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?

The morning sun hit the penthouse like a spotlight, reflecting blindingly off the polished marble floors.

Liam woke up with a sharp jolt, his muscles stiff from the uncompromising frame of the leather sofa. For a terrifying three seconds, he didn't know where he was. Then, the heavy scent of cedar wood and expensive cologne anchored him. He was still wrapped tightly in Jaxson’s velvet duvet.

He threw the blanket off like it had suddenly caught fire. Standing up, he stretched his aching back, his stomach letting out another loud, demanding rumble.

Before he could even check his phone, the heavy master bedroom door swung open.

Jaxson stepped out, completely dressed in a sharp, tailored black suit that made his broad shoulders look impossibly wide. His dark hair was styled back perfectly, and he was buttoning his cuffs with a cold, focused precision. He didn't look like a rough hockey player anymore; he looked like a high-profile executive.

He didn't even glance at Liam as he walked into the kitchen, grabbing a protein shake from the fridge. "Get dressed, pixie. Sarah just texted. The circus is officially in town."

"What are you talking about?" Liam asked, his voice rough with sleep as he smoothed down his messy hair.

"Paparazzi," Jaxson said flatly, taking a sip of his shake. "They’ve been staked out across the street since six in the morning. We have to leave for the arena together. There’s a café two blocks away. We’re going to walk there, buy coffee, and look like a happy, regular couple before morning practice."

Liam’s chest tightened. "Already? We signed the papers less than twenty-four hours ago."

"Welcome to the big leagues," Jaxson scoffed, finally turning his dark eyes to look at Liam. His gaze swept down Liam’s wrinkled, oversized gray hoodie and bare legs, his eyebrows pulling together in a sharp frown. "And change out of that. You look like a stiff breeze could blow you over. Put on something that actually fits you."

Liam’s jaw clenched. "This is my comfortable clothes, Thorne. I don't exactly have a multimillion-dollar wardrobe budget."

"Just... go fix yourself," Jaxson muttered, turning around to check his phone.

Ten minutes later, Liam emerged from the bathroom wearing his best black slim-fit jeans and a high-necked cream sweater. It wasn't expensive, but it hugged his lean, athletic frame in a way that emphasized his long lines and dancer’s posture.

When he walked back into the living room, Jaxson was waiting by the door. The captain looked up from his phone, and for a split second, his fingers froze over the screen. His dark eyes tracked Liam from his boots all the way up to his face, his expression turning oddly tense. He swallowed hard, his throat moving against his crisp white collar, before his usual arrogant mask slid back into place.

"Better," Jaxson muttered, grabbing his coat. "Let's go. Remember the rules. We don't talk unless we have to, but when we get past those lobby doors, you keep close to me. If they ask questions, let me do the talking."

"Don't worry," Liam said, his voice dripping with venom. "I have zero desire to pretend I enjoy your company a second longer than necessary."

The elevator ride down to the lobby was dead silent, the air between them thick with a volatile, defensive energy. Both of them were straight. Both of them liked women. Yet, being trapped in a moving metal box with another man while preparing to tell the world they were sleeping together felt completely overwhelming.

The moment the glass lobby doors slid open, a wall of blinding light hit them.

"Jaxson! Over here!"

"Thorne! Is it true? Are you and the new coach together?"

"Liam! Look this way!"

A dozen paparazzi surged forward from behind the metal barricades, their heavy camera lenses clicking rapidly like a swarm of digital insects. The bright flashes exploded in Liam’s vision, making his eyes water. He instinctively flinched, stepping back. He had been in front of sports judges before, but he had never faced a ravenous media mob.

Before he could lose his footing, a massive, heavy hand locked firmly onto the small of his back.

Liam gasped softly as Jaxson stepped into his space, his massive body completely shielding Liam from the aggressive crowd. The heat from Jaxson’s palm burned straight through the fabric of Liam's cream sweater, his long fingers splaying over Liam's lower back with a heavy, possessive grip.

"Keep walking," Jaxson muttered directly into Liam’s ear. His deep voice vibrated against Liam’s cheek, sending a sudden, chaotic jolt of electricity straight down Liam’s spine. "Don't look at them. Look at me."

Liam forced his eyes up, locking his gaze onto Jaxson’s sharp jawline. To the cameras, it looked like a breathless, enamored gaze. In reality, Liam was trying to ground himself against the sheer panic of the crowd.

Jaxson flashed a charming, easy smile at the cameras, completely playing the part of the doting boyfriend. He guided Liam down the sidewalk with a steady, unyielding pressure, his hand never leaving Liam’s waist.

"Jaxson! Is the relationship serious?" a reporter yelled, shoving a microphone over the barrier.

Jaxson stopped for a fraction of a second, his grip tightening on Liam, pulling the smaller man tightly against his side until their hips brushed. The sudden, intimate contact made Liam’s breath catch in his throat.

"We’re just trying to focus on our sports, guys," Jaxson said, his voice smooth and perfectly rehearsed. "But yeah. He’s the best thing that’s happened to me this season. Now give us some space, please."

A collective gasp went up from the reporters as Jaxson guided Liam into the quiet sanctuary of the corner café, the heavy glass door cutting off the chaotic noise of the street.

The moment the door shut, Liam violently wrenched himself out of Jaxson's grip. He stumbled back a step, his chest heaving as he stared at the captain, his heart pounding erratically against his ribs.

Jaxson let his hand drop to his side, his fingers flexing slightly as if he could still feel the curve of Liam’s waist. His smirk was completely gone, replaced by a dark, intense look as he stared at Liam’s flushed cheeks and parted lips.

"You can let go of me now," Liam hissed, his voice trembling slightly with an emotion he couldn't quite define. "The cameras are outside. We're indoors."

Jaxson stepped closer, his shadow completely swallowing Liam up against the café counter. His eyes narrowed, a strange, dangerous heat flickering in the dark depths of his gaze.

"I was just doing my job, pixie," Jaxson whispered, his deep voice dropping to a low, rough register that made Liam’s stomach flip. He leaned in just an inch closer, his scent wrapping around Liam completely. "But you might want to get used to it. Because for the next six months, my hands are going to be all over you."