★CHRISTIAN★

The rink was mine. The cold bit into my lungs, sharp and clean, as my skates cut across the ice. The boards echoed with the thunder of blades, the slap of sticks, the weight of a team looking to me to set the pace. Captain. Leader. The one who never slipped, never cracked. At least, that's what I let them believe. In reality, every pass I caught, every goal I scored, carried the pressure of more than just a game. My dad's expectations, my coach's demands, the whispers of scouts in the stands—it all pressed on me, heavier than pads and skates combined. But out here, for a few fleeting moments, the noise faded. It was just me, the ice, and the game.

Practice wrapped late, the guys filing off with jokes and banter, helmets clanging against lockers. I lingered behind, tugging a hoodie over my damp hair, letting the cold cling to me a little longer. That's when my phone buzzed.

A text from Sienna: Was good to see you today. Nora and I needed a familiar face.

Nora. Her name tugged something loose in my chest, a flicker of memory I hadn't expected. The shy girl with wide eyes always stuck by my sister. The one I used to tease just to see her stumble over her words. Quiet. Forgettable. Except she hadn't looked forgettable tonight. I hadn't planned on staying long when I stopped by their dorm—just a quick check on my sister, to make sure she was settling in. But the second the door swung open, and I saw her sitting there, hair spilling in soft waves over her shoulders, those eyes lifting to mine... Hell. She wasn't the same girl I remembered.

"Nora James." I'd said, and the sound of it on my tongue had felt different. Dangerous.

And then there'd been the blush. It had started in her cheeks, crept all the way down her neck, and I couldn't stop looking at it, couldn't stop thinking about how she still fell apart under my gaze.

The moment Sienna left the room, the air had shifted. The silence had stretched, heavy and sharp, until I caught her staring. At me. At the tattoo curling across my arm. She'd tried to deny it, stumbling over her words, pink-faced and wide-eyed. And for the first time in a long time, I'd felt that pull. That itch beneath my skin to push, to tease, to see how far I could take it before she broke.

And the truth? I liked the way she looked at me. I liked it too much.

Now, walking across campus under the sharp bite of fall, I tugged my hood up and let the memory replay like a song I couldn't shake. Her eyes on mine. Her voice cracked around the simplest word. The way she'd frozen when I told her I'd see her at the party. I hadn't been talking to Sienna. We both knew it.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

The house thrummed beneath my feet, every surface alive with sound. Bass rattled the old windows, voices overlapped in shouts and laughter, the faint tang of beer already hanging thick in the air. My fraternity never eased into anything; the first party of the year was always a storm, and I stood at the eye.

I leaned against the counter in the kitchen, red cup dangling between my fingers, watching the chaos spin itself into order. Guys hauled kegs through the back door, shoulders straining under the weight; another group strung lights across the deck, their tangled cords swaying like vines. Someone already had music blasting from the living room, the thrum of bass making the walls hum.

"Captain." A voice called, followed by the familiar thud of a hand clapping my shoulder.

One freshman, eyes bright, eager to impress. They all were. The title followed me everywhere. Captain on the ice. Captain in this house. Even off the rink, the name carried weight.

"You running this entire show, Hayes?" another brother joked, hauling a stack of plastic cups past me.

I smirked, lifting my cup in lazy acknowledgment.

"Don't I always?"

Their laughter rippled outward, contagious, and I let it wash over me. This was what I knew. What I owned. People looked to me—for direction, for entertainment, for the rules of the game. And I gave it to them.

"Speech, Captain!" someone hollered from the living room, and within seconds a chorus picked it up, voices pounding like a chant.

I pushed off the counter, strolling toward the doorway with deliberate ease. The lights strung above flickered against the sharp edges of my grin as I raised my cup.

"Rule number one," I said, my voice cutting clean through the noise. "Don't touch my whiskey upstairs." Laughter roared. I let the pause stretch, drawing them in, commanding without trying. "Rule number two—" I tipped my head, letting the grin sharpen. "There is no rule number two. Do whatever the hell you want."

The cheer that exploded shook the walls, plastic cups raised in a drunken salute. Yes. This was my world. Chaos bent when I told it to. Respect rolled my way without my asking. I wore charm like armor, and no one ever looked close enough to see past it. But when the laughter dulled into background noise, I felt that tug again. Unwanted. Unshakable.

