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ICE AND ARROGANCE

ICE AND ARROGANCE

Games
last updateTerakhir Diperbarui : 2026-07-19
Oleh:  Atty. Catherine S. ParinoTamat
Bahasa: English
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Sinopsis

Steamy

First-Person POV

Sports

Protective

Two elite athletes. One brutal corporate machine. No room for error. Danica Jones is a fierce, talented hockey player who has fought her entire life to be taken seriously. When she shatters the glass ceiling to become the first and only woman on Harrison University’s elite Division I men’s hockey team, she expects resistance—but nothing prepares her for Captain Caleb Ruiz. Caleb is the arrogant, brooding, and undeniably gifted team captain who rules the ice with an iron fist. He makes it brutally clear he doesn’t want her there, yet his actions tell a different story. Under the guise of "fixing her stance," he deliberately traps her against the boards, his hard, gear-clad body pressing intimately into hers. The tension is immediate, electric, and dangerously forbidden. When a housing crisis forces Danica into the hockey house right next door to Caleb, their biting arguments spiral into raw, addictive lust. Through secret locker room hookups and risky away-game encounters, Caleb confronts a terrifying truth: he doesn’t hate that she’s on his team—he hates how desperately he needs her, both on the ice and in his bed. But the toxic games of the Harrison house run deep. Danica felt seen by an enemy, but Caleb's possessive grip threatens to turn her into just another acquired toy. Everything changes when Kane Harlow arrives. A powerhouse bound by an ironclad family legacy and a predatory corporate contract, Kane represents a completely different kind of danger—and salvation. Caught between the malicious obsession of a broken captain and the territorial, unyielding protection of a man willing to tear down the entire system to claim her, Danica must decide who to trust. Will the arrogant captain ruin her, or will a new vanguard help her take the throne?

