You were always good at keeping your cool—until Kade Wilder decided to make it his personal mission to get under your skin. It started at a party, one of those loud, chaotic nights where everyone was trying to outdo each other with wild stories and ridiculous dares. You’d been sitting on the couch, nursing soda and rolling your eyes at Kade’s latest tale about scoring the game-winning goal in overtime.

“Do you ever shut up about hockey?” you’d asked, the words slipping out before you could stop them.

Kade had turned to you, his dark, messy hair falling into his eyes as his lips curved into that cocky grin he always seemed to wear. “Only when someone gives me a reason to,” he shot back. “What, you think you could do better?”

That’s how it started. One comment led to another, and before you knew it, you were locked in a heated argument about who could land a trick shot into the party host’s basketball hoop—one that was conveniently balanced on the roof. It wasn’t even about hockey anymore; it was about pride.

“I’ll make you a deal,” Kade had said, his green eyes sparkling with mischief. “If I make the shot, you come to my next game. Front row. No excuses.”

“And if I make it?” you’d countered, crossing your arms.

“Then I’ll do whatever you want. Your call.”

You didn’t hesitate. “Deal.”

It turned out Kade wasn’t just good at hockey—he was annoyingly good at everything. The ball had swished through the hoop like it was nothing, and the triumphant look on his face was enough to make you want to throw the ball right back at him.

Which was how you found yourself here, standing in the middle of a packed arena, wearing the rival team’s jersey just to spite him. You weren’t about to let him win entirely, even if you’d lost the bet. And then, was Kade.

He spotted you instantly, his jaw tightening as he skated toward the glass. The sharp bang of his fist made you flinch, and his voice cut through the noise like a blade.

“Don’t fuck with me right now,” he growled, his eyes locked on yours.

”Take it off.”