XX2

The neon red lights of the party pulsed like a rhythmic heartbeat, a sharp contrast to the biting chill of the Austin, Texas night. Inside the Riverside Duplex, the atmosphere was thick with the scent of pine, rain, and the underlying musk of the Austin Wolves hockey team.

Kol Reyes adjusted the collar of his shirt, feeling exposed. His roommate, Valeria Cruz, had practically forced him into the outfit—a charcoal button-down that was tapered perfectly to his lean, athletic frame, paired with dark slacks and polished boots.

"I look like I’m trying too hard, Valeria," Kol muttered, squinting at his reflection. He’d left his glasses at the apartment, and the world was a soft, colorful blur.

"You look like a man who finally remembered he’s twenty and gorgeous," Valeria retorted, fluffing his dark, wavy hair. "Stop worrying about the Austin State Library for one night. You’re a dancer; you’re supposed to be seen."

Kol sighed, his strong will finally buckling under her persistence. "I can barely see three feet in front of me."

"Then stay close to the bar," she laughed, dragging him toward the center of the chaos.

The party was a victory celebration—the Wolves had apparently dominated the ice earlier that evening. Kol accepted a drink from Valeria, the amber liquid burning a trail of warmth down his throat. He wasn't a regular at these scenes; his life was a disciplined loop of the Sunrise Dance Studio and his Food Technology studies. But as the music—a heavy, driving beat—took hold, the dancer in him took over.

He moved to a corner near the stairs where the air was slightly thinner. Closing his eyes, he let his body sway, the grace of a performer bleeding into every motion. He didn't see the crowd, but he felt the shift in the room's energy—the way the air seemed to crackle when a new group arrived.

Across the room, Diego Alvarez had arrived. The captain’s presence was like a physical weight, his quiet intensity drawing eyes even before he spoke. But Diego’s gaze was locked on the man by the stairs.

Kol felt a presence before he heard it. A shadow fell over him, smelling of expensive leather and the crisp, ozone scent of the rink.

"Hi," a deep, gravelly voice vibrated through the music. "It’s a pleasure to meet you."

Kol stopped moving and looked up. The man in front of him was a handsome blur—strong jawline, piercing eyes that seemed to glow in the red light, and a smile that felt like an invitation to trouble.

"Is it?" Kol raised an eyebrow, his warm heart beating a little faster. "You haven't even heard my name yet."

"I don't need a name to know I'm looking at the best thing in this house," Diego replied.

Kol felt a flush creep up his neck. He wasn't used to such blunt, focused attention. "I'm just here because my roommate thinks I'm too dedicated to my textbooks."

Diego stepped closer, his hand resting on the banister behind Kol, effectively boxing him in. "Well, I owe your roommate a drink. I’m Diego."

"Kol."

"A dancer, right?" Diego’s voice was hushed, intimate. "You move like you own the floor."

"Something like that," Kol breathed. The alcohol and the proximity were making his head spin. He reached out, his fingers trailing tentatively over the leather of Diego’s jacket. "And you? You're one of the 'Wolves' everyone is howling about?"

"I’m the one who handles the puck," Diego murmured, leaning in until his breath tickled Kol’s ear. "And I’ve been told I’m very good with my hands. Want to get out of here?"

The invitation was electric. Kol knew he should say no, should think about his early morning shift at the Golden Crust Cafe, but the wolfish charm of the man in front of him was undeniable.

"Lead the way," Kol said.

The walk to the Alvarez Residence was a blur of cold air and the heavy weight of Diego's jacket around Kol’s shoulders. Inside, the house was surprisingly orderly—none of the typical athlete clutter.

The moment the door clicked shut, the politeness vanished. Diego pressed Kol against the wall, his mouth finding Kol’s in a kiss that tasted of heat and hunger. There was a primal edge to it, something deeper than a standard hookup. Diego lifted him effortlessly, Kol’s legs locking around the athlete’s waist as they moved toward the bedroom.

In the dim light of the room, clothes were discarded with frantic hands. Diego was a marvel of sculpted muscle, his skin hot to the touch. When he moved over Kol, his movements were reverent yet demanding.

"You're incredible," Diego growled against his skin, his hands mapping Kol’s body with a possessive touch.

The night became a frantic, beautiful collision. Without the barrier of a condom—and both confirming they were safe—the intimacy felt raw and unfiltered. Diego moved with the same precision he used on the ice, driving Kol toward a shattering release that left them both breathless and tangled in the sheets.

Afterward, as the adrenaline faded, Diego let out a long breath, staring at the ceiling. "Wow. That was... something else."

He slipped out of bed to clean up in the bathroom, leaving Kol alone in the quiet dark. Kol reached for a tissue on the nightstand, feeling a sudden pang of loneliness. He had expected a moment of connection, maybe a lingering touch, but the "star" seemed to have retreated back into his quiet intensity.

When Diego returned, he climbed back into bed and was asleep within minutes, his heavy arm draped over Kol.

Kol stared at the ceiling, the silhouette of the Austin skyline visible through the window. He had come for a distraction, and he’d found a storm. He decided he would stay for a few hours—just long enough to let the alcohol fade—and then he would slip back to the Riverside Duplex before the sun came up.

Unless, of course, the Wolf asked him to stay.