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231 Bab
ONLY GIRL ON THE ICE
The Harrison University arena never slept. Even in the hush before practice, it breathed—cooling pipes humming low beneath the ice like a heartbeat, the faint echo of past games still clinging to the rafters. Tonight, that silence pressed against my ribs as I stood in the shadowed tunnel, skates already laced tight. My heart hammered so hard I could feel it in my throat. Eighteen years. That’s how long I had clawed my way here. Broom-closet locker rooms that smelled of mildew and doubt. Coaches who looked straight through me. Parents in the stands whispering that I was a distraction, a novelty, a girl who didn’t belong. I had broken records, swallowed every insult, and outskated boys who wanted me gone. And now I was the first woman to earn a roster spot on a Division I men’s team. I should have felt invincible. Instead, I felt exposed. I pushed off and glided onto the ice. The crisp crick of my blades slicing fresh glass echoed too loudly. Twenty-three heads turned in uniso
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CAPTAIN’S COLD WELCOME
The locker room smelled like every battle I had ever fought and lost in silence—stale sweat, worn leather, and the sharp bite of menthol muscle rub. I waited in the dim hallway as long as I could, listening to the heavy footsteps and low voices fade until only the hum of the ventilation system remained. My hands still trembled from the memory of Caleb’s body pressed against mine on the ice. I needed these stolen minutes alone. I needed to peel away the armor without twenty-three pairs of eyes reminding me that I was the intruder here. I slipped inside. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting harsh shadows across the wooden benches and metal lockers. My skin still felt too warm, too tight. Every shift of my compression layer brought back the ghost of his gloved hand on my waist, the steady drum of his heartbeat against my spine. It had been nothing more than a stance correction. Yet it had carved itself into me like a scar I couldn’t ignore. I sat down and began unlacin
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STANCE CORRECTION
The gravel parking lot bit into my shoes as I stood motionless under the sodium glow of a single streetlamp, the blue light of my phone still burning behind my eyelids. The housing message felt heavier than any hit I had ever taken. I was twelve the first time I truly understood what this sport would cost me. My father had signed me up for the boys’ league after our local girls’ program lost its funding. I still remembered the damp-wood-and-ammonia smell of that old rink, the way the boys’ laughter had chased me onto the ice like a pack of wolves. Their captain, Ryan, had jabbed his stick toward me and sneered, “Go back to figure skating with the pretty ones.” I didn’t cry. I scored three goals and leveled him so hard against the boards that he actually sobbed. That day taught me two truths I still carried like scars: I was good enough to play with the men, and they would never let me forget I wasn’t one of them. High school brought more of the same—dominating co-ed tournament
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BOARDS AND BODY HEAT
Sleep refused to come that night. Every time I closed my eyes, the arena shadows returned—cold glass against my back, the overwhelming presence of Caleb Ruiz pressing close, his breath warm against my ear. My body stayed restless, caught in a fever I couldn’t name and refused to indulge. Twice I found my hand drifting lower, seeking relief from the tension he had wound so tightly inside me, but I stopped each time. I would not give him that power, even in the privacy of my own mind. At 4:00 AM I gave up and stood under a freezing shower until my teeth chattered. The cold did nothing to quiet the heat still lingering beneath my skin. Morning arrived too soon. I dragged my duffel bag across campus to 114 Oak Street, the off-campus hockey house. The two-story building loomed like a fortress built for warriors—peeling paint on the porch, faded team banners in the windows, and an unmistakable scent of pizza boxes, laundry, and unrelenting male energy drifting through the screen door.
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LOCKER ROOM GLARE
Dinner at the hockey house felt like walking onto thin ice. The long wooden table vibrated with loud voices, clattering forks, and the kind of easy chaos that came from twenty-three guys who had known one another for years. Riot and Tank traded stories that grew more ridiculous with every retelling. Liam flashed me occasional lopsided grins that lingered a beat too long. Ethan, the rookie, kept stealing wide-eyed glances like he still couldn’t believe I was real. At the head of the table, Caleb ruled in silence. He didn’t laugh. He didn’t join the banter. He simply watched. Every few minutes his grey eyes found me across the dishes and half-empty plates, heavy and unreadable. Each look pressed against my skin like a weight I couldn’t shake. The food tasted like ash. My muscles still ached from the afternoon’s brutal drills, and every shift in my chair brought back the memory of his body pinning mine against the boards—the controlled strength, the heat, the way the world had narr
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FIRST CUT THREAT
Morning practice hit like a collision I couldn’t dodge. I stepped onto the ice still carrying the ghost of last night—the kitchen counter at my back, Caleb’s overwhelming presence behind me, the way the air between us had felt thick enough to choke on. The thin walls of the house had betrayed us both. I had heard every restless shift of his bed, every low, strained breath. I had lain awake long after, heart pounding, fighting the pull that made me want to press my ear closer to the drywall. Now, in the cold light of day, Caleb was ice incarnate. He ran drills with ruthless efficiency, voice sharp as a blade cutting across the rink. His eyes barely touched me—except for the rare moments they did. Then the look was heavier, darker, loaded with everything we had left unsaid in that kitchen. Resentment. Frustration. A storm he clearly hated himself for feeling. Coach Harlan gathered us at center ice, breath fogging in the frigid air. “Wolves scrimmage in three days,” he announ
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SWEAT AND TENSION
The suicides felt endless. Each sprint down the ice tore at my lungs, my skates carving desperate lines into the glassy surface with jagged screeches that bounced off the empty rafters. Sweat traced fiery paths down my spine, soaking through my jersey until the fabric clung cold and heavy against my skin. Every pivot burned. Every breath tasted like exhaustion and memory. I was fifteen again in those flashes—stealing ice time after the boys’ league finished, skating alone under dim lights because my coach had told me I wasn’t ready for advanced drills. “Girls don’t hit the same, Danica. You’ll just slow them down.” So I stayed late, night after night, until my toes went numb and my lungs tasted metallic. I took illegal checks from players twice my size who wanted to teach the intruder a lesson. I went home with split lips and bruised ribs, hiding the pain from my mother so she wouldn’t pull me out. But I always returned. Pain on the ice had never broken me—it only sharpened my edg
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THE HOUSING CRISIS FORCES
The strategy meeting stretched into the evening, the film room thick with stale coffee and unspoken tension. Kane Harlow’s latest taunt glowed on the projector screen—our roster with my name circled in violent red. “Ruiz added a cheerleader. We’ll have her crying by the end of the first. Weak link incoming. Watch us break her.” No one spoke. The rookies shifted. The veterans glanced sideways. Caleb sat at the head of the table like carved stone, knuckles white where they gripped the edge. He offered no defense. No words of support. Just that stony silence that cut deeper than any insult from our rival. By the time I reached my temporary dorm, old ghosts walked with me. Sixteen years old, standing in a cold hallway while the boys’ varsity team voted to bench me for “team chemistry.” College recruiters laughing at my stats before looking at my face. Talented, but a liability. Every battle of my life had been the same war. A neon-yellow notice waited on my door. Housing Assignm
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MOVING INTO THE HELL HOUSE
Dragging the last duffel bag up the creaking stairs of 114 Oak Street felt like crossing into enemy territory with nothing but stubborn pride as armor. The house carried its own atmosphere—stale beer, worn leather, and that heavy, electric undercurrent of masculine energy I had been pushing against since I was eight years old. That was the year the local girls’ league folded. My father, a former minor-league enforcer with hands like scarred oak, had looked at me with equal parts pride and fear when I begged him to let me try the boys’ league. “They hit hard, Dani. You sure?” I was sure. I took my first legal body check at nine and got up smiling, blood on my tongue and fire in my chest. By twelve I was the only girl left, earning the nickname “Ice Breaker” after one perfectly timed hip check shattered a bully’s confidence—and his ribs. But the real war began at fourteen when a rival coach told my father I was “ruining the boys’ development.” When I refused to quit, my own team
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CAPTAIN’S BEDROOM NEXT DOOR
The walls might as well have been made of paper. I lay in the dark of my new room, staring at shadows shifting across the ceiling, every sound from the other side of the drywall pulling me tighter. The faint creak of Caleb’s mattress as he turned. The slow rustle of sheets. A deep, frustrated exhale that sounded like it carried the weight of the entire season. Sleep refused to come. My mind kept replaying the old battles—the night I was seventeen and the opposing captain spent three periods whispering the same poison Kane Harlow was now spreading online. I answered with a hat trick and a tunnel fight after the final buzzer. My father had watched from the stands with terrified pride in his eyes, later telling me I didn’t have to prove anything to anyone but myself. He was wrong. I always had something to prove. And now Kane Harlow had turned his sister’s tragedy into a personal war against anyone he saw as weak. He didn’t just want to beat me. He wanted to erase me. The ache
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