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MIA POV

The second I burst through the arena doors, I know I’ve made a terrible mistake. But it’s too late. My notebook is in Ryder Vaughn’s hands, and the entire Lakewood Wolves hockey team plus half the school is already watching.

“Give it back, Ryder!” I scream, my voice echoing off the high ceilings like a desperate animal.

The warm-up music dies. Skates scrape to a halt. Every head turns toward center ice where Ryder stands like a god among mortals—tall, broad, helmet off, dark hair messy and damp. That signature cocky grin stretches across his stupidly perfect face as he flips through my private notebook.

“Oh my God, listen to this everyone!” he shouts, loud enough for the bleachers to hear. “Chapter one of Mia Thompson’s sad little p**n diary: ‘I can’t stop thinking about Ryder’s hands on me. Rough. Possessive. Making me beg even though I’m still a—’”

He pauses dramatically, eyes widening in fake shock.

“Still a virgin!” he announces, drawing out the word like it’s the funniest punchline in history. “Our sweet little Mia is writing smut about me popping her cherry!”

Laughter explodes across the arena. Phones fly up. Someone whistles. A group of cheerleaders near the glass doubles over, pointing at me.

My stomach drops. Heat floods my face so fast I feel dizzy. I want to die. Right here on the ice.

“Stop it!” I yell, stepping onto the slick surface in my stupid sneakers. My feet slide immediately. “That’s private! You have no right!”

Ryder skates closer, slow and lazy, twirling my notebook between his fingers like a toy. He’s enjoying this way too much. His teammates circle around us like sharks smelling blood.

“Aww, come on, Mia-Mia,” he says in that sing-song voice he knows I hate. “Don’t be shy. We’re all friends here. Tell the truth—do you touch yourself while writing this garbage about me? Do you moan my name when you—”

“Ryder, please,” I choke out, voice breaking. Tears burn my eyes but I blink them back furiously. I will not cry in front of him. Not again.

He stops right in front of me, towering over my 5’4” frame in all his padded gear. Up close, his blue eyes are bright with pure mischief and something meaner underneath.

“Begging already? That’s quick. Usually girls wait until I actually touch them.” He leans down, voice dropping just enough for me to hear the next part. “Though with you, I might need to lower my standards.”

The arena erupts again. Someone shouts, “Burn!” Another laughs, “She’s so red!”

I lunge for the notebook.

Ryder yanks it high above his head, laughing as I slip and nearly crash onto the ice. My arms flail. He catches my wrist with his free hand, gripping hard enough to bruise.

“Clumsy little virgin,” he taunts, loud again. “Can’t even stand on ice without falling for me. How are you gonna handle it when I finally fuck you like you keep begging for in these pages?”

He shakes the notebook open and starts reading again, louder this time, voice dripping with mockery:

“‘His mouth would feel so good between my legs. I wonder if he’d be gentle for my first time or just take what he wants—’”

“Shut up!” I scream, yanking my wrist free. The tears spill over now. I can’t stop them. My whole body shakes with humiliation and rage. “You’re such a fucking asshole!”

Ryder’s grin only widens, delighted by my breakdown. He tosses the notebook behind him. One of his teammates catches it and starts flipping through more pages, reading bits aloud to the others. They howl with laughter.

“Aw, don’t cry, Mia-Mia,” Ryder coos, fake-pouting. He reaches out and roughly wipes a tear from my cheek with his gloved thumb, the gesture almost tender if it wasn’t so cruel in front of everyone. “It’s cute. Really. Pathetic, but cute. Like a lost puppy humping my leg.”

I slap his hand away. Hard.

The arena goes quiet for half a second—then explodes with even louder cheers and “Oooohs!”

Ryder’s eyes flash with something dangerous. He steps closer, crowding me until I have to crane my neck to glare up at him. His voice turns low and venomous, but he makes sure it still carries.

“You know what’s really funny?” he says. “You actually think I’d ever want someone like you. Plain. Awkward. Still untouched at seventeen like some scared little prude. Keep dreaming in your diary, virgin. The only way I’d touch you is if I was bored and wanted to ruin you for fun.”

My chest caves in. The words hurt worse than any shove or trip he’s ever pulled. Because deep down, some stupid part of me still wants him. The boy he used to be before he became this monster.

I shove him with both hands. He doesn’t budge an inch.

“Stay away from me,” I whisper, but my voice trembles.

Ryder laughs, loud and obnoxious. “Too late for that, Mia. You wrote my name thirty-seven times. Thirty-seven! You’re obsessed.”

He skates backward a few feet, arms spread wide like he’s performing for the crowd.

“Listen up, Wolves fans! If anyone sees Mia touching herself while thinking about me, please report back. I like knowing my charity cases are staying dedicated!”

The entire place loses it.

I stand there frozen, tears streaming, sneakers soaked from the ice, my most humiliating secrets broadcast to the entire school. Ryder blows me a mocking kiss, then turns and skates away like he didn’t just destroy me in front of everyone.

But as he joins his teammates, I catch him glancing back once.

Not laughing anymore.

Just watching.

Like the game between us has only just begun.

And I have no idea how I’m going to survive him.