The Puck Drops
The moment Cora rotated her steps with a polished business smile on her face, a hulking male student appeared from nowhere and casually draped his arm over Tristan’s shoulder.
Before she could step away, he seized Cora’s arm and raked her body with an openly predatory gaze.
“Hey, Captain. Still alone with that pretty server? Oh, wow….”
The man’s stare slid slowly down her figure, lingering on her chest. His voice dripped with crude suggestion as he laughed, tongue thick with lewdness.
“The uniform fits you perfectly…. It’d be a shame not to tip big. Maybe if you throw a generous tip my way, I’ll even have it delivered to my dorm?”
Cora’s eyes narrowed at the blatantly sexual comment. She had long learned that wasting breath on true customers only tired her, so she treated him as nothing more than air and addressed Tristan.
“Your friend seems pretty excited. I’m afraid I can’t serve him anymore.”
The man’s face twisted instantly at the words. The waitress who had been glancing up at him earlier had openly ignored his demands, and his pride burned.
“What? The fuck…. You’re telling me what to do? You’re just a little waitress, brat. You should know exactly who we are….”
He bared his teeth and tightened his grip, yanking Cora forward aggressively, when a voice as chillingly low as ice sliced through the air.
“Remove your hand. Svensson.”
“….”
“Since you’re treating this like a show, why don’t you crawl closer? I’ll knock a few of those teeth out with a hockey stick. Fuck, with how few teeth you’ve got anyway, they’re probably just as useless.”
Tristan’s steel-blue eyes stared back at him without emotion, a glacial silence that drained the warmth from the entire pub. The temperature around them plummeted.
Only moments earlier the cocky Svensson had been strutting, but now fear had him release Cora’s arm. He clamped his mouth shut, rigid as a seven-year-old caught in a lie, eyes darting nervously toward Tristan.
Tristan’s gaze never left the man, yet his face softened the instant he turned back to Cora. The smile that curved his lips was warm and easy, but his eyes remained cold, untouched by amusement.
“Sorry. I’ll handle the apology myself. You can stop serving him now.”
“…Yes.”
Cora nodded once, then slipped away as quickly as possible, her heart hammering wildly against her ribs.
Jesus, he really is that type.
She had worked the pub for months and picked up bits and pieces of sports culture in her downtime. Hockey ranked among the most violent, and her instincts told her exactly why. Because the men who played it were allowed to beat people senseless on the ice—legally.
Hockey fights.
During games, players brawled one-on-one with bare fists. It was a highlight reel. Even the UFC looked tame next to the raw brutality. The equipment made it look like murder: razor-sharp blades on the skates, hockey sticks, and helmets that could crack skulls. Rulebooks existed precisely to prevent those fights from turning deadly. In college leagues they were banned outright, yet nothing else matched the level of physical mayhem.
According to rumors, Tristan Lockwood was the player who wielded that violence with the most tactical precision.
Probably gets off on it.
Cora shook the thought aside and finished wiping the counter. When she turned, Tristan was still at the table, casually watching his teammates. The expression on his face was calm, but something beneath the surface felt off—deep, unreadable, like the ocean itself.
His gaze carried a subtle arrogance, as if he looked down on every one of those pathetic men beneath him. The gentle smile he wore now only made the twisted superiority all the more unsettling.
Yet he’s their captain. Why pretend he’s above it all?
His manners seemed like a blade carefully sheathed. Maybe he hid his true nature because he had so much to lose.
She let out a short, amused laugh.
Then Tristan’s steel-gray eyes drifted sideways. In one smooth motion they snapped back, locking directly onto hers with the precision of a targeting scope.
Cora’s smile vanished.
Was he mocking her? The pub was loud, yet his stare pinned her in place. The commentator’s earlier praise from the hockey broadcast resurfaced.
“This player… you’d swear he has second sight. That animal instinct that knows exactly where the puck is going.”
His eyes had clearly seen through the entire act in the time it took to blink.
Tristan lifted two fingers in a lazy, arrogant gesture, calling her over like a dog.
Cora kept pretending she hadn’t heard. He called her name again, sharper this time.
“Hey.”
“….”
“You. Over here. Now.”
She approached with forced calm, heart racing like a frightened child summoned before a teacher. When she reached the table she asked as evenly as possible,
“Can I take your order?”
“You’re a Chatsworth student, right?”
“…Why does that matter?”
Tristan let out a quiet chuckle at her sharp tone.
“Taking a drink order is part of a server’s job, isn’t it?”
“….”
“Relax your face. I’m just curious.”
“About what?”
He kept probing, undeterred by her frostiness. “Year?”
“Sophomore.”
“Major?”
“Econ.”
“From where?”
“Michigan.”
The questions came faster than she could answer. Cora’s indifference was obvious, yet Tristan still smiled, almost fondly, as if tasting each lie.
“How many of those answers were false?”
“Maybe all of them.”
Cora finally realized she had confessed everything. Normally she lied smoothly to rude customers, but here the truth spilled out on its own. Tristan nodded slowly, still smiling.
“You’re expensive.”
Cora’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”
“Why so defensive? If you’re pretty, you should charge pretty prices.”
“….”
“My philosophy is that everything has a fair value, and you pay accordingly.”
She planted one hand on her hip and stared down at him. Why are you even talking to me?
Her irritation from earlier, from Svensson’s disrespect, had only grown, yet here was Tristan toying with her as well.
She leaned in, voice low. “One piece of real-life advice?”
“I’m listening.”
“Don’t make a drinker miserable just to get a tip, Captain.”
“….”
He didn’t know what she meant, but the double meaning hit him instantly. A booming laugh erupted. The cold mask cracked, revealing a boyish dimple that carved deep into his cheek.
Even when emotionless he had been intimidating, but now he looked every inch the fresh-faced college student.
He leaned forward, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, as if sharing a secret only the two of them could know.
“That’s what I wanted to say.”