Chapter 2

Keshera

Dexter brought his glass to his mouth, taking a slow sip, but the moment my words registered, he choked. Water spilled out of his mouth, splashing down his chin and soaking the collar of his hoodie.

"What!?" he coughed, slamming the glass down.

"Are you having a laugh, Keshera?" he wiped his jaw with the back of his hand. "You? Seducing someone?"

"I’m entirely serious."

"Drey?" he asked, his dark eyes widening in disbelief. "You want to bag Drey? The captain of the Vipers? The arrogant prick who cross-checked me into the boards two weeks ago and nearly took my teeth out?"

"Yes."

"No," Dexter said flatly, turning around to grab a towel.

 "Absolutely not. Go ask Liam."

"I can't ask my brother to teach me how to flirt, are you sick?" I hissed, stepping closer. "Dexter, please. Listen to me. The network isn't just sending me to interview him. It’s a trial task. If I can get exclusive coverage on Drey—if I can get him to give me access nobody else has—they’ll convert my internship into a permanent job. It’s my career."

"Then find a different angle. I’m not teaching my best friend’s little sister how to spread her legs for a guy I hate."

"I just need the basics! How to get his attention, how to make him look at me." I took a deep breath, playing my only card. "I heard Liam talking on the phone yesterday. You’re failing your Media Communications class."

Dexter stopped wiping the counter. He went completely still.

"Coach told Liam that if you don't pass this semester, you’re violating your contract clause. You’ll be benched for the playoffs." I stared him down, my heart pounding. 

"I just graduated top of my class in Media and Journalism. I can tutor you. I can write your final papers. I’ll make sure you pass."

Dexter turned his head slowly, his jaw ticking. He stared at me for a long minute, calculating the risk.

"You'd do that?" he asked quietly.

"If you teach me how to play Drey's game."

"Liam will actually kill me," Dexter muttered, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Liam doesn't know. Liam will never know."

Dexter let out a deep breath.

"Fine. Deal. But if you tell Liam, I'm throwing you under the bus with me."

"Deal."

"Good. Lesson one starts tonight at the match," he said, walking past me and deliberately bumping his shoulder against mine. 

"Wear something that doesn't make you look like a librarian."

The arena was filled and bubbling.

The bass from the stadium speakers rattled my heart as I stood on the rubber matting near the player's tunnel. I had a press pass wrapped around my neck, a microphone in my hand, and my heart in my throat. I had worn a tight black skirt and a fitted blazer, completely freezing in the ice-cold arena just to impress a guy who hadn't even looked my way.

Out on the ice, the game was brutal.

It was the second period, and Drey was dominating. I watched him fly down the center, the puck glued to his stick. He bypassed two of our defensemen, caught a perfect pass, and launched a vicious one-timer. The puck went top shelf, snapping the water bottle off the net.

The stadium erupted in boos, but Drey just coasted backward, raising his arms in arrogant triumph.

As the teams reset for the face-off, Dexter skated past the plexiglass where I was standing. He didn't stop, but he banged his stick against the glass and made brief, eye contact with me. He tilted his head toward the VIP tunnel.

Make a move.

I swallowed hard. The buzzer sounded for intermission, and the players started flooding off the ice. I shoved my way past two veteran reporters, standing right at the edge of the tunnel entrance.

Drey came off the ice last. He took his helmet off, shaking out his damp blonde hair, looking like a model in his away jersey. Cameras were flashing everywhere.

I took a step forward, pretending to check my microphone pack, and stepped directly into his path.

He didn't see me in time. His padded shoulder slammed into my chest. I gasped, genuinely losing my balance, and hit the hard rubber floor. My microphone clattered across the ground.

"Hey, watch it!" one of his teammates yelled.

Drey stumbled, catching himself against the wall with a sharp grunt of pain. The stadium medics instantly rushed forward, seeing their star player clutch his knee. Cameras flashed aggressively in our faces.

"I'm so sorry!" I said, scrambling to my knees.

Drey didn't look at me. He put on a tight, flawless smile for the press, waving off the medics. 

"I'm fine. Just a bump. Let's get to the locker room."

