The Pucking Player

6. Hypothermia

6

HYPOTHERMIA

SOPHIE

I feel the satisfying burn in my muscles as I stretch into the final Pilates pose, my arms reaching long, my body taut and trembling. Beside me, my roommate Jenna mirrors my movements, her brow furrowed in concentration. The winter sunlight streams through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the dorm’s fitness room, casting a golden glow on our sweat-slicked skin.

“And…release,” the instructor announces, her voice calm and serene, as if she hadn’t just demonstrated an hour of grueling leg lifts, planks, and ab crunches.

Jenna and I collapse onto our mats at the same time, grinning at each other as we catch our breath.

“That was brutal,” I laugh, reaching for my water bottle and taking a long swig. My legs feel like jelly. “Damn, this feels good.”

Jenna wipes her forehead with a towel, nodding. “Agreed. Nothing like kicking your own ass before breakfast.”

We gather our things and head out of the fitness room, stepping into the sharp January air. The sky is a vivid winter blue, so clear it feels almost unreal, and the cold bites at my cheeks as we walk. Despite the chill, I feel invigorated, the fresh air waking up every part of me.

The campus is unusually quiet this Sunday morning. Most students are either holed up in their dorms nursing hangovers or tucked away in the library cramming for exams. A few wander past us, clutching steaming cups of coffee, their scarves pulled high over their noses.

Jenna and I chat as we make our way back to the dorm, laughing about the instructor’s impossibly graceful form and planning what to make for brunch. But as we approach our door, I stop short, my heart skipping a beat.

On the welcome mat, right next to the Sunday New York Times , sits a vibrant bouquet of lilies and a box of chocolates.

Jenna lets out a low whistle, her grin spreading wide. “Well, well, well. Looks like someone’s got an admirer. One with excellent taste.”

My cheeks flush instantly, the warmth spreading from my neck all the way to my ears. My mind jumps to one person—the man I’ve been trying not to think about since Friday.

Liam.

An epic fail if there ever was one.

With trembling fingers, I reach for the small card nestled among the lilies. The handwriting is bold and masculine, and my breath catches as I read the message:

Thinking of you, angel. - Liam

Below his signature is the same phone number he scrawled on my wrist just a few days ago. As if I hadn’t already committed it to memory, repeating it to myself like a guilty little mantra.

“‘Just in case you want to thank me,’” Jenna reads over my shoulder, laughing as she points at the smiley face he drew beneath the message.

But then her eyes widen in recognition. “Wait a minute, Liam? As in Liam O’Connor ? The Defenders captain?”

I nod, biting my lip to stop the giddy smile threatening to take over my face.

“Holy shit,” Jenna breathes, her eyes sparkling with delight. “Spill the beans, girlfriend.”

I shrug, trying to play it cool even though my heart is racing. “There’s nothing to spill,” I deflect, tucking the card into my coat pocket. “It’s just a friendly gesture. I tagged along for the Defenders’ pediatric wing visit last week.”

Jenna raises an eyebrow, her expression skeptical. “Flowers and chocolates aren’t ‘just friendly,’ Soph. That’s the international symbol for I’m into you. ”

I laugh, shaking my head. “It’s complicated. He’s… Well, he’s not exactly my type. You’ve seen the gossip pages—models, actresses, starlets. I don’t want any part of that.”

Jenna hums, thoughtful. “I get that,” she says. “But girl…aren’t you a little curious? Life’s too short to always play it safe.”

I roll my eyes. “You’re such a bad influence.”

“And you love me for it,” she quips, unlocking the door and ushering me inside. “Now, come on. Let’s get these in water, and then we’re doing a deep dive. I want to know everything about this guy.”

After we shower and change into sweats, the lilies sit in a vase on our windowsill, filling the room with their delicate fragrance. Jenna and I plop onto the sofa, the remains of our makeshift brunch—scrambled eggs, toast, and some very wilted spinach—still lingering in the air.

Jenna scrolls through her phone while I flip through the Sunday Times , trying to ignore the nervous flutter in my chest.

“Alright, let’s see what we’ve got,” Jenna announces, pulling up her search results. “Liam O’Connor… Hockey captain… Oh, wow.”

I glance over, curious despite myself.

Jenna smirks. “Let’s start with the good stuff. He’s twenty-nine, captain of the New York Defenders, and apparently one of the most dominant players in the league. His stats are insane.”

I nod. I already knew that much. My dad’s a hockey coach—it’s impossible not to know about Liam O’Connor.

But Jenna keeps scrolling, and my stomach sinks as her smirk fades.

“Uh-oh,” she mutters, her thumb pausing over an article.

“What?” I ask, already dreading the answer.

She holds up her phone, showing me a photo of Liam leaving a trendy SoHo restaurant, hand in hand with Olivia Carrington, the socialite-slash-fashion icon whose face is splashed across every tabloid in New York.

The headline reads: Liam O’Connor’s Latest Flame? Inside His Night Out with Olivia Carrington.

My chest tightens as Jenna scrolls through more headlines, each one worse than the last. Photos of Liam with Victoria’s Secret models at rooftop parties. Rumors of steamy hookups with actresses in the VIP sections of exclusive clubs.

