sit out the entire season on a league suspension, your captaincy is revoked, and Liam walks out of here with nothing. Sign the papers, boys. The cameras are waiting downstairs."

Jaxson breathed heavily, his gaze snapping down to Liam. Liam looked back up at him, his mind racing. They absolutely despised each other, and the thought of pretending to be attracted to another man made Liam’s stomach twist with an entirely new kind of nervousness. But without this money, he was nothing.

Slowly, Liam reached out and picked up the heavy silver pen resting on the table. He looked Jaxson dead in the eye, his hand trembling slightly but his expression fiercely determined.

"Six months," Liam whispered, his voice steadying as he pressed the pen to the paper. "Just don't touch me when the cameras aren't rolling. I don't swing that way, and neither do you, so this should be easy."

Jaxson watched him sign the document, his jaw working silently. For a long, agonizing moment, the room was completely silent. Then, with a harsh curse, Jaxson ripped the second pen from the holder, leaned over the table, and scribbled his signature at the bottom of the page so violently the paper nearly tore.

"Fine," Jaxson rasped, straightening up and towering over Liam with a dangerous, intense glare. "But let's get one thing straight, pixie. I'm doing this to save my captaincy. Don't go falling for me, because it's never going to happen."

Liam let out a cold, sharp laugh, standing up to meet him eye-to-eye. "Trust me, Thorne. You couldn't pay me enough to actually want you."

Mr. Sterling smiled, clapping his hands together. "Excellent. Sarah, call the press. Let's welcome our new couple to the spotlight."

The penthouse elevator chimed with a soft, expensive ring before the polished steel doors glided open.

Liam stepped out into a massive, minimalist living room that looked more like a modern art museum than a home. The entire back wall was made of floor-to-ceiling glass, showcasing the glittering New York City skyline. Everything was sleek chrome, dark leather, and pristine white marble.

"Drop your bags by the door," Jaxson muttered, tossing his car keys onto a marble kitchen island that was larger than Liam’s entire old bedroom.

Jaxson had finally changed out of his bulky hockey gear into a gray hoodie and dark sweatpants, but his presence still managed to swallow up the massive room. He looked exhausted, his broad shoulders slightly slumped, though his posture remained aggressively defensive.

Liam set his two battered duffel bags down onto the spotless hardwood floor. Next to the flawless luxury of the apartment, his worn-out belongings looked incredibly pathetic. He crossed his arms over his chest, refusing to let his awe show on his face.

"Nice place," Liam said, his voice dripping with cool sarcasm. "A little warm and welcoming for a guy with a frozen block of ice for a heart, don't you think?"

Jaxson rolled his eyes, walking over to a massive stainless-steel refrigerator and pulling out a bottle of sports drink. "Save the commentary, pixie. We aren't under the cameras anymore. We don't have to pretend to be interested in each other's lives."

He took a long swig, his throat swallowing sharply, before wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. His dark eyes locked onto Liam’s thin frame, narrowing slightly as he took in the cheap, faded material of Liam's sweater.

"Let's lay down the ground rules right now," Jaxson said, setting the bottle down with a firm thud. "This is my space. I like my privacy. We stay out of each other's way, we don't bring guests over, and we only do the 'loyal, doting boyfriends' act when Sarah text us that the paparazzi are outside."

"Suits me perfectly," Liam shot back, stepping forward. "I have no desire to get anywhere near you. Where is my room?"

Jaxson rubbed the back of his neck, a sudden, tense silence settling over the room. He didn't answer immediately, his eyes shifting away toward the glass wall.

A terrible, cold dread coiled in Liam’s stomach. "Jaxson. Where is the guest bedroom?"

"There isn't one," Jaxson said flatly, his gaze snapping back to Liam, completely guarded. "It’s a one-bedroom penthouse. When I bought this place, I didn’t plan on running a corporate boarding house for figure skaters."

Liam froze, his jaw tightening. "You’re a multimillionaire athlete and you only have *one* bed?"