Her. Nora James.

It was ridiculous. I hadn't thought about her in months—years, maybe. She'd always been background, part of the scenery. My sister's quiet little shadow. But tonight, in that cramped dorm room, I'd looked at her and seen something else.

She'd stared at me first, eyes snagging on the ink curling over my arm. I'd felt it—the way her gaze lingered, the flush that rose when I caught her. And the way she stumbled over her own voice trying to deny it.

It shouldn't have mattered. But it did. Not because I wanted her. Not in the way I knew half the guys on this campus wanted her once they got a look. No, what twisted under my skin was simpler, sharper.

The thrill. The chase.

Because girls like Nora—girls who hid behind silence and shadows, girls who blushed crimson when you leaned too close—weren't supposed to look at guys like me. And guys like me weren't supposed to notice them. But she had. And I had. And now the idea of unraveling her, piece by piece, of watching her stumble again under the weight of my attention would keep me so restless.

I took a slow sip of my drink, scanning the room as another wave of laughter broke out near the door. My teammates, my brothers, the endless stream of girls slipping in already—all of it blurred at the edges.

Because the only image that stuck, sharp and inescapable, was hers. Her wide eyes. Her blush. The way she'd looked like she didn't know whether to bolt or melt into the floor when I told her I'd see her at the party.

Someone slapped me on the back again, dragging me into a debate about the weekend's lineup, but the words slid past me like static. I wasn't thinking about hockey. I wasn't thinking about this party.

I was thinking about the quiet girl in my sister's dorm room—the one I wasn't supposed to touch, the one who'd just become the most interesting thing in the room before she'd even walked through the door.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

Night bled into life. The house pulsed with music, the bass shuddering through the floorboards, laughter spilling into the halls. The air carried a familiar cocktail of sweat, beer, and cheap cologne, a haze that clung to everything it touched. Lights strung across the ceiling glowed in uneven strands, throwing the room into gold and shadow, making the chaos look almost holy in its own way.

I stood near the edge of it all, drink in hand, my shoulder propped against the doorway. I didn't need to push through the crowd to be noticed. The crowd came to me.

"Christian!" A girl with glossy hair and a neckline plunging halfway down her chest leaned against my arm. Her perfume was sharp, sugary, the kind that made your teeth ache. "You didn't tell me you'd be here tonight."

I smirked, tilting my cup toward her.

"This is my fraternity."

She laughed, too high, too eager, her nails curling against my sleeve as though anchoring herself to the most solid thing in the room. Another girl appeared on my other side, her eyes glittering as she tugged on the sleeve of my hoodie, asking about Saturday's game. Then another, cheeks pink with alcohol, pressed a drink into my free hand like an offering. They came like moths to a flame. And I let them.

I knew how to smile at them, how to drop my voice just enough to make them lean closer, how to brush a hand against their shoulder in a way that felt intimate but meant nothing at all. It was a language I'd mastered: the art of charming without ever promising. Because that's what they wanted—the idea of me. Not the truth. Never the truth. And I played the part because it was easy. Because it worked. Because it kept me untouchable.

But then the door opened.

The shift was small at first, noticeable in the tide of bodies flowing in and out. A burst of cool fall air swept across the room, carrying laughter that I knew before I even turned my head. Sienna.

Her blonde hair gleamed under the lights; her energy bright enough to draw eyes. People parted for her without her asking, smiles tugging at mouths, greetings tossed her way. She had always been like that—the girl who didn't just walk into a room but claimed it.

But she wasn't alone. Trailing just a step behind, almost swallowed by the crowd, and the light, was Nora.

I almost didn't recognize her at first. The girl who used to shrink into corners, who let her silence do the talking, now walked with her chin a fraction higher, her dark hair spilling over her shoulders in loose waves that caught the glow. She wasn't loud; she wasn't bold—but she didn't need to be. She drew the eye because she looked like she didn't want it. And my pulse, steady all night, ticked sharper.

The girls clustered at my side were still talking, still laughing, but their voices dulled into static. All I saw was the way Nora's eyes scanned the room, how her fingers fidgeted with the strap of her bag, how she stuck close enough to Sienna to almost blend into her shadow. Almost.

Because I was looking for her now. And I saw her. A slow smile tugged at my mouth. She hadn't been bluffing earlier, when that blush betrayed her in the dorm. That wasn't a fluke. That was who she was—untouchable, off-limits, the girl who didn't fall into my lap like all the others. The girl who made the chase worth it.

