Chapter 1: Claire
Ten Years Earlier
"Oh my God, my feet hurt," I hear May's shrill voice echo across the ice.
The last of our students file out into the lobby as I shoot my best friend, Emily, a look. We both roll our eyes.
"I'm freezing, and I do not want to teach the next class," May says as she skates toward us.
"Do you ever want to teach the tot class?" I ask, keeping my tone light and sarcastic. I keep a smile on my face, hiding my growing annoyance.
You'd think I'd be used to it by now, but sometimes I think I'd rather slam my head into the boards than listen to her complain for another second.
I push off the wall and skate around the perimeter of the rink to keep warm, Emily trailing beside me.
"It's about fucking time she got that class," Emily whispers. "It's not fair that Allison assigns May all the high-level skaters. I'm tired of taking toepicks to the shin."
Allison—our figure skating director and my coach—does her best to rotate class assignments fairly, but I have a feeling she gives May more sessions with the higher-level skaters just to shut her up.
"I hear you, sister," I snicker as I pick up speed, throwing my arms up for a set of crossover drills. I get that nobody wants to wrangle a bunch of three-year-olds with knives attached to their feet, but sometimes I think May forgets the whole point of being a coach. We were all beginners once. You don't just fall out of the womb knowing how to do a salchow.
I started figure skating "late" for the sport. While most kids started around three or four, I didn't start until I was ten. But once I started, I was hooked. I loved the feeling of gliding across the ice, the chill of the arena, the rush of adrenaline when you landed a jump. This place became my second home. The ice was my happy place.
I always knew I'd never be good enough for the Olympics, but that never stopped me from wanting to improve.
Even now, in college, I still take classes and lessons. When Allison brought up the idea of coaching, I jumped at the chance. There was nothing more rewarding than watching your students grow and succeed. Maybe that's why I never minded teaching the tot class. I wanted to share my love of skating with the next generation.
I exhale as I move through a set of backward crossovers and prepare for my jump. My heart pounds as I step onto my outside edge and launch myself into the air. I've been struggling with the timing of my snap on my double axel, and today proves to be no different. My rotation comes up short, and I don't fully land on my toepick before crashing straight onto my ass.
A chorus of "ooooohs" erupts from the benches.
Heat floods my face as I look up to find the hockey coaches and May watching me. Emily skates over, spraying ice as she stops beside me.
"That looked like it hurt, but I swear you were more rotated than last time," she says, helping me to my feet.
I brush the ice from my leggings as we skate toward the group.
"Shit, Rosie, that looked painful," Jacob says.
"Good thing she's got that fine ass to cushion the fall," Nick chimes in beside him.
"For the thousandth time, my last name is Rosewell, Jacob. And"—I flip Nick off—"you're disgusting."
"Lighten up, Rosie." Nick rolls his eyes. "I'm a hockey player. It's in our DNA to admire a woman's ass. Right, fellas?"
He looks toward the other two guys for backup.
I shoot Jacob a glare, but he only smiles sheepishly back at me. I avoid looking at the third member of their trio altogether.
"Your DNA is probably closer to that of a dog than a human," Emily cuts in.
"Well, this dog is willing to throw you a bone and give you a little of my DNA anytime, sweet thing," Nick drawls.
Emily visibly shudders. "Did you get checked too many times during your last game? I'm not a puck bunny, and your 'DNA'," she air quotes, "is probably loaded with chlamydia."
"Suit yourself," Nick says with a wink as he grabs a stack of cones to divide the ice into sections.
Allison and the hockey director, Scott, thought it would be a good idea to have the hockey and figure skating coaches teach the basic skills program together. Most of the kids who tried to jump straight into hockey barely knew how to skate, so the program helped them learn fundamentals while also convincing hockey parents their kids weren't "wasting time twirling around" with the figure skating coaches.
I watch as May, Emily, and Jacob prepare their sections for class, flipping through the lesson plan on my clipboard.
"That was a hard fall. You might be sore later. I can take care of that for you if you want."
Familiar warmth blooms low in my stomach as Blake's deep voice brushes against my ear.
"Wolfe," I warn quietly, glancing toward the lobby where our students are starting to line up outside the doors, "we're about to start class."
"Meet me at our spot after work?"
I finally look up and meet his eyes.
I should say no.
My brain knows I should say no, but my body betrays me anyway when I give him a slight nod.
The guys on the Clover hockey team are known for being womanizing douchebags, and Blake Cameron Wolfe is no exception. Growing up at this rink and witnessing their behavior firsthand made me swear off hockey players completely.
But what started as an innocent ride to Jacob's party after work somehow ended with me in the back of Blake’s car...and Blake between my legs.