He grabbed my arm and hauled me to my feet. Before I could process what was happening, he dragged me past the flashing cameras and shoved me into an empty medical room down the hall.

Drey suddenly dropped my arm like I was diseased. His camera-ready smile melted off his face, replaced by a look of sheer, venomous hatred.

"You did that intentionally, right?" he sneered, towering over me.

"I—what? No, I slipped."

"Don't play dumb with me, you stupid bitch," Drey spat, taking a step forward. I shrank back against the wall, completely paralyzed by the sudden aggression. 

"You seriously had the fucking nerve to make me take a break when I should be out there on the ice, just so you could get your five seconds of fame? You think I don't know what you media rats do for a headline?"

"I wasn't trying to—"

"Shut up." He leaned in, his blue eyes cold and lifeless. 

"I have to maintain a good person persona out there for the cameras. But in here? I don't care who you are. If you ever step in front of me again, I will have your press pass revoked and make sure you never work in this league. Do we understand each other?"

I couldn't breathe. My throat closed up, burning with sudden, humiliating tears. "Yes."

"Get out."

I grabbed my microphone from the hallway floor and ran straight to the exit, my hands shaking so violently I could barely push the doors open.

Two hours later, I was sitting on the couch in Dexter’s apartment.

The game was over. Dexter was still in his sweatpants, toweling his damp hair dry. There were three thick PR textbooks on the coffee table in front of us, but I couldn't focus on a single word. My chest felt hollow. Drey was a monster. Everything I thought I knew about him was a lie.

"So?" Dexter asked, dropping onto the couch beside me, smelling like fresh soap and mint. 

"Did my advice work? Did you get the golden boy's attention?"

I kept my eyes glued to the textbook. I couldn't tell him the truth. If Dexter knew Drey had spoken to me like that, he would laugh in my face. It was entirely humiliating.

"It went great," I lied, forcing a fake, breezy smile. "He noticed me. We talked in private. He's... really sweet."

Dexter stopped toweling his hair. He turned his head, his dark eyes locking onto my face. He studied my rigid posture, the way I was clenching the pen in my hand, the way my voice had cracked slightly on the word sweet.

"You're a terrible liar, Keshera," he said softly.

"I'm not lying. Now, let's get back to Chapter Four. You need to understand crisis management if you want to pass this—"

Dexter reached out and snatched the pen out of my hand, tossing it onto the floor. "Stop deflecting. You look like you're about to cry. What did he do to you?"

"Nothing!" I snapped, my temper flaring to cover my embarrassment. "He didn't do anything. He just wasn't what I expected. But I'm not giving up. I'm going to seduce him, and you're going to keep teaching me."

Dexter let out a harsh, patronizing laugh. He leaned back against the couch cushions, crossing his arms.

"Teach you?" he mocked, his accent bleeding through again.

 "You're a brick wall, Kesh. You're so tense you’re practically vibrating. Seducing a guy requires acting like you actually enjoy being around men."

"I do enjoy being around men!"

"Yeah? Could have fooled me." Dexter leaned in closer.

"You don't know the first thing about physical chemistry. I bet you've never even had a proper boyfriend. Tell me the truth. Have you ever even been kissed?"

The question hit me like a slap to the face. The sheer arrogance of it, combined with the brutal humiliation I had suffered at the arena, made my blood boil.

"That is none of your business," I spat.

"That's a no," Dexter smirked, shaking his head. "Jesus, Kesh. You want me to teach you how to bag a pro athlete, and you haven't even had a bloke put his mouth on yours? How exactly do you plan on surviving Drey?"

"I know how to kiss, Dexter."

"Sure you do. In theory. From books."

"I am not a child!"

"Then stop acting like one!" he shot back, his voice rising, the space between us suddenly vanishing as he leaned entirely into my space. "You're all talk, Keshera. You're scared of your own shadow."

The anger shattered my self-control. I reacted.

I reached out, grabbing the strings of his hoodie in both hands, yanking him forward. I pressed my lips hard against his, shutting my eyes tightly, desperate to wipe that arrogant smirk off his face, desperate to prove I wasn't just some naive little girl.