Traumatized By A Pencil

Lily's POV

There were several ways a person could respond after accidentally walking into a room and discovering a completely naked stranger.

Screaming felt reasonable. Passing out had merit. Pretending temporary blindness had suddenly developed also ranked high on the list.

Instead, I stood there staring for a horrifying second too long before survival instincts returned with the force of humiliation.

“Oh my God!”

I turned so quickly my shoulder brushed the wall, a sudden tremor seizing my limbs.

“I am so sorry,” I blurted, heat climbing all the way to my ears.

I planted my attention firmly on the door in front of me, because looking anywhere else felt dangerous. Mortifying. Spiritually damaging.

Behind me, I expected to hear yells of rage. Instead, silence stretched.

Gradually rustling came, and I heard the shifting of fabric.

Then something metallic clinked against another surface. What was going on?

I was curious to glimpse over my shoulder, but not that curious, so I kept my eyes fixed ahead.

“Look, I didn’t know anyone was in here,” I began to talk again, the words tumbling out as a nervous flutter trapped itself in my chest.

"I didn't mean to barge in here. I was hiding from somebody and I thought the room was empty, which obviously it wasn’t."

My answer?

More rustling. Not a single word and it made everything worse. A thousand horrible possibilities crowded my head at once.

Maybe he was furious. Maybe embarrassed. Maybe calling security. Maybe wondering why unstable women wandered into rooms like raccoons searching for shelter.

But then footsteps sounded behind me.

It sounded slow, and every muscle in my body drew taut. I could feel an awareness crawling up my spine as the air between us grew impossibly thick.

The room suddenly felt smaller. Hotter.

Then his voice arrived from somewhere above me. “What kind of sick game are you trying to pull?”

I blinked. Excuse me?

Carefully, I moved my eyes. Seeing the stranger was finally in clothes—a hockey uniform, to be precise—I slowly turned.

My back pressed against the wall as I faced him.

Immediately, green eyes met mine. I noticed his sharp jaw, dirty-blond damp hair, and a face annoyingly attractive for someone whose evening I might have ruined.

He was towering over me with enough irritation to fuel a natural disaster.

“I’m sorry?” I repeated, because I didn't quite understand his statement.

“You heard me.” His mouth flattened, his jaw hardening into a rigid, defensive block.

“Whatever weird little stunt this is, I’m not interested. A puck bunny sneaking into a star's private room isn't new. But have some fucking dignity.”

He thought I was a puck bunny? I knew little about hockey, but from his tone, that title wasn't something to be proud of.

“You can leave now, bitch,” he continued, and my ears rang.

Bitch?!

“I’m not involved in whatever fantasy you've built up in your head. Leave," the asshole grunted.

Standing there, his words replaying in my head, my humiliation evaporated so fast it deserved applause.

Anger stepped in beautifully.

“Okay,” I said slowly. “First of all, I already apologized.” I tried to retain my decorum.

But he wasn't making it easier as he rolled his eyes.

“Second of all, you being naked in an arena seems wildly irresponsible.”

“I was showering before my match. I have a fucking right to be clean!" He yelled, veins dancing on his neck.

This time, I rolled my eyes.

“Your match?” I snorted.

“Yes,” he said, his voice turning dry.

“Believe it or not, hockey players occasionally shower.”

Oh wow.

He was a hockey player. The blaring number 17 on his jersey, the helmet, and the ridiculously bulky shoulders didn't give him away at all.

I would’ve loved to bash him. But at this point, I was exhausted.

“Fine,” I sighed. “Then sorry. Again. My mistake. But maybe ease up before accusing random women of launching some elaborate seduction plot.”

His expression remained unimpressed. “You expect me to believe this was accidental?"

Talking to this guy was like yelling at a brick wall. I turned to the door, reaching for the handle.

“Anyway, you’ll never have to see me again, so congratulations.”

I pulled the door open, then paused.

He deserved at least a little suffering, right?

Turning back, I forced my features into a mask of sweet innocence and offered him a pleasant smile.

“Also, for the record, I didn’t really see much.”

His brows lowered, a dark shadow falling across his eyes. “What?”

I shrugged. “Hard to be traumatized by a pencil.”

The tight-jawed outrage spreading across his face nearly restored my faith in humanity. I desperately slipped out the door and slammed it before he recovered enough to speak.

For the first time all evening, I almost smiled. Almost.

Because unfortunately, my mother still existed, and judging by the six unread texts waiting on my phone, she had no plans of disappearing.

Premium seating came with unnecessarily soft chairs;it wasn't so bad. Mom spotted me first.

“There you are! I’ve been calling you.”

Ethan rose from his seat with a warm smile. Tall, expensive suit, annoyingly pleasant. Everything about him screamed wealthy man who probably owns boats.

“Lily,” he said warmly. “Glad you made it.”

I gave the polite smile of someone participating against her will. Mom narrowed her eyes. “Where did you even go?”

“Walking,” I responded, clearly not in the mood to speak.

I ignored the looks they exchanged and dropped into the empty seat beside Mom.

The game resumed moments later, and unfortunately, that asshole from the room appeared on the ice.

He skated out like arrogance had developed legs. Broad shoulders. Annoyingly familiar green eyes.

At the sight of him, my stomach dropped. The arena erupted, the crowd rising to their feet as a deafening chant rolled through the stadium.

“GRAY-SON! GRAY-SON! GRAY-SON!”

I sank deeper into my chair, disgust pressing me deeper. Naked Asshole was popular?

You had to be kidding me.

“He’s incredible,” Ethan said, leaning forward with his hands gripping the railing in excitement.

My attention shifted as the giant screen flashed a name: Grayson Vance

Fantastic.

As if it wasn't torture to hear his name repeatedly, he played infuriatingly well.

He was fast, sharp, and impossible to ignore. Grayson moved across the ice with a lethal fluidity, weaving past defenders before scoring with effortless confidence that made people leap from their seats screaming.

Ethan nearly shouted himself hoarse.

“That’s my boy!”

My head snapped toward him, a spike of alarm freezing my breath. My boy?

No. No one deserved this level of cosmic punishment. Still, Ethan kept cheering while Grayson continued acting like the undisputed king of Madison Square Garden.

Meanwhile, I sat there simmering, because fate had chosen the most irritating man alive and made him talented too.

The game finally ended and I stood immediately. “Can we go now?”

Mom exchanged a loaded glance with Ethan. “Not yet.”

“What do you mean, not yet?”

“There’s someone we want you to meet,” Mom said, her voice dropping into a carefully guarded softness.

Dread settled deeply into my bloodstream.

“No, seriously, if this turns into some weird bonding exercise—”

“It won’t,” Ethan said, though his eyes crinkled with a suspiciously amused warmth. Which made me trust him even less.

Ten minutes later, I found myself dragged into a VIP lounge full of expensive furniture and decorative drinks.

Ethan looked excited—unsettlingly so. Mom kept watching me, tracking my expressions as if she expected fireworks.

Then the door opened.

And in walked Grayson Vance.

Ethan waved him over with enough enthusiasm to embarrass everyone involved.

“Grayson!”

What kind of fanboy did Mom get herself tangled with? She genuinely wanted to marry this guy? Did they drag me here for a meet and greeting!?

The thought shattered when Ethan turned toward me, his face glowing with pride.

“Lily,” he said, “I want you to meet my son.”

Instantly, silence swallowed me whole. My brain stalled, then restarted, then crashed entirely.

Whilst I was having a meltdown, standing three feet away—looking just as frozen and utterly horrified as I felt—was the naked asshole I had just insulted.

And apparently, my future stepbrother.