Since that party a month ago, we've been hooking up in secret. Not even Emily knows, and I plan to keep it that way. I'd had sex before, but there was something dangerously addictive about sneaking around with him.
It also helped that Blake absolutely lived up to his reputation.
An hour and a half later, we're tangled together in the backseat of Blake’s car.
His rough hands skim up my back, unclasping my bra as I straddle him. I trace the hard planes of his chest before dragging my tongue along the muscles of his neck, sucking lightly at his skin.
I moan when he captures one of my nipples in his mouth.
"Does that feel good, baby?"
He lifts his head just enough to look me in the eyes while his tongue flicks over the sensitive bud again. My head falls back as my hips instinctively roll against the hard bulge beneath his jeans.
"Open your eyes and look at me, Claire."
His fingers tangle into my hair, tugging lightly until my gaze locks with his.
"Tell me what you want."
"I want..." My voice shakes as he lifts his hips and grinds his denim-clad erection against my soaked center. "I want you inside me."
I'm still not used to how vocal he likes to be during sex.
"Good girl," Blake rasps.
The praise sends heat spiraling through me as he shifts beneath me to unbutton his jeans and shove them down enough to free himself. My pulse races at the familiar sound of foil tearing open.
My breath catches as he slowly lowers me onto him. Inch by glorious inch. Until he's buried completely inside me.
We've done this enough times that it shouldn't affect me this much anymore, but it still does. I still feel overwhelmed by him. By the way he stretches me, fills me, consumes every coherent thought in my head the second we touch.
I try to move my hips, desperate for friction, but his hands tighten on my waist, holding me still. I whine in frustration and attempt to grind against him again.
"No teasing," I huff.
"That's not teasing, baby," he murmurs as he slowly pulls almost all the way out before pushing just the tip back in. "This is."
"Please, Blake," I beg, my voice rough and desperate.
"Please what?"
His eyes darken with amusement.
"Fuck me," I breathe. "Please fuck me."
That does it for him.
He slams back into me so hard my vision blurs.
———
"Same time next week?" Blake asks as we pull our clothes back on.
"You're so full of yourself," I mutter, rolling my eyes.
"You say that now." Blake as he leans back against the seat, completely unbothered. Like he didn't just ruin me for every other man on the planet.
I shove his shoulder lightly while fixing my ponytail in the rearview mirror. My lips are swollen, mascara smudged beneath my eyes, and a bruise is already blooming near the base of my neck.
Great.
"Allison's going to kill me if she sees this tomorrow," I mutter, rubbing at the mark.
Wolfe's eyes darken with satisfaction instead of guilt. "Looks good on you."
"You're impossible."
"And yet you keep crawling into my backseat."
Heat rushes to my cheeks.
Cocky asshole.
I grab my skate bag from the floorboard and push open the car door before he can see the smile threatening to break across my face. Cold air immediately hits my flushed skin, grounding me.
The parking lot is mostly empty now, the rink lights glowing against the dark sky. Blake climbs out after me, tugging his hoodie back over his head.
"You know," he says casually, "normal people usually text after hooking up."
I snort. "Normal people don't sneak around like they're conducting some undercover operation."
"That's what makes it fun."
Fun, right, that's all this is supposed to be.
No feelings. No complications. Just stolen moments between classes and late nights in parking lots.
Fun. I can handle that.
I've seen what happens when girls fall for hockey players—especially Clover hockey players. Tears. Cheating scandals. Girls crying in the rink lobby during tournaments.
Wolfe suddenly reaches for me, his fingers hooking around my wrist before I can walk away. The teasing expression slips slightly from his face.
"You okay?"
The question catches me off guard.
Not because he asked it, but because he sounds like he actually means it.
"I'm fine," I say quickly.
His thumb brushes against the inside of my wrist once, sending warmth spiraling through my stomach all over again.
"Claire."
God, I hate when he says my name like that. Soft. Low. Dangerous.
I force myself to step back. "I should go."
For a second, he looks like he wants to say something else. Instead, he gives a single nod.
"Next Thursday?" he asks.
I bite back a smile. "You really are full of yourself."
"That's not a no."
I shake my head and start walking backward toward my car.
"Goodnight, Wolfe."
"Night, Rosie."
I flip him off as he laughs.
But even once I'm safely inside my car, even after I start the engine and pull out of the lot, I can still feel him everywhere. His hands on my hips. His mouth on my skin. The way he looks at me like I’m something worth paying attention to.
And that's the truly dangerous part, not the sex, not the sneaking around. It's the fact that, for the first time in my life, Blake Wolfe makes me forget every rule I swore I'd never break.
