التفاحة المحرمة

Allie

The bright studio lights felt hotter than the arena floodlights during a playoff game. I sat on the sleek white couch next to Logan, my hand resting on his thigh like it belonged there. The interviewer, a polished woman named Carla with a smile that never quite reached her eyes, leaned forward with that practiced excitement all hosts had.

“Welcome back, everyone! We’re here with hockey’s golden couple Logan Pierce and Allie Harper. The internet can’t get enough of you two. From red carpet appearances to those adorable couple goals posts, you’re basically the favorite pair online right now. We are all obsessed with you”

The live chat exploded on the big screen behind us. Hearts, fire emojis, and comments scrolling so fast they blurred together. GOALS. They’re so perfect. Logan is so hot omg.

Logan squeezed my hand, flashing that charming grin that made fans lose their minds. His dark hair was styled just right, and his fitted button-down showed off the broad shoulders and powerful arms that had carried him through another killer season. “We’re just regular people who got lucky,” he said smoothly, voice deep and confident. “Allie keeps me grounded.”

Carla turned her spotlight smile on me. “Allie, how does it feel to date one of the biggest hockey stars in the country? Logan’s been on fire this year, leading his team in points, that game-winning goal in the finals… What’s it like being by his side?”

I smiled, the one I’d practiced in the mirror a hundred times. Warm, genuine, a little shy. Inside, my stomach fluttered with the familiar mix of pride and something else I couldn’t name. “It feels incredible,” I said, keeping my voice soft but steady. “Logan is so supportive. He’s there for me through everything, my late nights working on my photography projects, the travel, all of it. I feel so lucky to have someone who pushes me to be better while loving me exactly as I am.”

Logan leaned in and pressed a quick kiss to my temple. The audience in the studio awwed, and the chat went nuclear. SHE’S SO LUCKY. MARRY HER ALREADY. POWER COUPLE.

Carla laughed. “You two are adorable. Logan, any wedding bells in the future?”

He chuckled, rubbing his thumb over my knuckles. “We’re taking it one championship at a time. But yeah… Allie’s the one.”

More hearts flooded the screen. I kept smiling, even as my cheeks warmed. This was our life now, every moment livestreamed, dissected, celebrated. Logan was rising fast in the league, and I was the supportive girlfriend who looked good on his arm. It wasn’t fake. That's the best part about all this. He really did support me and love me.

The interview wrapped with more questions about Logan’s stats, our favorite date spots, and how we balanced his crazy schedule. By the end, my jaw ached from smiling so much.

As the cameras cut, Logan stood and helped me up, his hand lingering on my lower back. “Great job, babe,” he murmured, lips brushing my ear. “You killed it.”

“You too.” I tilted my face up for a quick kiss. His mouth was warm, familiar.

“Gotta go talk to some reporters backstage,” he said, already checking his phone. “Won’t be long. Meet you by the car?”

I nodded. “I will grab our stuff.”

He gave my hand one last squeeze and strode off, his tall frame cutting through the crowd of crew members like he owned the place. I watched him go, that familiar pride swelling in my chest. My fiancé. My hockey star.

I gathered my purse and Logan’s jacket, then headed toward the side exit. The hallway was crowded—producers, other athletes, journalists milling around. My heels clicked on the polished floor as I weaved through.

And then I bumped straight into a solid wall of muscle.

“Oh—sorry!” I stumbled back, clutching the jacket tighter.

Strong hands steadied me by the elbows. “Easy there.”

The voice was low, rough, laced with amusement. I looked up, way up into a pair of piercing gray eyes framed by sharp features and messy dark blond hair that looked like he’d just come off the ice. Chase Ryder.

Number one in the league. The man Logan had spent years chasing, never quite catching. Their rivalry was legendary, trash talk in interviews, brutal checks on the ice, headlines screaming about their battles for MVP. Chase was everything Logan wanted to be: faster, meaner on the puck, with a natural talent that made scouts drool.

My spine stiffened immediately. Defensive mode kicked in hard.

“Watch where you’re going,” I snapped, pulling out of his grip.

Chase didn’t let go right away. His hands were big, calloused from years of gripping a stick, and warm through the thin sleeves of my blouse. He smirked, that cocky tilt of his lips that I’d seen in a hundred post-game clips.

“Congrats on the interview,” he said, voice dripping with something I couldn’t place. “You two looked real cozy up there.”

I narrowed my eyes. He was mocking us. Of course he was. Logan had told me all about Chase’s arrogance, how he loved rubbing his wins in everyone’s face. “Thanks,” I said flatly. “We are cozy. Logan’s an amazing guy. Supportive, talented—”

“Talent’s cute,” Chase cut in, his smirk deepening. His gaze dragged slowly down my body over the fitted emerald dress that hugged my curves, the heels that made my legs look longer—l before flicking back to my face. “But it doesn’t win you the Cup. Or keep the spotlight forever.”

Heat rushed to my face. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He laughed, a low rumble that vibrated through the narrow space between us. A couple of people glanced our way, but Chase didn’t seem to care. He was taller than Logan, broader in the shoulders, with that raw, dangerous edge that made him a beast on the ice. Tattoos peeked from under the collar of his black shirt, and his jaw was shadowed with stubble like he couldn’t be bothered to shave for TV.

I hated how aware I was of him. The clean scent of his cologne mixed with something warmer, more masculine. The way his presence seemed to suck all the air out of the hallway.

“Just saying,” he murmured, stepping closer so only I could hear. “Second place looks good on him. Tell Logan I said that.”

My blood boiled. “You’re such an asshole.”

Chase’s eyes sparkled with dark amusement. “Feisty. Didn’t expect that from Logan’s pretty little cheerleader.” He finally released my arms, but the ghost of his touch lingered. “See you around, Allie.”

He walked away, long strides eating up the hallway, leaving me standing there fuming. My heart pounded against my ribs, anger and something hotter twisting low in my belly.

How dare he? Who the hell did he think he was?