A Deal With The King of Ice

NOAH’S POV

I knock on the door of my newly assigned dorm and wait, my foot tapping anxiously against the floor as I stare at the peephole, hoping my future roommate answers.

Even though I’ve done this more than three times already after transferring schools every time Mom decides to move us to another city, the one thing that never changes is the anxiety that settles in my chest whenever I have to stand outside a stranger’s door.

Except this time, it’s worse. I can’t even explain why.

A full minute passes with no response. I raise my hand to knock again, but just as my knuckles hover over the wood, the door swings open.

The sight in front of me knocks every coherent thought clean out of my head.

Holy shit.

The guy standing there arches a brow, looking me over with open impatience.

“Who’re you?”

“Uh… I…” I clear my throat, praying he didn’t catch me staring at his face and shirtless body for far longer than any sane person should.

Then again, with a face carved like that, he probably has women gawking at him everyday.

He’s ridiculously handsome, towering over me by a good 6’7ft, with a sharp jaw and dark tousled dark hair that begs my fingers to run through them.

His bluish-gray eyes are cold, almost predatory, and every inch of exposed skin is toned with the kind of muscles people spend years trying to build. 

Who even is he? My roommate’s boyfriend?

If that’s the case, then damn. The girl sure has incredible taste.

“My name’s Noah Turner.” I force a polite smile. “I just got assigned to this dorm.”

As I speak, my gaze accidentally drops below his waist before I quickly jerk it back up.

Wait a fucking minute…

His torso is hidden behind the half-open door, but the deep V-lines disappearing beneath it…

Oh my God. Is this guy naked?

“Sorry.” His voice is flat, almost bored. “I think you’ve got the wrong room.”

I look back at him, catching the unmistakable irritation on his face. A small frown forms as I glance down at the assignment sheet in my hand.

Upperclassman Apartments. Harper Hall. Room 9.

I read it twice before looking back up. “Isn’t this Room 9, Harper Hall?”

He shrugs. Something about that cold, indifferent attitude starts rubbing me the wrong way. 

Seriously, what the hell is his problem? Is being polite physically painful for him?

“Can I at least speak to whoever lives here?”

Before he can answer, another voice floats toward us.

“Baby, who’s this weirdo?”

A girl strolls over and wraps her arms around his waist from behind, pressing lazy kisses against his bare back.

I scoff inwardly. Did she seriously just call me a weirdo?

The girl’s wearing nothing but a bra and shorts, her hair adorably messy in that unmistakable ‘we-definitely-weren’t-sleeping’ kind of way.

Well… that certainly explains why he’s half naked.

“Nobody important,” he says without taking his eyes off me. Somehow, they look even colder now. “Like I said, you’ve got the wrong room.”

Before I can respond, he shuts the door right in my face. The loud bang echoes through the hallway.

I stand there for a second, staring at the closed door with my mouth hanging open like a complete idiot.

How fucking rude!

Swallowing the sting to my pride, I force myself to turn around and head back down the hallway toward the Resident Assistant’s office.

As I walk, I instinctively pull out my phone to check for any missed calls or messages from my boyfriend, Tyson.

There’s nothing there. Not even a single notification.

My lips press into a thin line.

I’ve been trying to reach him since I got here this morning. We’d agreed he’d meet me on campus and help me get settled once I begin the transfer processes, but he’s nowhere to be found.

I can’t wait to tell him about Mr. Rude-and-Grumpy back there.

Maybe he’s busy.

He plays for the university hockey team, and last week, he’d mentioned they were training harder than usual because of an upcoming game.

That has to be the reason for his silence, right? 

When I reach the RA’s office, I knock once.

“Hi! Come in.”

I push the door open to find the woman behind the desk watching what looks like an action movie on her laptop while casually eating chips straight from the bag.

The moment she notices me, she smiles.

“You again?” she says with an amused laugh. “Didn’t you just leave like five minutes ago? What can I help you with this time?”

