CHAPTER 5 ~ TAUNTING

​"Just for the season," Michael shrugged.

"Or until the heat dies down."

​I looked at Michael, really looked at him. The broad shoulders, the dark, mess of hair, the lips I’d just crushed my own against. The idea was suicide. It was lunacy.

​But then I thought about Liam’s face in the stands. I thought about the pity I’d seen in Chloe’s eyes. The way she didnt seem to care about the fact that I was looking at her anytime she had her tongue deep in Liam’s throat.

​"Axel?" McMillan asked, his voice low.

"What do you say?"

​I looked at Michael. He was waiting. He knew he had me.

​"Fine," I rasped, the word tasting like poison. "We fake it.”

“Thank you Rossi. That's actually a smart idea” Coach parted Michael on the shoulder, a small smile on his face.

Arrrrggghhh, I could believe he got approval from Coach.

“My pleasure, Coach. Now, why don't you go and meet your husband. I saw him outside waiting for you” Michael persuaded.

At the mention of his husband, coach's face blossomed into a smile. He walked away with a small bounce in his steps.

The door to the office clicked shut, leaving us in a heavy, suffocating silence.

For three seconds, I just stood there, staring at the wood grain of the door, waiting for my brain to catch up with the fact that I’d just signed my life away to the devil in a compression shirt.

​

I turned around, and the "devil" was leaning against Coach Gregory’s desk, looking as relaxed as if he’d just won the lottery.

​"You're a sociopath," I hissed, my voice low and vibrating with a tremor I couldn't suppress. "You didn't do this to help the team. You did this because you like watching me squirm."

​Michael tilted his head, a single dark lock of hair falling over his eye. "Can't it be both, Thorne? I’m a multitasker."

​"This is my life, Rossi! My reputation!" I stepped into his space, my gloved hand coming up to poke him hard in the chest. It was like hitting a brick wall. "I'm not... I don't do this. I don't date guys, and I definitely don't date you."

​Michael didn't flinch. He didn't even blink. He just looked down at my finger on his chest and then back up at me, his eyes dark and unreadable. "You did a pretty good job of 'doing this' about ten minutes ago. Your tongue felt pretty invested for a guy who's so concerned about his reputation."

​"I was proving a point!"

​"Point proven," he drawled, his voice dropping an octave, becoming that smooth, dangerous velvet that made the hair on my arms stand up. "You looked like a man possessed. Liam looked like he’d swallowed a puck. Mission accomplished."

​"And now I’m stuck with you? In what world does this end well?" I was pacing now, the small office feeling smaller by the second.

"The press is going to be all over us. My parents... god, my teammates. They’re going to think…"

​"They’re going to think exactly what I want them to think," Michael interrupted, suddenly standing straight.

He was two inches taller than me, and in the cramped office, he felt like a mountain. He took a step toward me, and I instinctively backed up until my shoulder blades hit the cold, hard plaster of the wall.

​He didn't stop. He moved into my personal space, his hands coming up to rest on the wall on either side of my head. I could smell the heat of him, that mix of sweat, ice, and something sharp and masculine that made my stomach do a slow, traitorous flip.

​"I'm the one doing you a favor, Axel," he whispered, leaning in until our noses were almost touching. "I’m giving you a way to walk into that party tonight with your head held high instead of looking like the guy who got dumped for his best friend. All you have to do is play along. Don't be so stiff. Relax."

​"I'm not stiff," I gasped, my chest heaving, my heart hammering against my ribs so hard I was sure he could feel it.

​"You're vibrating like you just run a marathon" Michael murmured, his eyes dropping to my mouth.

He leaned a fraction closer, his chest pressing against mine, the heat of his body searing through my gear. "Are you going to hit me, Thorne? Or are you going to kiss me again just to see if you still hate it?"

​I wanted to hit him. I wanted to shove him across the room. But my hands were trapped between our chests, and my breath was caught in my throat.

I stared at him, my vision tunneling, the anger and the humiliation and the strange, terrifying electricity between us blurring into one.

​Ahem..

​The sound was sharp, like a whistle blowing in a dead-silent rink.

​We both froze.

Michael didn't pull away immediately, he was too cool for that, but he turned his head slowly toward the door.

​Miller was standing there, his face an incredible shade of scarlet. He was holding his helmet in one hand and rubbing the back of his neck with the other.

​"Uh," Miller started, his eyes darting from Michael’s hands on the wall to the way our chests were literally plastered together.

"Coach... uh, Coach says the meeting room down the hall is open. The PR lady is there. He wants you both. Now. Like, before you... uh... finish whatever this is."

​I shoved Michael, hard this time. He let me, stepping back with a lazy, satisfied grin that made my blood boil.