Kiss and Puck
His gaze lingered on the brown-haired male student.
“Hey, do you see that guy?”
“……”
“His name is Robert Whittaker. The odds of him getting drafted in the top ten for next year’s draft are high. With the rookie contract bonus, his value could hit around two million dollars a year. If his career goes well, he might pull in eight hundred thousand a year in five years as one of the best wingers out there.”
Cora frowned, her brows knitting together. What was he even saying right now? It made zero sense.
But Tristan kept talking, casual as ever, and this time he jerked his chin toward the student standing beside him.
“Kevin Lewinsky over there isn’t bad either. He’s a goalie, so the pick might be a little lower, but he’s probably going to play a long run. Oh, and the guy who said something stupid right in front of you earlier? Stay the hell away from him. He’s one of those guys who’d rather drown his sorrows in cheap Coors Beer on the couch than live on a minor-league salary of seventy thousand dollars a year.”
“……”
“He’s the type who’ll be stuck in his room, watching hockey broadcasts while sipping warm beer, then act all superior in front of his kids. If it weren’t for that injury keeping him out, that spot would’ve been mine.”
He clicked his tongue and kept going.
“Guys who never make it as pros all sound like the same broken records, don’t they? Injuries, excuses, the same old story.”
Listening to him, Cora felt like she’d been hit with pure alcohol. Her head spun. Wait… what is even happening right now? Why is he spilling his teammates’ weaknesses to me? Like I’m some close girlfriend or best friend…
A sudden wave of fabric softener hit her—his scent, right in her face. She instinctively took a half-step back. But Tristan just leaned in closer, his upper body pressing nearer.
“Stay the hell away from that dyed hair. He’s not terrible on the ice, but he’s a total pleasure junkie. One day he’s gonna snort coke and end up leaving the world too early.”
A chill crawled down Cora’s spine. No matter how much he was team captain, the way he was tearing into his own teammates like that was almost too raw. And doing it right in front of her for the first time? That took guts.
This guy is seriously twisted.
Feeling her blood boil, she fired back, voice sharp. “So then why are you still in college when you got drafted? Why not jump straight into the pro league?”
“You picked me? Damn, that’s an honor.”
“What the hell? You’re wasting your time in college only to end up looking as pathetic as the guys you think are so low.”
Even with her challenge landing, Tristan just shrugged, calm as day.
“Maybe I came to Chatsworth just to meet you.”
Cora shook her head. Flirting now? There wasn’t even a walking red flag to be seen.
“So what’s your angle in telling me all this?”
“If you want the real price for your looks, you’ve gotta play the game right.”
“That’s… what?”
“If I were you, I’d do this: pick one of those idiots and get him to sign a marriage license. Pro league is a little too late for that. Once you’re in, the WAGs will swarm you like bees. It gets annoying fast.”
“……”
“Being a pro athlete’s partner sounds easy until you realize how much you have to sacrifice. So you just hold on until they all hit thirty and retire, then you file for divorce and clean up. Divorce reasons? You can just make them up—girlfriend problems, anger issues, drug abuse, whatever.”
“……”
“Even taking half a pro hockey salary, you’d never have to smile and slush drinks in some shitty pub for the rest of your life, right?”
Tristan’s cryptic words finally clicked in her head—he was mocking her on purpose. Her eyes narrowed into thin slits. Shitty pub? Selling smiles?
She swallowed the rage rising in her throat and forced out a cold smile.
“Oh my… this is…”
Cora reached out and gently shoved his plastic cup off the table. The cup tipped over with a clatter. Ice and soda exploded across the surface, then cascaded down onto his thigh in cold, wet droplets.
A normal person would have bolted up in shock. But Tristan didn’t move a muscle. He just sat there, staring at her, as the liquid soaked into his jeans.
Cora’s panic spiked. “I’m sorry… I didn’t mean to…”
Instead of getting mad, he threw his head back and laughed—loud, genuine, almost delighted.
“That’s exactly what Biscuit would do.”
“What?”
“You’re fun.”
This guy is insane.
Tristan’s laughter died as he closed the distance between them, leaning in until she could feel the heat of his body. His gray eyes flicked back and forth between hers, sparkling with something dark and excited—like a demon who’d just found the best new toy.
Great. Just what I needed. But I can’t let him think I’m easy.
Cora swallowed hard and pointed at the tissue box with her chin. “Sit back down, Captain. Or do you want me to wipe you up?”
“Are you threatening me?”
“Maybe.”
“Threateners usually have a reason. What do you want from me?”
“……”
“Tell me. I’ll give you anything you want.”
“You and your guys disappear from this pub right now?”
“Touché.”
Cora spun on her heel and stormed back behind the counter, her whole body still humming with rage. Her hands shook as she slammed the sink into shape.
Like I’d love slinging drinks in a place that reeks of sweat and hormones all day.
As a poor scholarship student, options were slim. She covered tuition with aid, but the cost of living in expensive Chatsworth County was a disaster. A single textbook cost three hundred dollars—straight-up robbery for a student.
And without connections, finding a tutoring gig was impossible. So here she was, working at The Judge Club because it was close to campus, tips were decent, and Carlson, the owner, always let her tweak her schedule however she needed.
Rich kid, what do you know about hard times?
Cora kept her fingers busy, drumming the POS system and wiping down the counter, trying to shake off the heat in her face.
Time passed. The hockey players finished their night and left in a wave, like they’d all made the same pact.
Once the crowd thinned, Cora relaxed—until she felt a shadow fall across the counter.
“No more guests for you? Can you run the check?”
“……”
She stole a glance at his thigh. Still damp. She should’ve felt bad. But the embarrassment mixed with something else, and she couldn’t bring herself to meet his eyes. She kept her gaze on the screen. “Total came to five hundred twenty-eight.”
“Add thirty percent tip.”
She ignored the way his eyes kept sliding over her face and pulled out his American Express Black card. She tapped it on the reader—
Her brows tightened. She’d paid the dollar to check the card earlier and it approved. But now the reader kept flashing “Declined.” American Express Black cards didn’t bounce for small amounts. The machine wasn’t broken either. She tried again. Same thing.
She waved the card in front of him. “Did you fight with your dad?”
The jab was clear—she was guessing he’d used his father’s card.
But Tristan just shrugged, calm as ever. “I don’t have any other card on me.”
“Then what now?”
Most people would’ve been mortified. He looked like he’d seen this coming.
She tapped her card again. Declined. Again. Again.
Tristan finally leaned in, voice low. “You’re really gonna sit there and let me sit here until the machine decides to work?”
“……”
“Or we can do this the easy way. You let me pay and I’ll keep the rest of the night. No hard feelings.”
“No.”
“Fine. Then let’s make this fun.” He grinned, that same wicked light in his eyes. “You wipe this mess off me, and I’ll call Carlson myself and tell him the card is good for once.”
Cora’s stomach dropped. Touché, indeed.
She swallowed hard, the heat of his body still radiating toward her. I can’t let him see how much this is getting to me.
“Fine. But you’re not moving until it’s clean.”
“Deal.”
Tristan sat there, completely unbothered, while Cora grabbed a towel and started wiping the sticky liquid off his thigh. The cloth was cold against his skin. His muscles flexed under her fingers. She tried not to notice how warm he still was, even after the spill.
His eyes never left hers.
This is going to be a very long night.