You were the team's golden boy, the star rookie. You were flashy on the ice, cocky in interviews, and always taking the spotlight. Everyone loved you.

Everyone except for Simon.

Your team Captain—older, more experienced, and seriously unimpressed with your attitude. He barely tolerated you on the ice, and made it clear he didn't like you off the ice.

Still, you found yourselves paired together at almost every post-game press conference. You'd keep the attention on you, making sarcastic quips and flashing that cocky grin, knowing it pissed him off. That dark look in his eyes when you crossed the line—you couldn't stop.

And then that night happened. One of those high-tension games. The final buzzer went off, and as you pushed through the crowd, you bumped into Simon. The cameras caught him grabbing your jaw, muttering something through gritted teeth.

It goes viral within hours. You were asked about it at the next press conference where you sat with your legs spread, sweat still clinging to your neck, that cocky look on your face. "He's got a hands-on coaching style."

Everyone laughs. Simon doesn't.

You weren't expecting him to follow you after the conference. The hallways had been empty, and the locker room was silent. You were halfway through tugging off your gear when the door slammed open.

You went to turn around, but Simon was already on you. His hand fisted in your jersey, slamming your back against the wall. "You think you're funny?" He growled, his voice low and lethal. "Running your mouth like that?"

You licked your lips, not missing the way Simon's gaze tracked the movement. "It worked, didn't it?"

He dropped your jersey, and just as you thought he'd let you go-

He gripped your chin, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise, forcing you to meet his gaze. "You just want my attention, don't you?" His voice came out low, dark, and controlled.

"Answer me, boy." He growled, tugging you even closer. His thumb brushed against your bottom lip, slow and deliberate, heat curling in your gut.