ICE 4

"Isaac. Isaac Corres." He stood in the shadow of the man, feeling like a raw recruit under the gaze of an Alpha.

"Well, Isaac Corres, we're about to set the digital world on fire."

"Perfect. Derek went out of his way to tell me I could crawl into bed with any player in the league except you."

"In that case, you were the best night of my life." The lie hummed between them. It shouldn't have made Isaac feel like he was radiating heat, but it did.

"Agreed. A hell of an upgrade from him—"

Santiago didn't let him finish. He crashed his mouth down.

It wasn't a stranger's kiss. It was a claim. Heavy. Territorial. Teeth scraped against teeth. Santiago’s tongue was a forceful invasion, and Isaac met it with a desperate hunger of his own. Isaac’s palms hit the cool, expensive fabric of Santiago’s shirt, feeling the granite-hard abs vibrating with a low, predatory growl. He bunched the material in his fists, dragging the Enforcer closer until their bodies fused from chest to... damn.

The proof was there. Hard. Massive. Pressing into Isaac’s stomach with a thickness that made Derek Coleman look like a joke.

A wrecked moan escaped Isaac’s throat. Santiago answered with a rumbly chuckle that vibrated through Isaac’s entire frame. A bolt of pure, unadulterated heat flooded Isaac’s veins, erasing the arena, the crowd, the past—until Santiago tore his mouth away. Both of them were sucking in air like they’d just finished a triple-overtime shift.

"Sorry. It's been a while," Santiago wheezed, his eyes dark and blown out.

"It’s... it’s fine."

"Don't forget the sign." Santiago’s lips brushed Isaac’s one last time, a ghost of a promise.

Isaac looked down, unable to stop himself. The evidence was undeniable. Santiago Vega wasn't just a monster on the ice.

"It's huge," Isaac whispered, face burning. "I mean... the sign. It’ll have to be massive for you to see it from the cheap seats."

"I'll find you a better view."

"I'm with Camila Ortiz. I can't ditch my partner in the nosebleeds."

"Check with Will Call in thirty. I’ll handle it."

"Thanks. For everything."

"I think I’m the one in your debt."

"Why?"

"You might have just saved me from the scrap heap."

Santiago didn't explain. He turned, reaching for the arena door.

"If anyone asks, you dumped him for me," Santiago called out with a sharp wink. "Only a fool would let you walk, right?"

"Right," Isaac breathed. The door slammed. Suddenly, three reporters were on him.

"Are you with Vega?"

"How long has this been happening?"

"Is this a revenge play against Coleman?"

Isaac didn't say a word. He just smirked, adjusted his bag, and walked away. His phone was already in his hand, picking the shot where Santiago looked the most possessive.

Santiago hammered his locker shut. There was no way to know if Isaac was spinning a tale about the breakup, but the wolf in his gut believed every word.

"Thanks for the bag, Steve." Santiago took his duffel from the stunned guard. Steve looked like he’d seen a ghost. Two years on the job and he’d never seen the "Ice Beast" touch a fan, let alone maul one's mouth.

Santiago didn't care. Isaac wasn't a Warhawks fan—the kid was Bobcats to the bone. That loyalty should have annoyed him, but it just made the challenge better.

He hadn't planned the kiss. That was instinct. Pure, territorial instinct. And asking the kid to lie about dumping Derek? That was just good business.

His phone began vibrating. Notifications were screaming. Someone had leaked the parking lot footage.

Santiago ignored the noise. He found the equipment manager near the sharpening bench. "Jim. Tickets. Now."

Jim stared at him. "For tonight? Santiago, this is San Antonio. It’s a sell-out."

"And?"

"The Bobcats don't hand out favors to the visiting Enforcer."

"Buy them. Scalp them. I don't care about the price. Two seats. Glass-side."

"I'll see what I can do, but you're looking at a fortune."

"Pay it. And Jim? I need a spare jersey. My name. My number."

"Why?"

"Put it with the tickets."

Santiago needed to see that glitter sign. He needed it like he needed air.

"So? Did you get the shot?" Camila asked, leaning against a pillar in the lobby while finishing a slice of grease-soaked pizza.

Isaac flipped his phone around. The image was electric.

Camila’s jaw hit the floor. She dropped the crust into a trash can. "Holy hell, Isaac! You actually did it!"

"He did more than take a photo," Isaac muttered, his lips still tingling. "He kissed me."

"Shut up!"

"And I think half the press core caught it on video."

"This is legendary."

"I need supplies. Now."

"Supplies? Like... protection? Because he's a big guy—"

"No! Art supplies. I’m making a sign. Santiago’s idea."

Camila blinked. "First name basis already? He’s Derek’s worst nightmare."

"I don't care why they hate each other. I just want Derek to see me with the one man he told me to stay away from. I want to burn his world down."

"Burn his world? I love this for you."

"I need posterboard, stencils, and every ounce of glitter in San Antonio. Then we’re checking Will Call."

"Let’s move," Camila said, grabbing his arm.

An hour later, they were walking back toward the arena. Isaac clutched a massive piece of cardboard.

"Is it too much?" Isaac asked.

"No. It’s perfect. No profanity, so they’ll put it on the Jumbotron. Derek is going to lose his mind."

"Good. That’s the point."

"Telling the world his rival has a bigger stick? That’s high-tier psychological warfare, Isaac. The glitter makes it art."

"This glitter is a plague. It’s in my hair. It’s on my shirt." Isaac looked like a disco ball in the sunset.

"It’s a look," Camila laughed. "You’ve got a sparkle on your nose."

"Damn it." Isaac wiped his face, only to smear a dozen more silver flecks across his cheek.

"Leave it. The arena is filling up. We need to check those tickets."

The Will Call line was short. Isaac stepped up to the window where a woman with silver hair looked up over her glasses.

"Hi. Anything for Isaac Corres?"