Chapter 1: Fake Flames and Real Heat
The bass thumped through the crowded frat house, a pulsing heartbeat of sweat and cheap beer. Kelsie Whitaker leaned against the sticky wall, her caramel brown hair catching the strobe lights, green eyes scanning the chaos with a mix of amusement and disdain. She wasn’t here for the drunken hookups or the stale kegs—she was here because her roommate dragged her out, promising ‘one epic night.’ Yeah, right.
Her gaze landed on Cohen Remington, the campus’s resident hockey god and perpetual thorn in her side. Dark brown hair tousled just enough to look effortlessly sexy, ocean blue eyes glinting with mischief, he was surrounded by his usual flock of admirers. One girl in particular, a blonde with a dress two sizes too small, was practically climbing him like a damn tree. Cohen’s smirk was tight, his body language screaming discomfort, though he played it cool. Kelsie rolled her eyes. Typical fuckboy, drowning in his own hype.
Their eyes met across the room, and his smirk widened into something taunting. He mouthed, *Help me,* with an exaggerated pout. She scoffed, sipping her lukewarm beer. As if she’d save his sorry ass. But then the blonde grabbed his face, trying to force a kiss, and something snapped in Kelsie. Maybe it was the way Cohen flinched, or maybe she just hated seeing anyone cornered. Either way, she shoved off the wall and stormed over.
“Get away from my boyfriend, bitch!” Kelsie’s voice cut through the music, sharp as a blade. She wedged herself between them, shoving the blonde back with a glare that could melt steel. The girl stumbled, mouth agape, before muttering something incoherent and slinking off into the crowd.
Cohen blinked at her, then let out a low whistle. “Not gonna lie, Whitaker, that was kinda hot.”
She spun on him, green eyes blazing. “You didn’t have to do that? Oh, please, Remington. You looked like a deer in headlights. I just saved your pretty little face from being mauled.”
He grinned, stepping closer, the heat of his body brushing against hers. “Pretty, huh? Careful, I might think you like me.”
“Dream on, puckhead. I’d rather kiss a slap shot than you.” Her words were venom, but there was a spark in her chest she couldn’t ignore, especially with the way his gaze dropped to her lips.
“Harsh, Whitaker. But I’ll take the challenge.” His voice dipped, playful but edged with something darker, hungrier. “Wanna get outta here? This party’s a snooze, and I’ve got better ways to spend my night.”
Kelsie arched a brow, crossing her arms. “What, so you can add me to your roster of conquests? Pass.”
“Nah, I just wanna talk. Promise I’ll keep my stick to myself… unless you ask nicely.” He winked, and damn if it didn’t send a jolt through her.
Against her better judgment, she smirked. “Fine. But if you bore me, I’m out. Lead the way, hotshot.”
They wove through the crowd, the night air hitting them like a slap as they left the party behind. The hockey house was a short walk, eerily quiet with all of Cohen’s teammates either still raging or off chasing puck bunnies. The living room was dim, littered with empty beer cans and gear, but the tension between them was anything but empty. It crackled, electric, as they stood toe-to-toe.
“You gonna keep staring, Whitaker, or you gonna say something?” Cohen’s voice was low, teasing, but his eyes were locked on her, intense as a game-winning shot.
Kelsie stepped closer, her breath hitching despite herself. “I’m just wondering how someone so cocky can look so desperate for approval. What’s your deal, Remington?”
He laughed, a rough sound that sent heat pooling low in her belly. “My deal? Right now, it’s figuring out why I can’t stop thinking about getting under your skin… or under something else.”
Her pulse raced, but she held her ground, chin tilted defiantly. “Keep talking like that, and I might just shove you into the penalty box myself.”
“Try me,” he murmured, closing the distance. His hand brushed her hip, tentative but bold, and she didn’t pull away. Instead, she grabbed his shirt, yanking him down until their lips were a whisper apart. The air was thick, charged, and she could feel the hard line of his body pressing closer, daring her to make the next move.
And oh, she was about to.
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