I lower myself into the chair across from her. “Um… I think there might’ve been a mistake with my room assignment.”

Her eyebrows lift.

“Oh?”

“The person staying there is… a guy. I think I got assigned to the wrong room.”

She blinks, then cocks her head, looking genuinely confused as she pops another chip into her mouth.

“How’s that possible? Maybe I accidentally gave you the wrong room number. Let me check the system.”

I nod while she turns back to her computer. My own attention drifts back to my phone.

The silence from Tyson twists the knot of anxiety in my chest even tighter. I understand he’s busy, but he’s never ignored me for this long before. 

It’s been nearly a week since Mom and I moved here. I’ve double-texted, called, left voice notes, but he’s not responded to one.

How’s it possible for him to be too busy to spare thirty seconds for a text?

Trying to distract myself before my thoughts spiral any further, I look around the office instead.

University posters cover most of the walls, from sports banners and campus events to academic awards and scholarship announcements.

Then one particular poster catches my eye.

It’s a medium-sized promotional poster featuring a hockey player speeding across the ice, the photographer capturing him in perfect focus.

I pause as I take in the familiar sharp jawlines and the unmistakable intense stare of his bluish-gray eyes.

At the top, bold silver letters read:

MILES PRESLEY. KING OF ICE.

I blink more in the last minute than I have all day.

Hold on. Isn’t that the asshole from Room 9? He’s a famous hockey player? Then that would also mean Tyson’s his teammate…

“Oh-oh.” The woman suddenly speaks, pulling my attention back to her, her tone hesitant.

I look over. She’s staring at her computer screen like whatever's staring back at her is written in a foreign language. 

Her brows knit together. “What did you say your full name was again?”

“Noah Turner.” I smile politely. 

“Noah… Turner…” She repeats it slowly before looking back at the monitor. A second later, she looks up at me with an awkward smile.

“It seems we’ve got a bit of a problem.”

A tiny pit forms in my stomach.

“What kind of problem?"

She clears her throat. “Because Noah is a unisex name, the system accidentally registered you as male.”

Following that bombshell, silence engulfs us as we just stare at each other for what feels like an eternity.

“So… what exactly does that mean?” I ask, finally breaking the ice.

“It means Room 9 is technically your assigned room.”

“No, I get that.” I shake my head. “I’m asking what that means for me. You’re not seriously saying I’m expected to share an apartment with a guy.”

A nervous laugh slips out as I say that, but doesn’t laugh back at all.

“You’re kidding, right?” The smile slowly disappears from my face, and my pulse starts climbing.

“Please tell me you can just move me to another room.” My eyes beg, but she lets out a sympathetic sigh and leans back in her chair.

“Unfortunately, returning students selected their rooms months ago. Freshmen already received their housing assignments, and because you transferred late…”

She offers an apologetic smile.

“…you got the last available space. I’m afraid every other room is already full, Miss Turner.”

My jaw slowly falls open.

“But…” she continues quickly, “it’s a two-bedroom apartment, not a single shared room. The Housing Office will make sure everything is arranged properly so both of you have your own private bedrooms and can comfortably share the common areas.”

I barely hear the rest as my mind immediately flashes back to Mr. Rude-and-Grumpy.

Back to his permanent scowl, icy stare, that half-naked body and his gorgeous girlfriend.

I can already picture her barging into the apartment every other day, glaring at me like I’m trying to steal her man.

Fuck. This has to be the worst possible start to a new semester.

I open my mouth, ready to beg for literally any other option, when my phone suddenly vibrates in my hand.

It’s a text message from Tyson.

My heart leaps in relief, loosening a bit of the tight knot in my chest. I don’t spare a second before opening the message. 

But that feeling of relief instantly screeches to a cold halt the second the content of the message stares back at me. 

TY: I’m sorry, Noah. I’ve been thinking about us lately, and I think we should break up. I’m sorry.