CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 7

TYLER

“Tyler, tell me you didn’t just lose.”

I dropped my stick into my bag and shot Malik a look. “Shut up.”

Liam groaned loud enough for the entire rink to hear. “You were our only hope, man.”

“You guys are being dramatic.”

“We had money on you,” Malik said, pointing accusingly.

“Money?”

“Yeah,” Liam cut in, “we put fifty each on you taking Mason down.”

I blinked. “You bet on me?”

“Of course,” Malik said, all righteous indignation. “You’re our boy. You were supposed to humiliate him. Instead—”

“Instead, I humiliated you,” a voice said smoothly from behind.

We all turned. Mason was walking past, gear slung over one shoulder, hair damp with sweat, smirk firmly in place.

He didn’t stop. Didn’t even slow. Just let his eyes meet mine for half a second before he kept moving.

“Asshole,” Malik muttered.

“Gorgeous asshole,” Liam corrected.

“I didn’t hear that,” I said.

“Pay up, boys.”

We looked over to see Avery standing there, palm out, grin wide.

Malik’s brows furrowed. “Pay up for what?”

“I bet on Mason,” Avery said, shameless.

“You—” Liam started, eyes narrowing.

Avery wiggled his fingers. “Don’t make me chase you.”

With matching groans, Malik and Liam dug out their wallets, each slapping fifty into Avery’s hand.

“You’re dead to me,” Malik told him.

Avery pocketed the bills. “You love me.”

By the time we hit the breakfast hall, I was starving enough to forget the humiliation.

The smell alone was dangerous — bacon, pancakes, fresh coffee. Long tables were piled with plates, pitchers, and baskets of bread.

“God bless retreats,” Liam said, grabbing a stack of pancakes like he hadn’t eaten in days.

“God bless whoever made this bacon,” Malik said, stuffing three strips into his mouth at once.

I loaded my plate with eggs, toast, and enough sausage to feed a small village, sliding into a seat between Malik and Liam. Across from us, Avery sat next to Damien, with Caleb on the end.

“This is the life,” Damien said, leaning back in his chair. “No coaches. No drills. Just men, food, and freedom.”

“And money,” Avery added. “Let’s not forget money.”

“Sex,” Damien said, nodding like it was the most important thing.

“Food,” Liam countered, mouth full.

“Sleep,” Caleb said quietly, and somehow it got the loudest agreement.

The conversation spiraled from there.

Damien started telling a story about the time he almost got arrested in Vegas. Liam argued that Miami was better for trouble. Malik bragged about the “friend” who once flew him to Italy for a weekend — which Liam immediately called a sugar daddy situation.

“It wasn’t a sugar daddy,” Malik said.

“Did they pay for your flights?” Liam asked.

“Yes, but—”

“Did they pay for your hotel?” Damien cut in.

“Also yes—”

“Sugar daddy,” Avery said with finality, stealing the last slice of bacon off Malik’s plate.

I was halfway through my second helping when I noticed Malik’s eyes flick across the table.

He wasn’t looking at me. Or Damien. Or Caleb.

He was staring at Avery.

Specifically, at Avery licking syrup off his thumb.

And Malik’s gaze was… lingering.

I bit back a grin.

“So,” I said casually, “how’s the bacon taste, Malik?”

He blinked, turning back to me. “Uh. Good.”

“Really good?”

“Yeah?” His brow furrowed. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“No reason,” I said, sipping my coffee.

Across from us, Avery raised a brow but didn’t comment — just smirked a little, like maybe he’d noticed too.

The plates kept coming, the laughter kept rolling, and for the first time since this retreat started, I actually relaxed.

Until Mason walked in.

He didn’t sit at our table. Didn’t even look my way. Just strolled to the buffet, loaded a plate, and took a seat two tables over with a couple of the Storm guys.

But that smirk was back.

And somehow, I knew it was for me.

I’d just finished my coffee and was debating a third plate of pancakes when a shadow fell over the table.

“Reyes.”

I looked up. Mason stood there, plate in hand, wearing that same smug expression that made me want to commit a felony.

“What?”

“Go dress. Something nice. We’re going out tonight.”

I laughed once, short and sharp. “Hard pass.”

“It’s not a request. It’s your bet payment.”

I opened my mouth to tell him where he could shove that, then shut it again.

The bet.

Right.

Goddamn it.

I groaned so loudly Malik turned from his plate. “What’s wrong with you now?”

“Nothing,” I muttered, shoving back my chair.

Mason grinned like the devil himself. “Seven sharp. Don’t keep me waiting, pretty boy.”

Back in the room, I slammed my bag onto the bed and went straight to the bathroom. The faster I got this over with, the sooner it would be done.

I stripped, stepped under the hot spray, and tried not to think about the night ahead.

