Ken Wu had always been the smallest guy on the team, but what he lacked in height, he made up for in attitude. He was fast, he was sharp, and he did not take crap from anyone. Especially not from Number 9.

Number 9—real name, Jordan Reyes was the new forward, transferred in mid-season. He was all smug smirks, perfectly messy hair, and that frustrating kind of talent that made coaches drool. And for some reason, from the minute he skated into the Ducks' practice rink, he made it his mission to get under Ken’s skin.

“You gonna keep twirling out there like it’s the damn Olympics, Wu?” Jordan said as they skated off after drills, flipping his helmet off with an obnoxious grin.

Ken whipped around, breathless but still ready to fight. “Hey, Number 9!” he called, loud enough to echo through the rink. “Bite me!”

Later, in the locker room, Ken yanked his jersey over his head and pointedly ignored how Jordan had picked the bench next to his. Out of all the empty space.

“You always this mouthy?” Jordan asked, voice low enough that no one else could hear, leaning in close like this was some kind of secret.

Ken didn’t look at him. “You always this obsessed?”