"I have a massive master suite and a walk-in closet larger than your apartment, yes," Jaxson snapped, his temper flaring at the judgment in Liam’s tone. "But only one bed. Sterling’s PR team insisted we can't buy a second bed either. If the maids or any building staff see a second bed being delivered, the rumor that we’re faking it will leak within an hour. We’re supposed to be madly in love, remember?"

"I am not sleeping in the same bed as a man," Liam said, his voice dropping to a harsh, absolute whisper. "Especially not a two-hundred-pound hockey player who tried to break my ribs this morning."

"Oh, please. I’m a straight guy, Vance. You think I want you in my bed?" Jaxson let out a dry, irritated laugh, crossing his massive arms over his chest. "You’re completely safe from me. I don't look at guys, and even if I did, I’ve got teammates with bigger biceps than you."

"Good, because your massive ego wouldn't even fit under the same blanket anyway," Liam spat, his eyes blazing with fury. "I'll take the couch."

Liam turned toward the massive L-shaped Italian leather sofa in the center of the room. It looked incredibly expensive, but it was also sleek, firm, and completely devoid of comfort.

"Fine. Take the couch," Jaxson said, turning on his heel and heading toward the master bedroom corridor. "Blankets are in the hallway linen closet. Don't touch anything in the kitchen unless you're cleaning it up."

The heavy master bedroom door shut with a solid, echoing click.

Liam stood alone in the silence of the massive penthouse, the bright lights of the city bleeding through the glass. He let out a long, shaky breath, the exhausting weight of the entire day finally crashing down on him. His body ached from the hard fall on the ice, and his stomach let out a low, painful growl. He hadn't eaten anything since a stale granola bar at five o'clock that morning.

He walked over to his duffel bag, pulled out a worn-out gray hoodie, and changed into it. After grabbing a single, thin throw blanket from the closet, he curled up on the cold, stiff leather couch. He pulled his knees tightly against his chest, staring out at the city, trying to force his mind to focus on his Olympic goals. *Six months. Just survive six months.*

Hours passed. The penthouse grew entirely dark, the temperature dropping significantly.

Liam tossed and turned, but the leather was freezing, squeaking loudly every time he shifted. He was shivering violently now, his teeth chattering softly in the dark. The thin throw blanket did absolutely nothing against the draft coming from the massive glass windows.

Suddenly, a soft rustle broke the silence of the room.

Liam tensed up, his eyes snapping open in the darkness.

A tall, towering silhouette was standing right beside the couch. Jaxson.

Liam scrambled backward against the sofa cushions, his heart hammering violently against his ribs. "What are you doing? I told you to stay away—"

Before he could finish, a heavy, incredibly thick velvet duvet was violently dumped right over his head, burying him in a sudden wave of intense, trapped warmth. The blanket smelled faintly of expensive cologne and cedar wood.

Liam pushed the heavy duvet away from his face, blinking up through the darkness. Jaxson was standing over him, wearing nothing but his low-slung sweatpants, his bare, heavily muscled chest casting a massive shadow over the couch.

"Shut up, pixie," Jaxson muttered, his voice thick and rough with sleep. "Your teeth are chattering so loud I can hear them through the damn wall. I have a game tomorrow night. If I lose sleep because you're freezing to death on my furniture, I’m throwing you out."

Jaxson turned to walk away, but stopped, his dark eyes locking onto Liam’s face in the dim moonlight. His gaze drifted down to Liam's hands, which were trembling slightly as they clutched the heavy duvet.

For a fraction of a second, the harsh, arrogant look on Jaxson's face wavered, replaced by a strange, unreadable intensity. He swallowed hard, his jaw clenching in the dark.

"Don't get used to it," Jaxson rasped, his voice dropping an octave lower before he turned and strode back toward his bedroom, slamming the door behind him.

Liam pulled the warm, heavy duvet up to his chin. The lingering scent of Jaxson’s skin wrapped around him completely, making his chest tighten with a bizarre, chaotic jolt of adrenaline that he couldn't explain.

He was straight. Jaxson was straight. This was just a business arrangement.

So why was his heart racing so fast?