Big mistake. My mind went there anyway — the way he’d probably smirk all night, the way everyone would be watching, the way he’d twist every word into something suggestive.

I groaned again, this time under the water.

I came out ten minutes later, towel slung low on my hips, still rubbing my hair dry.

And froze.

Mason was standing there. Half-naked. Only a pair of black dress pants hung low on his hips, his chest bare and still damp from his own shower.

My mouth opened. Nothing came out. Then—

“What the hell!” I yelped, actually yelped, like some bad sitcom character.

He turned slowly, like he had all the time in the world. “Relax, Reyes. Just getting dressed.”

“Get dressed somewhere else!”

He stepped forward. I stepped back.

One step. Another. Until my back hit the wall.

“You’re jumpy, it's my room you know.” he murmured, eyes flicking down to the towel. “What are you hiding under there?”

I clutched the edge tighter. “Try it and lose a hand.”

He braced one arm on the wall beside my head, leaning in close enough that I could feel the heat from his skin.

“Careful,” he said softly. “I always collect my wins.”

His free hand reached toward the towel.

I shoved him hard in the chest. “Not happening.”

He laughed — deep, amused, infuriating — as I darted to my side of the room, yanked on the first shirt and jeans I could find, and practically bolted for the door.

I found Malik, Liam, Avery, and Damien lounging near the lounge area, a mix of coffee cups and empty plates scattered on the table between them.

Malik was… moving.

Not dancing exactly. More like…

I blinked.

Oh no.

He was doing the Mingi hip-thrust.

The full, unapologetic, pelvis-to-air, k-pop-stage special.

Avery was watching him like a cat watching a laser pointer. Lips slightly parted. Teeth catching his bottom lip.

I almost gagged. “Jesus Christ, not in public.”

Malik didn’t even stop. “What? I’m just—”

“You’re just thirst-trapping Avery,” Liam said dryly, sipping his coffee.

“Don’t blame me I stan them,” Malik shot back, grinning, still thrusting like he was on stage in Seoul.

“No one is blaming you” Avery muttered, though his eyes didn’t move from Malik’s hips.

I sank into a chair, rubbing my temples. “I hate all of you.”

Damien smirked. “What’s wrong, Reyes? Someone steal your towel?”

My head snapped up. “Shut up.”

I was still trying to erase the image of Malik doing pelvic thrusts from my brain when the words just slipped out.

“So… we’re rivals. How come we’re sitting here vibing like this?”

The table went quiet for a beat.

Malik shrugged. “Why not?”

“Because we’re supposed to hate each other.”

Damien snorted. “Correction — you and Mason are supposed to hate each other.”

I frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means,” Damien said, spearing a grape with his fork, “the rest of us don’t have beef. We talk at events. We follow each other on I***a. Our little blood feud has never gone past the ice. It's y'all that have a problem with each other.”

Avery nodded. “It’s true. Honestly, we just watch for the entertainment value.”

“Entertainment value,” I repeated flatly.

Liam leaned back in his chair. “Yeah, man. It’s not like the Hawks and the Storm are sworn enemies. It’s you and Grant. The rest of us are cool.”

“Exactly,” Malik said. “We’re at a retreat. We’re supposed to have fun. Chill. Party. Eat way too much breakfast food.”

“And drink,” Damien added.

“Obviously drink,” Malik said.

I glanced around the table. “So… you’re telling me all this time, I’ve been thinking it’s this huge rivalry, and it’s just me and Mason?”

Everyone nodded in unison.

“Pretty much,” Avery said, biting into a muffin.

I slumped back in my chair. “That’s… depressing.”

Before anyone could respond, the door opened and both head coaches walked in.

“Alright, gentlemen,” Coach Allen from the Hawks said, clapping his hands. “Listen up.”

Groans rippled across the room.

“You’ve got today to relax,” Coach West from the Storm said. “Starting tomorrow, there’s a schedule.”

Malik raised his hand. “Please tell me it’s a schedule of naps.”

“No,” Coach Allen said. “Morning drills at the rink, conditioning in the afternoon, strategy meetings after dinner.”

Damien made a face. “I thought this was a vacation.”

“It’s a retreat,” Coach West corrected. “Bonding time. Training time. You don’t get to sit around all month stuffing your faces.”

“We’re literally doing that right now,” Avery said.

“That ends tonight,” Coach Allen said firmly. “You’ll get your individual assignments later.”

More groans.

“Can we at least sleep in?” Liam asked.

“No,” both coaches said in unison.

When they finally left, Damien dropped his fork with a sigh. “Well. That killed the vibe.”

“Guess we party tonight,” Malik said, grinning. “If tomorrow’s hell, we might as well sin first.”

From across the room, I caught Mason’s eye. He was leaning back in his chair, arms crossed, that damn smirk playing at his lips again.

And I knew exactly who planned to make sure tonight was trouble.