Chapter 3 Collin
COLLIN
When Shannon said my “duties” started Monday, she forgot to mention the pre-shoot cast party I had to attend on Saturday. Don’t get me wrong, I love a good party. But there’s something deeply depressing about being in a room full of women you can’t flirt with.
The network rented out The Loft, one of those trendy downtown spots where exposed brick meets crystal chandeliers and vintage wine bottles line the walls.
The place is packed, the heat from too many bodies is making the air thick despite the high ceilings.
I’ve already ditched my dark blue suit jacket, leaving it draped over my chair at the bar.
The white button-up underneath less suffocating, I roll the sleeves to my forearms as I work the top two buttons loose.
I lean back against the bar, nursing my whiskey.
Small clusters of people fill the space, drinks in hand, laughter mixing with the music.
Carter Walsh, the former goalie from the Red Wings, catches my eye from across the room.
He’d left the NHL after struggling to fully recover from a labral tear.
I lift my glass in his direction, getting a weary nod in return.
Rob “Tank” Peterson is posted up near the windows, all six foot five of him hunches down as a tiny blonde demonstrates something with her hands.
His retirement last season made headlines—I hadn’t expected to see him here.
More familiar faces emerge through the crowd.
Stevens from the Leafs, already loosening his tie.
Martinez, who hung up his skates two seasons back.
Anderson, who I dropped gloves with last time we played the Bruins.
Each player is paired with a partner half their size, all looking varying degrees of out of their element.
Hard not to notice how out of place we all look.
A bunch of hockey dudes trying to play nice at what feels like a high school dance.
Two women already made passes at me, which normally would’ve made this night a lot more interesting.
Any other Saturday night, I’d be halfway home with a girl on each arm, wouldn’t have thought twice about it. The things I do for hockey.
“Is that Collin King I see?” I nearly jump out of my skin at the shrill voice behind me. A woman who looks like she’d mugged a disco ball was suddenly in my face, all sequins, fluffy blonde hair and enough enthusiasm to power a small city. Oh God. What fresh hell is this?
“Guilty as charged.” My mouth pulls up in a too-wide grin as I look down at all five two of her. She smiles back just as big, pink lipstick crinkling in the corners of her mouth.
“I’m Diane Brooks, your coach for this season!
” she practically squeals. “I just know we’re going to have the most spectacular time together!
Those brown eyes of yours, that smile. Ugh, the camera is going to absolutely eat.
you. up!” Her hand shoots out and grabs mine in a grip that could crush coal into diamonds.
“Oh, when they showed me your highlight reel, I just knew you’d be perfect for the show.
Such power!” She actually fans herself with her free hand.
I try to subtly extract my hand, keeping my smile firmly in place even as I contemplate gnawing my arm off to escape.
“You’re too kind, really.”
“And this—” She reaches behind her, yanking someone forward with the same force she’d used on my arm. “This is your partner! Iris Clark, my pride and joy from the 2020 Olympics. Two-time silver medalist before she left competition. You two are going to make magic together!”
Well Shit.
Remember all that stuff about keeping it professional and behaving myself? Yeah, that plan just went straight to hell.
I’ve seen pretty women before. Hell, I’ve seen plenty of beautiful women before.
I was expecting beautiful. I could handle beautiful.
But Iris Clark? She is something else entirely.
Pale skin with these light freckles scattered across her nose, the kind you might miss if you weren’t paying attention.
Dark curls everywhere, falling past her shoulders, one piece falling into her eyes that she quickly pushes back out of her face.
Speaking of her eyes, they’re this impossible shade of green.
Not dull or muddy, but this breathtaking bright color that makes it hard to look anywhere else.
The black dress she’s wearing hits just above her knees, fitting her in all the right places.
Don’t say anything stupid. Don’t say anything stupid. Don’t—
“It’s nice to meet you.” She smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes as she extends her hand, those same eyes doing a slow scan from my face down to my shoes and back up again.
“Believe me, the pleasure’s all mine.” I take her hand, noting how she barely comes up to my shoulder despite the heels she’s wearing.
“Oh, just look at you two!” Diane claps her hands together, making us both jump. “The chemistry is already electric! You can just feel it, can’t you?” I watch Iris force another polite smile while I knock back the rest of my drink.
