PUCKING MY ROOMMATE

The locker room smelled like sweat, icy gel, and adrenaline. Liam Lannister sat on the bench, lacing his skates with sharp, precise tugs, jaw tight as he listened to the distant roar of the crowd filtering through the tunnel.

Frostbite Wolves versus Shadow Reapers. The biggest rivalry in the league this season. And of course, that dude was on the other side.

“Thorne’s been running his mouth again in the press,” his right winger, Marcus, said with a grin. “Called us soft. Said he’s gonna make the captain his bitch tonight.”

A couple of the guys laughed. Liam’s mouth twitched into a smirk, but there was no humor in it.

“Let him talk,” Liam muttered, standing up and rolling his shoulders. At 6’3 feet and two hundred and fifteen pounds of pure hockey muscle, he wasn’t worried about Raphael Thorne’s bullshit.

 “He plays loud because he knows he can’t win quiet.” One of the rookies snorted. “Guy’s a fucking fairy with that pretty face and all that teasing. Who does he think he is?”

Liam’s laugh was short and sharp. “Doesn’t matter what he is. Tonight we shut him up on the scoreboard.”

He didn’t like the way some of the guys threw around words like that. Not because he gave a shit about people's business, but because it felt… soft. Girly. Real men settled things with fists and goals, not whining about feelings. And Raphael Thorne? He was the worst kind of distraction. All flash, all mouth, always trying to get under his skin.

Liam hated him.

The team spilled out into the tunnel, the roar of the home crowd hitting them like a wall as they stepped onto the ice. The Wolves’ arena was electric tonight. Fifteen thousand fans screaming for blood.

Liam skated out for warm-ups, stick in hand, eyes scanning the opposite end of the rink. And there he was.

Raphael Thorne.

Even from across the ice, the bastard stood out. Tall, broad-shouldered, dark hair visible under his helmet, moving with that lazy, predatory confidence that made Liam’s teeth grind. Raphael caught his eye almost immediately and smirked, slow and deliberate.

Game on, asshole.

The whistle blew. The game started fast and ugly.

Raphael was on him from the first shift.

They crashed together along the boards during a battle for the puck. Raphael’s body slammed into his, hard and unyielding, breath hot against the side of Liam’s helmet.

“Looking good tonight, Lannister,” Raphael murmured, voice low and mocking as they grappled. “That ass looks even better when you’re bent over chasing my scraps.”

Liam shoved him off with a growl. “Shut the fuck up, Thorne.”

Raphael just laughed, the sound teasing and unbothered as he skated away. But it didn't stop there.

Every face-off, every check, every time they were within six feet of each other, Raphael kept up the steady stream of trash talk.   

“You gonna keep bending over like that for me, pretty boy?” he taunted after pinning Liam against the glass. His hand lingered a second too long on Liam’s hip. “I could get used to this view.”

Liam’s blood boiled. He drove his elbow back harder than necessary, earning a penalty, but it was worth it to hear Raphael’s grunt of pain. He knew Raphael Thorne was just doing this to piss him off and it was working.

By the second period, Liam was playing like a man possessed. Every taunt fueled him. When Raphael whispered, “Careful, Captain. Keep playing like that and I might make you touch something you actually like when you lose,” Liam answered by setting up a beautiful cross-ice pass that led to a goal.

The crowd erupted.

But Raphael didn’t stop. If anything, he got bolder.

During a line change near the bench, Raphael skated past slowly, voice carrying just enough for Liam to hear: “You’re feisty when you’re angry. Kinda hot, Lannister. Makes me wonder what else that mouth can do.”

Liam nearly dropped his gloves right there. His face burned with fury. The fucking audacity. The sheer disrespect. He wanted to smash Raphael’s smug face into the ice.

Instead, he channeled it into the game. By the third period the score was tied 2-2 and the tension in the crowd was palpable.

 Liam won a face-off cleanly, barreled through the neutral zone, and fired a pass to Marcus, who buried it top shelf with thirty seconds left.

The buzzer sounded.

Wolves win, 3-2.

Liam threw his arms up as his teammates crashed into him, screaming wildly. The home fans were chanting his name. He allowed himself one vicious grin toward the Reapers’ bench.

Raphael was already staring at him. Even in defeat, that bastard was smirking. He skated past on his way to the handshake line, voice low and intimate.

“Enjoy tonight, pretty boy. Next time you won’t get so lucky.”

Liam’s fist clenched inside his glove. “There won’t be a next time where you walk away with your teeth, Thorne.”

Raphael’s laugh followed him all the way to the locker room.

The celebration was chaos. Water bottles sprayed. Music blasted. Guys were half-dressed, slapping backs and yelling about the win. Liam sat on the bench, still riding the high, sweat dripping down his back, when the coach poked his head in.

“Lannister. My office. Now.”

Something in Coach’s tone made the smile drop from Liam’s face.

He followed, towel around his neck, still in half his gear. Coach shut the door behind them.

“Big win tonight, Captain.” Coach Started. But there wasn't his usual happy celebratory smile.

“Thanks.” Liam muttered, already dreading the impending conversation.

Coach rubbed his jaw, looking uncomfortable. “Got some news from management. Trade went through about twenty minutes ago.”

Liam’s stomach tightened. “Who’d we get?”

Coach exhaled. “Raphael Thorne.”

The words hit like a slapshot to the chest.

“No,” Liam said immediately. “Fuck no. Tell them to kill the deal.”

“Can’t. It’s done. He’s a game-changer, Lannister. We need his speed and vision if we’re making a serious run this year.”

Liam’s hands curled into fists at his sides. “He’s a fucking cancer. The guy’s been trying to get in my head for two seasons. He’s...”

“He’s on our team now,” Coach said flatly. “And there’s more. Housing situation’s tight mid-season. All the other rooms are doubled up. The only single left is yours.”

Liam stared at him, disbelief crashing over fury.

“You’re telling me I have to room with that asshole?”

Coach gave him a sympathetic look that didn’t help at all. “Just until we sort something out. Maybe a month or two. Consider it team bonding.”

Liam laughed, but there was no humor in it. The sound was raw and angry.

Team bonding. With Raphael fucking Thorne.

The man who had spent the entire game whispering filth in his ear. The man who called him “pretty boy” like it was a fucking insult. The man who made Liam’s skin crawl with disgust and something far more dangerous.

He was going to have to share his room—his private captain’s space—with the one person he hated most in the entire hockey league.

Liam ran a hand through his damp hair, jaw locked so tight it ached.

This was going to be a nightmare.

Raphael Thorne was nothing but trouble. And now he was moving in.