I straightened from the doorway, ignoring the protest of the girl still tugging at my sleeve. My eyes didn't leave Nora as she stepped further inside, her gaze darting anywhere but me. She hadn't seen me yet. But she would. And when she did... game on.

It didn't take long. She looked up.

The room was all motion and noise — bodies swaying, cups clattering, someone yelling about a song change — but the second her eyes found mine, everything else dulled to static. Nora froze mid-step, caught like a deer in headlights. Her hand tightened around the strap of her bag, knuckles pale, and her lips parted on a sharp inhale. The flush crept over her cheeks fast, a tide of color that told me what I needed to know.

I let the silence stretch between us, even in the middle of the noise. And then I smirked just enough to make sure she knew I saw her. Knew I remembered the way she'd blushed in that dorm room. Her eyes flickered down, lashes lowering like a curtain, but not fast enough. Not before I caught the full impact of her reaction.

I tipped my cup toward her in lazy acknowledgment, a move that could've passed for casual. To her, though, it wasn't casual. Not with the way her throat bobbed as she swallowed hard, not with the way her gaze darted anywhere but back at me.

She looked away — but not far enough. Not for long. A moment later, her eyes cut back to mine. Quick, fleeting, like she hadn't meant to, like she couldn't help herself. Victory hummed low in my chest.

Every accidental glance was a tell. Every stuttered breath proved that she hadn't built the walls she thought she had. I leaned my shoulder against the frame again, drink loose in my hand, posture relaxed. To anyone else, I looked bored. Detached. The golden boy captain, who didn't have to try. But my focus was on her.

She shifted under the weight of it, her fingers brushing at her sleeve, her hair sliding forward like she wanted it to shield her face. Sienna was talking to her, tugging her deeper into the crowd, but Nora barely nodded along. Her focus kept snagging back, right where I wanted it. On me.

I didn't move toward her. Not yet. That wasn't how this worked. The game wasn't about rushing. It was about patience, about letting the tension coil until the smallest touch, the smallest word, felt like an explosion. So I stayed where I was. Watching. Waiting.

And when she dared one last look across the room, hesitant and searching, I gave her what she didn't want — another grin. Slow. Certain. Like I had all the time in the world to unravel her.

Because I did.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

The pool table sat at the far end of the common room, a battered thing with one crooked leg and felt faded from years of parties. My brothers crowded around, jeering and shouting bets as I lined up a shot, the clack of cue balls cracking through the noise.

"Captain's up." Someone called, and the circle broke into cheers.

I chalked my cue, rolling my shoulders as if none of this mattered. And maybe it didn't. I'd already run this table a hundred times. I could sink the eight ball blindfolded. But tonight, my focus wasn't on the game.

Across the room, just visible through the shifting press of bodies, was Nora. She stood close to Sienna, clutching a plastic cup in both hands like it might anchor her to the floor. Her dark hair spilled in loose waves, half-curtaining her face, but not enough to hide the tension in her posture. She was trying to blend in, trying to pretend she didn't notice me. Except she did.

Every time I glanced up between shots, I caught it—the way her gaze darted toward me before skittering away, like the burn of eye contact was too much to hold. The way her fingers fidgeted with the rim of her cup, betraying her nerves. And every time she looked, I made sure she found me already watching.

The cue slid through my fingers, the shot sinking clean. My friends erupted, someone slapping my back, another shoving a beer into my free hand. I smirked, soaking in the noise, the praise—then tipped my head just, eyes catching hers across the room.

She froze. Again.

The corner of my mouth curved as I chalked the cue, slow and deliberate, never looking away. Wow, she squirmed so easily.

Her grip on the cup tightened, shoulders rising like she wanted to vanish into the wall. Sienna leaned in to whisper something that made her laugh, but her eyes flicked back to me before the sound had even faded. It was addicting.

The game was over in minutes—three shots, all clean, all effortless—but I barely registered the cheers. Because the actual game wasn't on the felt in front of me. It was across the room.

It was the way Nora James flushed every time she realized I was watching her. The way she looked like she couldn't decide if she hated it or needed it. I leaned on my cue, grin sharp and unhurried, and let the moment stretch. She'd break first. They always did.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

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