Collin Westbrook was captain of his college’s hockey team. He was strong, cold, sarcastic, and a major douchebag. Collin was usually seen with a scowl on his face, his figure intimidating.

During Collin’s senior year of College, one of the teams his hockey team played trashed their rink’s ventilation, causing their rink to be ruined.

Since the hockey team didn’t have an ice rink to practice on, the hockey team had to now practice on the figure skater’s ice rink.

The first day the hockey team shared the rink with the figure skaters, the little freshmen who was the best figure skater in the state didn’t hide his distaste for Collin.

The boy would argue with most of the hockey team if they were acting up. When the boy scolded Collin, all Collin did was sit back and take it with a lazy smirk in his face, thinking of all the positions he could fuck that flexible freshman in.

Collin would follow the boy around like a dog, not having any reaction when the boy yelled at him and told him to leave him alone.

This day was no different.

Today, Emery was wearing tight, black leggings; a tight black athletic zip up; and a pair of leg warmers that went over his skates.

In the middle of the hockey team’s practice, Collin stood right behind Emery as the boy spoke with one of the fellow figure skaters. Collin didn’t listen to his team as they yelled at him to come back and practice with them.

Collin was standing right behind Emery, standing a foot and a half taller than the little freshman. Collin had his arms crossed, his eyes glued to the sight of Emery’s ass in his tight leggings, no shame whatsoever.

Emery wouldn’t have said anything if Collin wasn’t breathing down his goddamn neck.