“He’s got quite the reputation,” Jenna says, glancing over at me. “Your instinct to be cautious might be right.”

I force a smile, though it feels brittle. “I’m definitely staying away,” I say firmly, even as my stomach churns.

I stare at the lilies on the windowsill, their vibrant blooms almost mocking me, a stark contrast to the cold, sinking feeling in my chest. As Jenna and I scroll deeper into the rabbit hole of Liam’s love life, the initial excitement and curiosity that fluttered in my stomach when I saw the flowers gives way to something heavier.

Disappointment. Unease. Dread.

The man in these stories—the one dating models and actresses, leaving clubs in the early hours of the morning, flashing that trademark cocky grin for the cameras—feels so far removed from the Liam who kissed me breathless in a quiet hospital hallway. It’s like two different people.

But maybe this is the real Liam O’Connor—the playboy, the heartbreaker. Very likely I’d be just another notch on his already crowded bedpost. The thought makes my stomach churn, and a hot wave of embarrassment rises to my cheeks.

Jenna must sense my discomfort because she reaches over and squeezes my hand, her fingers warm and grounding. Her eyes, usually filled with humor, soften with understanding. “He’s dreamy, alright,” she says gently, “but I think you’re making the right call. He seems like…a lot.”

I nod, swallowing the lump in my throat and forcing a smile that doesn’t quite reach my eyes. “You’re right,” I say, though the words taste bitter. “I’m not interested in being someone’s next conquest. I’ve got bigger things to focus on right now.”

“Exactly,” Jenna agrees, sliding her phone onto the table with finality. “For your first time, you deserve better than some player with a reputation for breaking hearts.”

I scoff and whip a stuffed bear—Jenna’s Christmas gift from her boyfriend Marc—straight at her face.

She ducks, laughing, and flings a throw pillow in retaliation.

Before long, the pillow fight spirals into full-blown chaos, both of us laughing so hard tears spring to our eyes. It’s childish, ridiculous, and exactly what I need to take my mind off Liam O’Connor.

When the impromptu battle finally ends, we’re sprawled out on the floor, catching our breath and giggling like middle schoolers. Jenna tosses the bear back onto the sofa, then glances at me with a grin. “Feel better?”

I nod, brushing loose strands of hair from my face. “Yeah. Thanks.”

With the tension broken, we steer the conversation toward safer topics—namely, the looming immunology paper. We spend the next few hours debating research topics, sketching out outlines, and procrastinating more than we should.

By the time the afternoon starts to fade, I glance at the clock and realize it’s time for me to head to Tarrytown for our weekly family dinner.

“I think I’m done for the day,” I say, pushing my laptop and notes aside with a satisfied sigh. “My parents are expecting me soon, and if I’m late, my mom will never let me hear the end of it.”

Jenna stretches her arms above her head, stifling a yawn. “Same. Marc’s picking me up in about an hour. We’re heading to his friend’s place for pizza and a movie.”

I head to my room to change, swapping my leggings and sweatshirt for my coziest sweater and a pair of well-worn jeans. Once I’m bundled up in my thickest coat, mittens, and a scarf that practically swallows my face, I grab my keys and bag.

“See you later, Jenna,” I call as I head out the door.

The sharp January air hits me like a slap, my breath escaping in a silver cloud as I step outside. The sun hangs low on the horizon, casting a golden glow over the quiet campus. Snow clings stubbornly to patches of grass, sparkling in the fading light.

I huddle deeper into my coat, pulling my scarf higher as I make my way to the parking lot. The frigid fingers of winter slip beneath my layers, sending an involuntary shiver down my spine.

All I can think about is reaching my car and cranking the heater to full blast.

As I approach the rows of parked cars, a tall figure leaning casually against a sleek black car catches my eye.

I falter mid-step, my breath hitching.

Liam.

He’s bundled up against the cold, a cashmere coat draped over his broad shoulders, a black knit hat pulled low over his ears, and leather gloves encasing his large hands. When he spots me, his face lights up with a grin that could power the entire campus.

He pushes off the car and saunters toward me, his movements unhurried but deliberate, like a man who knows exactly what he wants and isn’t afraid to go after it.

“Hey there, angel,” he says, his voice low and warm, like a secret meant just for me.

I stop dead in my tracks, my pulse kicking into overdrive. Every nerve in my body goes on high alert, buzzing with awareness.

“Liam?” I say, trying to keep my tone steady. “What are you doing here?”

He shrugs, his grin widening. “Figured you might want to thank me for the flowers and the chocolate.”

I blink, thrown off by his audacity, and then let out a laugh, shaking my head. “And you thought waiting out here was the best way to go about that?” I glance at his reddened cheeks, noticing the faint puff of his breath in the icy air. “How long have you been standing out here?”

“Since around two,” he says, looking entirely too pleased with himself. “I know Coach has a family dinner every Sunday, so I figured you’d be heading out late afternoon.”

My jaw drops. “Liam, it’s freezing !”

He waves off my concern, his blue eyes sparkling with mischief. “I’m good. Besides, a life without your phone number? Not worth living anyway.”

