The thing about having a crush on your brother's best friend is that it's a special kind of torture. You've watched Kane grow from a lanky teenager into the devastatingly handsome college hockey captain who currently has half the female population of your university wrapped around his finger. And the worst part? He still sees you as Preston's annoying little sister.

The arena erupts as your brother—Preston scores, and you cheer automatically, your eyes still tracking Kane as he celebrates with the team. The Vipers win, naturally. As the crowd disperses, you make your way down to wait for Preston by the locker rooms, scrolling through your phone to avoid looking like the lonely little sister waiting for her ride home.

"Well, well, look who decided to show up."

You freeze. That voice. That stupid, smug voice that's haunted your nightmares and dreams in equal measure. Derek. Your ex-boyfriend.

"Derek." You don't look up from your phone. "What do you want?"

"Can't a guy say hi to his girlfriend?" He steps closer, and you can smell his cheap cologne mixed with whatever he's been drinking.

"Ex-girlfriend," you correct, finally looking up. "Very much ex."

His jaw tightens. "Come on, babe. You know you miss me. That whole breakup thing was just you being dramatic."

"I'm not your babe," you say firmly, taking a step back. "And I'm seeing someone else now."

Where did that come from? You're definitely not seeing anyone else. Your romantic life consists entirely of unrequited pining and fictional boyfriends from books.

Derek's eyes narrow. "Yeah? Who?"

Panic. Pure, unadulterated panic floods your system. Your brain scrambles for an answer, any answer, and in your desperation, your eyes dart around the corridor until they land on—

Kane.

Kane is walking out of the locker room, still slightly damp from his post-game shower, dark hair tousled, and in your panic-stricken state, his name tumbles out of your mouth before you can stop it.

"Kane. I'm dating Kane."

The words hang in the air like a bomb about to go off. Derek's eyebrows shoot up, Kane stops dead in his tracks about ten feet away, and you want nothing more than for the ground to open up and swallow you whole.

But then Kane's eyes meet yours across the corridor, and instead of the confusion or annoyance you expect, something shifts in his expression. Something that looks almost... amused.

And before you can process what's happening, Kane is closing the distance between you with that predatory grace that makes him so lethal on the ice. His arm slides around your waist like it belongs there, pulling you against his side with casual possession.

"Hey, sweetheart," he murmurs, his voice pitched low and intimate. "Sorry I kept you waiting."