CHAPTER 5

Soren’s back hit the wall with a dull thud. JR’s body caged him in, that damn smirk hovering too close, too confident.

The fluorescent lights of the practice facility hallway buzzed overhead like a warning.

“How much of me are you allowed to keep?” Soren repeated, his voice low and furious. “You just told my GM and my coach that I’m yours like I’m some fucking traded player. You don’t get to renegotiate in front of them!”

JR’s thumb continued its slow, maddening stroke across Soren’s bottom lip. “I just did.” His gray eyes were dark and intense. “And you didn’t stop me.”

Soren’s chest heaved.

He hated how right JR was. He could have shoved him away, could have denied everything in that office, instead, he’d stood there and let JR stake his claim like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“This is spiraling,” Soren said. “The press conference tomorrow, my teammates are going to lose their minds. We have a game in two days against Calgary. I can’t be thinking about your dick while I’m trying to lead my team.”

JR’s smirk deepened. “Why not? You did pretty well last night while thinking about it.” He leaned in, lips brushing Soren’s ear. “I can still hear you moaning my name, Jeremy.”

Heat flooded Soren’s face. He grabbed JR’s wrist and yanked his hand away from his mouth. “Stop. This isn’t funny. My entire career could blow up because of one stupid deal and your ego.”

“It stopped being just a deal the second you came on my cock, Captain.” JR’s voice dropped, losing some of the arrogance and gaining raw honesty. “You felt it too. Don’t lie to me not after last night.”

Soren looked away. The worst part was the ache in his chest that had nothing to do with the bruises. “Even if I did… it doesn’t matter. We’re rivals, and different teams. This ends in thirty days. That was the agreement.”

JR stepped back slightly, giving him an inch of space, but his expression hardened. “Then let’s make a new agreement right here and right now.”

Soren raised an eyebrow. “You’re serious.”

“Dead serious.” JR crossed his arms, his muscles flexing under his shirt. “Thirty days becomes sixty. More if we both want it. You stay at my place when our schedules line up and no more hiding and when we’re on the ice? We still bring it, full rivalry, full contact but off the ice…” He reached out and tugged Soren’s hoodie collar aside, exposing the dark hickey he’d left. “You’re mine.”

Soren’s breath stuttered. “You want us to keep hating each other publicly while fucking in private? That’s insane.”

“It’s hot,” JR countered. “And it’s honest, I’ve wanted to wreck you for years, Calder. Not just your body, I want to crack that perfect captain armor and see what’s underneath.” His voice softened just a fraction. “I think there’s more there than you let anyone see.”

For a long moment, Soren just stared at him. The hallway was quiet, but the weight of everything; leaked photos, the upcoming press conference, his team’s expectations pressed down on him.

“What if I say no?” he asked quietly.

JR’s eyes flashed with challenge. “Then you walk away right now. Break the original deal. I’ll tell the press it was nothing but post-game adrenaline and we go back to trying to murder each other on the ice.” He stepped closer again. “But we both know you won’t. Because you want this as badly as I do.”

Soren swallowed hard. “You’re such an arrogant bastard.”

“Yeah,” JR said, smiling. “But I’m your arrogant bastard for the next thirty days… at minimum.”

Before Soren could respond, footsteps echoed down the hall. Mitch Callahan, his assistant captain, rounded the corner and stopped dead.

“Soren? What the fuck, man?” Mitch’s eyes bounced between them, widening at how close they were standing. “The whole team’s group chat is exploding. Someone said you left with Draven last night. Please tell me it’s bullshit.”

Soren opened his mouth, but JR beat him to it.

“It’s not,” JR said smoothly. “We’re working some things out.”

Mitch looked like he’d been slapped. “Working things out? With him? The guy who almost broke your ribs last night?”

Soren stepped forward, putting a hand on Mitch’s shoulder. “It’s complicated. I’ll explain to the team later, just… trust me. It won’t affect how I play.”

Mitch stared at him for a long beat, then shook his head. “You’re the captain. But if this is some kind of mind game, Draven, I swear to God…”

“It’s not,” JR said, surprisingly serious. “I don’t play games with him, not anymore.”

Mitch gave Soren one last disappointed look before walking away, muttering under his breath.

The silence that followed felt heavier.

Soren turned back to JR. “See? This is already messing with my team.”

“Your team will survive,” JR replied. “Question is… will you?” He cupped Soren’s face with both hands, forcing their eyes to meet. “Sixty days, Soren. Give me sixty days. Let me show you what this could be when we stop pretending we only want to destroy each other.”

Soren’s heart pounded so hard he could hear it in his ears. He searched JR’s face, looking for the trap, the punchline. All he found was raw hunger and something deeper he wasn’t ready to name.

“Sixty days,” Soren finally whispered. “But if this blows up in our faces…”

“Then we deal with it together,” JR finished. He leaned in and kissed Soren. Shockingly tender for a man known for brutality on the ice.

When they pulled apart, JR’s forehead rested against his.

“Now,” JR murmured, voice rough again, “tell me what you’re really afraid of, Captain. Because it’s not the press and it’s not your team.”

Soren closed his eyes, breathing shakily. The truth clawed its way up his throat.

“I’m afraid that after sixty days… I won’t want you to let me go.”

JR’s grip tightened. A slow, dangerous smile spread across his face.

“Good,” he whispered. “Because I already know I won’t.”

Soren’s phone buzzed again this time a text from the PR director: Press conference moved to tonight. 7 PM. Be ready to face the cameras, both of you.

JR read the message over his shoulder and let out a low laugh.

“Looks like we’re going public sooner than expected, Captain.”

He tilted Soren’s chin up, eyes gleaming with challenge and possession.

“So… what are we going to tell them?”