I roll my eyes, but damn it, the blush creeping up my neck betrays me.

That. Fucking. Charm.

“Well, thank you for the gifts,” I say, trying to sound composed even as my pulse races. “They were lovely, really. But I’ve got to go. My parents are expecting me.”

Liam’s grin doesn’t falter. If anything, it grows wider. And then, without warning, he steps closer—close enough that I can see the faint stubble on his jaw, close enough that his scent—mint and something earthy, like bergamot—wraps around me like a second coat.

Before I can back away, his gloved hand snakes around my waist, pulling me gently toward him. Despite the freezing cold, heat is crawling up my neck. My hips roll against him against my volition, my breath catching. A needy whimper escapes me.

“Liam,” I manage, though my voice is a shaky whisper.

“Shh,” he murmurs. His gaze flicks down to my lips, eyes flaring as if he knows how tight my nipples are under the thick coat and sweater, and how suddenly wet I am between my thighs. He smiles like the cocky asshole that he is, and without a warning, dips his head and places his mouth against mine in a tentative, gentle caress. It’s the barest of kisses. He hardly touches me, just dusts those delicious lips over mine.

Without thinking, my lips part for him.

That’s all the invitation he needs. His lips capture mine, soft but insistent, and then his tongue sweeps into my mouth, hot and commanding, sending a jolt of electricity through me. I grip his coat for balance because my knees feel like they’re about to give out.

It’s not like the awkward, fumbling kisses I’ve experienced before. The kneading of lips, the hand at my breast, sometimes a boy trying to snake his hand under my skirt. This feels different. A million nerve endings come alight, a slow burn turning into an inferno. I let out a shuddering breath, and he slowly relaxes his hold.

“Now this is an appropriate thank you.”

He plants a few more slow, lingering kisses on my mouth, and I let out a shaky breath. “I can’t wait to have you all to myself,” he murmurs. “To explore every inch of you on my own time.”

Somewhere in the back of my mind, I know I should stop this— should stop him . But my brain has short-circuited, leaving me with nothing but the heat radiating between us and the dizzying rush of his kiss.

He pulls back slightly, his eyes dark and intent as he studies my face. “So,” he says softly, his voice threaded with confidence, “now that you know I’m serious, will you go out with me?”

Reality comes crashing back.

“Liam, I…” I step back, out of his reach, the cold air biting at the exposed skin of my neck. “I can’t. You and me… It’s just not a good idea.”

Before he can press me further, a group of students rounds the corner, their excited chatter cutting through the tension.

“Oh my God,” one of the girls squeals, her eyes locking on Liam. “Are you Liam O’Connor?”

Liam turns to them, his smile easy and unflappable. “That’s right,” he says smoothly. “Nice to meet you.”

The students swarm him, snapping selfies and chattering away as he obliges, signing autographs and joking like it’s second nature.

I stand off to the side, watching him. The easy magnetism, the natural charm—it’s impressive and overwhelming.

When the students finally move on, Liam turns back to me. “So,” he says, his grin back in full force, “how about next Thursday? Dinner and a movie?”

I shake my head, my arms folding across my chest.

“Okay, something fancier then,” he says, undeterred. “There’s a gallery opening in Chelsea. I have a feeling you’d love it.”

“It’s still a no, big guy,” I say, my voice firmer this time. “But thank you for the offer. Really. It’s flattering.”

He sighs, but the sparkle in his eyes doesn’t fade. “Alright, if you won’t go out with me, how about your phone number? That’s all I’m asking.”

I hesitate, caught between the undeniable pull I feel toward him and the voice in my head screaming that this is a terrible idea.

“Liam…” I start, but my words trail off as I meet his gaze.

“C’mon,” he says, his grin turning playful. “I’ll camp out here if I have to. I’ve got a sleeping bag in my car and everything.”

A laugh escapes me before I can stop it. “You’re ridiculous. ”

“Determined,” he corrects, his tone lighter now. “Your number, Sophie. I’m freezing my ass off here.”

I sigh, feeling my resolve crumbling like a house of cards in a hurricane. I try to grab hold of my better judgment, but it’s already halfway to Timbuktu, leaving me alone with my racing heart and the undeniable chemistry crackling between us.

“Fine,” I mutter, grabbing his phone. “But this doesn’t mean anything, okay? I’m just saving you from hypothermia.”

He grins like he’s just won the Stanley Cup. “I knew you’d be reasonable.”

As I hand his phone back, he winks. “And for the record, my next move would’ve been camping out at Coach’s house.”

I roll my eyes, but I can’t suppress the smile tugging at the corners of my lips. “Yeah, that would’ve been a really dumb move.” I shake my head.

Climbing into my car and starting the engine, I glance back at him, still standing there in the cold, watching me with a look that could melt glaciers.

As I pull out of the parking lot, I can see him in my rearview mirror, his figure growing smaller and smaller until he’s just a speck in the distance. My heart is doing somersaults in my chest, and I can practically hear my rational mind calling me from a beach somewhere, sipping a margarita and laughing at my poor life choices.