Chapter 3: The First Rule of the Penthouse

The penthouse elevator chimed with a soft, expensive ring before the polished steel doors glided open.

Liam stepped out into a massive, minimalist living room that looked more like a modern art museum than a home. The entire back wall was made of floor-to-ceiling glass, showcasing the glittering New York City skyline. Everything was sleek chrome, dark leather, and pristine white marble.

"Drop your bags by the door," Jaxson muttered, tossing his car keys onto a marble kitchen island that was larger than Liam’s entire old bedroom.

Jaxson had finally changed out of his bulky hockey gear into a gray hoodie and dark sweatpants, but his presence still managed to swallow up the massive room. He looked exhausted, his broad shoulders slightly slumped, though his posture remained aggressively defensive.

Liam set his two battered duffel bags down onto the spotless hardwood floor. Next to the flawless luxury of the apartment, his worn-out belongings looked incredibly pathetic. He crossed his arms over his chest, refusing to let his awe show on his face.

"Nice place," Liam said, his voice dripping with cool sarcasm. "A little warm and welcoming for a guy with a frozen block of ice for a heart, don't you think?"

Jaxson rolled his eyes, walking over to a massive stainless-steel refrigerator and pulling out a bottle of sports drink. "Save the commentary, pixie. We aren't under the cameras anymore. We don't have to pretend to be interested in each other's lives."

He took a long swig, his throat swallowing sharply, before wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. His dark eyes locked onto Liam’s thin frame, narrowing slightly as he took in the cheap, faded material of Liam's sweater.

"Let's lay down the ground rules right now," Jaxson said, setting the bottle down with a firm thud. "This is my space. I like my privacy. We stay out of each other's way, we don't bring guests over, and we only do the 'loyal, doting boyfriends' act when Sarah text us that the paparazzi are outside."

"Suits me perfectly," Liam shot back, stepping forward. "I have no desire to get anywhere near you. Where is my room?"

Jaxson rubbed the back of his neck, a sudden, tense silence settling over the room. He didn't answer immediately, his eyes shifting away toward the glass wall.

A terrible, cold dread coiled in Liam’s stomach. "Jaxson. Where is the guest bedroom?"

"There isn't one," Jaxson said flatly, his gaze snapping back to Liam, completely guarded. "It’s a one-bedroom penthouse. When I bought this place, I didn’t plan on running a corporate boarding house for figure skaters."

Liam froze, his jaw tightening. "You’re a multimillionaire athlete and you only have *one* bed?"

"I have a massive master suite and a walk-in closet larger than your apartment, yes," Jaxson snapped, his temper flaring at the judgment in Liam’s tone. "But only one bed. Sterling’s PR team insisted we can't buy a second bed either. If the maids or any building staff see a second bed being delivered, the rumor that we’re faking it will leak within an hour. We’re supposed to be madly in love, remember?"

"I am not sleeping in the same bed as a man," Liam said, his voice dropping to a harsh, absolute whisper. "Especially not a two-hundred-pound hockey player who tried to break my ribs this morning."

"Oh, please. I’m a straight guy, Vance. You think I want you in my bed?" Jaxson let out a dry, irritated laugh, crossing his massive arms over his chest. "You’re completely safe from me. I don't look at guys, and even if I did, I’ve got teammates with bigger biceps than you."

"Good, because your massive ego wouldn't even fit under the same blanket anyway," Liam spat, his eyes blazing with fury. "I'll take the couch."

Liam turned toward the massive L-shaped Italian leather sofa in the center of the room. It looked incredibly expensive, but it was also sleek, firm, and completely devoid of comfort.

"Fine. Take the couch," Jaxson said, turning on his heel and heading toward the master bedroom corridor. "Blankets are in the hallway linen closet. Don't touch anything in the kitchen unless you're cleaning it up."

The heavy master bedroom door shut with a solid, echoing click.

Liam stood alone in the silence of the massive penthouse, the bright lights of the city bleeding through the glass. He let out a long, shaky breath, the exhausting weight of the entire day finally crashing down on him. His body ached from the hard fall on the ice, and his stomach let out a low, painful growl. He hadn't eaten anything since a stale granola bar at five o'clock that morning.

He walked over to his duffel bag, pulled out a worn-out gray hoodie, and changed into it. After grabbing a single, thin throw blanket from the closet, he curled up on the cold, stiff leather couch. He pulled his knees tightly against his chest, staring out at the city, trying to force his mind to focus on his Olympic goals. *Six months. Just survive six months.*

Hours passed. The penthouse grew entirely dark, the temperature dropping significantly.

Liam tossed and turned, but the leather was freezing, squeaking loudly every time he shifted. He was shivering violently now, his teeth chattering softly in the dark. The thin throw blanket did absolutely nothing against the draft coming from the massive glass windows.

Suddenly, a soft rustle broke the silence of the room.

Liam tensed up, his eyes snapping open in the darkness.

A tall, towering silhouette was standing right beside the couch. Jaxson.

Liam scrambled backward against the sofa cushions, his heart hammering violently against his ribs. "What are you doing? I told you to stay away—"

Before he could finish, a heavy, incredibly thick velvet duvet was violently dumped right over his head, burying him in a sudden wave of intense, trapped warmth. The blanket smelled faintly of expensive cologne and cedar wood.

Liam pushed the heavy duvet away from his face, blinking up through the darkness. Jaxson was standing over him, wearing nothing but his low-slung sweatpants, his bare, heavily muscled chest casting a massive shadow over the couch.

"Shut up, pixie," Jaxson muttered, his voice thick and rough with sleep. "Your teeth are chattering so loud I can hear them through the damn wall. I have a game tomorrow night. If I lose sleep because you're freezing to death on my furniture, I’m throwing you out."

Jaxson turned to walk away, but stopped, his dark eyes locking onto Liam’s face in the dim moonlight. His gaze drifted down to Liam's hands, which were trembling slightly as they clutched the heavy duvet.

For a fraction of a second, the harsh, arrogant look on Jaxson's face wavered, replaced by a strange, unreadable intensity. He swallowed hard, his jaw clenching in the dark.

"Don't get used to it," Jaxson rasped, his voice dropping an octave lower before he turned and strode back toward his bedroom, slamming the door behind him.

Liam pulled the warm, heavy duvet up to his chin. The lingering scent of Jaxson’s skin wrapped around him completely, making his chest tighten with a bizarre, chaotic jolt of adrenaline that he couldn't explain.

He was straight. Jaxson was straight. This was just a business arrangement.

So why was his heart racing so fast?