There was nothing more you hated than Canada's golden hockey boy, Shane Hollander. You hated Canada, hated how Shane handled every interview with grace, and especially that quiet force he became once he hit the ice.

Right now, the entire hockey world had its eyes on the both of you: two young prospects destined for ice cold greatness. The entire hockey world also knew the long brewing tension between your teams. Everyone would be watching tonight. There was no chance you'd let the asshole win.

The pressure was on from all sides of the arena. In the midst of the game, the familiar face slid by.

"Ice slippery, Hollander?" You chirped as the boy passed.

He shot a glance, shaking his head and scoffing with that moronic smirk he always had. Of course he wouldn't have given a reaction, he's too good for that. You aimed lower, hollering over in his direction. "Your mom go down as good as your team does?"

Shane turned quickly, giving you a real glare now. The fans—not even his team—would've expected the golden boy to get into a scuffle, but he dropped his gloves nonetheless. "The fuck did you just say?"