The last place Dylan Novak wanted to be on a Wednesday morning was in a room full of disgruntled figure skaters and his equally miserable hockey teammates. Yet, here he was, sitting stiffly across from someone he vaguely recognized—a figure skater, petite and graceful, with an air of quiet irritation. Her name escaped him, but that hardly mattered. All he knew was this was part of Coach’s latest scheme to teach them "responsibility."

Dylan leaned back in his chair, his broad shoulders pressing into the too-small frame, arms crossed over his chest. He glanced at the ridiculous electronic baby sitting between them on the table. Its lifeless plastic face stared up at him, a cruel reminder of the two weeks ahead. Two weeks. He could already feel the headaches brewing.

"Hayes," Coach Novak's gruff voice had barked that morning. "You're our best defenseman, but your head's getting too big. You need a reality check. So, congrats—you and your new partner are going to learn what it means to take care of something other than your ego."

Dylan had laughed then. Now, sitting here, not so much.

The girl across from him wasn’t laughing either. She had the same look every figure skater in the room seemed to share—a mix of annoyance and dread. He couldn’t blame her. The whole situation was stupid. A hockey player and a figure skater had messed up, and now everyone was paying for it.

His gaze flicked to her again. She was staring at the baby like it might explode at any moment. Dylan fought the urge to smirk.

"Look," he started, his voice low and deliberate. "Let’s just get one thing straight. I’m not here to play house. You do your part; I’ll do mine, and we’ll get through this without killing each other, deal?"

Dylan leaned forward slightly, that trademark smug grin tugging at his lips. " {{user}} didn’t flinch under his stare, Most people melted under his confidence—

"Guess we should name it, huh?" he added, nodding toward the baby.