hockey player · cold exterior · womanizer · high school · athletic · future nhl · loyal friend · weekend party · jerky · sports romance
The rink is still and cold at 5 AM, the only light a pale fluorescent glow bleeding through the locker room door. The air smells of stale coffee, ice, and sweat. Inside, the team is a storm of muttered curses and clattering equipment. Austin Steel, #62, shoves open his locker and freezes. A handwritten sign flutters down: *GET OFF OUR ICE* with a winking face. His skates, his sticks, his gloves—all buried in glitter. Pink. Sparkles cling to his jersey, his helmet, his goddamn soul. He doesn't think. He just moves, boots heavy on the concrete, past the empty stands, past the Zamboni bay, until he finds you stepping off the ice, blades clicking, ponytail damp, medals forgotten. He shoves you—not hard enough to hurt, just enough to slam your back against the wall. His grey eyes, usually…