“So,” I say, setting my glass on the bar behind me, “Olympic medalist, huh? I must’ve done something right in a past life.” She glances up at me then, a hint of surprise breaking through her reserved expression.
“Funny, I was thinking this might be karma for something I did wrong.” My grin falters for half a second before I catch myself. Diane’s laugh bursts out like a nervous hiccup.
“Oh, Iris, you big kidder! You’re just too fun!
” She squeezes her arm, and Iris’s eyes narrow slightly, one eyebrow lifting as she holds Diane’s gaze.
Clearly I was missing something. “Well!” Diane’s voice goes up an octave as she smooths down her sequined dress.
“I must go mingle. Play nice, dear.” She directs this last bit at Iris with an almost pleading smile before disappearing into the crowd.
As soon as Diane vanishes, Iris turns back to me with an expression that could probably freeze hell over.
“Let me guess.” She takes a delicate sip of her drink, something clear with lime. “You’re used to women falling all over themselves when you flash that smile?” Well, yeah, actually. But something tells me that isn’t the right answer.
“I’m hurt,” I say, pressing a hand to my chest. “Here I am, trying to get to know my new skating partner, and you’re already assuming the worst about me.”
“Get to know me? Is that what we’re calling it?” Her eyes flicker to where my hand is still dramatically clutched over my heart. Jesus, this woman is immune to everything. I switch tactics, leaning one elbow against the bar and going for casual charm.
“Come on, you can’t blame a guy for trying to break the ice. We’re going to be spending a lot of time together.”
“Mhmm, and I’m sure you’re just devastated about that arrangement.”
“Actually...” I let my gaze drift down to her legs and back up. “Can’t say I mind at all.” A slight pink touches her cheeks, but her eyes roll so hard I worry they might get stuck.
“Wow. Does that usually work for you?”
“You’d be surprised.”
“No, I really wouldn’t be.” She gives me her own assessing gaze “I’m sure you have women lining up around the block with lines like that.
” Is she... making fun of me? Women didn’t make fun of me.
Women giggled at my jokes and touched my arm and slipped me their numbers.
They didn’t stand there looking amused and untouchable while systematically dismantling my entire play book.
Some drunk idiot with two overflowing martinis knocks into her from behind, and she stumbles forward.
I catch her elbow without thinking, steadying her against me.
And just like that, all that distance she’d been keeping disappears.
She’s right there, warm skin under my palm, making my pulse do this weird skipping thing. Huh, well that’s different.
“You know.” I smile, not letting go. “If you wanted me to put my arms around you, you could’ve just asked.
” She goes still. Looking from my hand on her arm to my face, the blush that had been creeping up her neck was now full-blown.
Her head tips back as she laughs, wiping at her eyes like I just told the most ridiculous joke she’d ever heard.
“Did you seriously just say that? And you thought it would work?”
“I, uh—” For the first time in my life, words fail me completely. She wrinkles her nose, freckles crinkling as she shakes her head.
“Eugh.” She extracts her arm from my grip, curls brushing over her shoulders, still softly bouncing with quiet laughter.
Reaching past me, she sets her half-empty glass on the bar and shoots me another disbelieving look.
I stand there like an idiot, mouth still hanging open, trying to process what just happened as she walks off into the crowd, that mass of dark curls disappearing between suits and sequins until she slips out the exit.
A presence at my shoulder makes me turn, finding Diane’s sparkly self watching me with poorly concealed concern.
“Did she just ‘ew’ me?” In twenty-four years of life, ten of them spent dating, no woman had ever just... walked away from me, let alone said, “ew.”
“Um...” Diane’s enthusiasm had dimmed slightly, lips pursing, brows scrunching in thought. “Well, I think it was more like a ‘eugh.’” I give a disbelieving half-laugh.
“What’s the difference?” Diane attempts to rearrange her grimace into a sympathetic smile.
“Oh, sweetie, don’t worry! Iris just takes a little time to warm up to people.
She’s absolutely wonderful once she opens up, you’ll see!
” She brightens, patting my arm. “And just think, you have thirteen whole weeks to win her over!” I stare at the door as if she might magically reappear any minute.
Thirteen weeks. I had thirteen weeks to turn that reaction into something else—or at least figure out why it bothered me so much.
Sure, sleeping with her was off the table, but flirting?
That seems harmless enough. And the way those freckles crinkled when she’d laughed at me.
..I wanted to see that again. Even if I was the joke.