Chapter 33
BIG brUISER ENERGY
Nate
“Apparently almost punching a man on live TV makes your ‘fake’ girlfriend look at you like a dessert buffet. Who knew?”
The lights blew up like a fucking sniper round, sharp, hot, and loud enough to rattle in his chest. The crowd roared, still drunk off Lars’ strip-jive bullshit. Nate wasn’t even paying attention. How could he, with Holly standing next to him like that?
Christ.
He wasn’t even really touching her, just resting a hand at the small of her back.
But it felt like he was holding a bolt of lightning waiting to strike.
Her spine was rigid, her shoulders up like she was locked and loaded, but her body knew him now.
Fit against him like she belonged there.
Like she’d always known where his hands were meant to go.
She was staring up at him like he’d done something holy instead of spending the last few hours grinding his way through choreography with a hard-on and a prayer.
She looked at him like he was the fucking performance.
And yeah. He saw the way her gaze slid down his chest, slow and deliberate, unapologetic.
Like she’d earned it. Like she already owned his soul and wanted more.
His breath caught for a second as his brain slipped back to the feeling of her under him.
He could still taste the sweat on her collarbone.
And now here she was, painted in spotlight gold, eyes dark and greedy, like she’d branded him and was checking her work.
This was her moment. Her battlefield. But he wasn’t her burden tonight. He was her weapon. And he’d burn the whole fucking place down if she asked.
Lars swaggered offstage in a storm of cocky sweat and knockoff citrus body spray, dragging his cobra of a partner with him.
Nate didn’t move. He just kept his hand steady against Holly’s back, the way she needed it.
The way he needed it. But he saw the way Lars’ eyes flicked over her, the flash of confusion when she didn’t turn to him. When she didn’t see him.
Because she was still looking at Nate.
And Lars fucking felt it.
Nate knew the type. Preening, puffed-up peacock alphas who lost their minds the second a woman stopped orbiting them. Lars was used to being worshipped, not replaced.
“What do we have here?” Lars was all fake-smile and slow-blink smarm. His gaze slid over Holly like a tongue, and Nate’s knuckles twitched. “Interesting costume choice, Holly. Still dancing with so much... intensity.”
Jorja let out a snide little laugh. “Cute how committed you are to making your caveman look good, babe,” she purred, raking her gaze over Nate in his simple pants and shirt like she expected him to apologize for existing. “Bit of a charity case, but props for effort.”
“I’d rather a charity case with talent than a partner who has to take his clothes off for votes,” Holly said sweetly, shrugging a shoulder like she hadn’t just pulled the pin and launched the grenade.
Jorja narrowed her eyes like she was contemplating a clap-back.
Nate didn’t react outwardly, but inside him that little flicker of rage he’d kept on ice for months sparked to life. Not for himself. He didn’t give a shit what they thought of him.
Nate didn’t flinch. Just tilted his head, slow and lazy, like a lion clocking two yappy dogs. “I’d say it’s more like... divine punishment,” he said to Lars with a side of his signature smirk. “I get to dance with her. You get to watch. Tragic, really.”
“Watching her is the best part,” Lars replied, with a sly grin that edged Nate so much fucking closer to throwing down.
Holly arched a brow, voice silky. “Still using dancing to compensate, Lars? For... well.” She let her eyes fall deliberately to the fly of his pants. “Everything else?”
Lars bristled, jaw tightening. “She was such a quiet little thing back in Copenhagen,” he said, looking at Nate now with calculated cruelty. “Blushed if you breathed on her. Adorable, really. Naive. I broke her heart, and she still asked to rehearse the next morning. So professional.”
Something inside Nate snapped. His body moved before his brain caught up, one hand shoving Lars back with enough force to make the man stumble. He caught himself against the wall with a stunned laugh, but it was short-lived.
Nate was on him in two strides, eyes blazing, fists clamping down on the collar of Lars’ shirt like he was back on the ice with blood in his mouth and that familiar red mist behind his eyes. “Say that shit again,” he snarled.
Lars grinned, smug and feral, clearly mistaking Nate’s fury for performance.
“Oh, please. What’re you gonna do? Hit me in front of the cameras?” He leaned in, voice dropping to a venomous whisper. “She begged me to love her. But I don’t do broken toys. Guess you’re not that picky, huh?”
Nate’s roar was primal. He reared back, fist cocked, his breath stuttering in his chest. Nate didn’t care about the cameras, the crowd, the fucking show. He was going to put Lars in the ground and make him pay for every inch of pain that bastard ever put Holly through.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa, Nate!”
Two production assistants grabbed him, but only just. It took both of them to hold him back as he planted his feet and leaned into the moment, ready to take Lars’ fucking head off.
“Get the fuck off me,” he barked, trying to shake them loose as his eyes locked on Lars like a laser sight. “I only need one shot, asshole!”
And that was when Indie’s voice rang out across the sound stage, as chipper as ever.
“Next up, ladies and gentlemen, it’s Holly and Nate dancing the Paso Doble!”
Nate’s chest was heaving, his heart still in his throat as pure rage coiled like a spring beneath his skin. The assistants loosened their grip just enough for him to wrench free and reach for Holly.
But she wasn’t scared, and she wasn’t angry.
She was turned the fuck on.
Seeing that familiar heat pooling in her gaze did something feral to him.
He’d expected judgment, maybe even fear.
But he definitely hadn’t anticipated the raw hunger she was throwing at him, full of fire and ruin.
Her pupils were blown wide, breath rushing through parted lips like she wanted to taste him before the music even started.
And just like that, Nate Eriksson, professional hockey’s most volatile mistake, was tamed.
By her.
Holly stepped into his space like she owned it. Brushed past the production assistants still hovering nearby. Slid her hand along his forearm with a touch so light it might’ve been imagined, except for the way he felt it directly in his cock.
“Breathe,” she murmured, voice low and deadly calm. “Save it for the dance.”
He dragged in a breath, still shaking when she tilted her head toward him with that heated gaze of hers settling over him. “Don’t give him the power. You already won. You have me.”
Fuck.
His heart stopped and then stuttered back to life, as though he were a cobbled-together experiment on her science table. No one had ever claimed him like that. Not a coach or a team. Not even the team psychologist. Holly could, though. And there was no one else in the world he wanted to belong to.
He nodded once. A tight, clipped motion. Her fingers squeezed his forearm in silent approval.
“Let’s go burn that fucking floor,” he sniffed, jaw tight. He offered his hand, and she took it like a queen ascending her throne.
:
Take the Floor’s Nate Eriksson nearly throws hands backstage—but was it all for love?
Sources confirm tensions flared during live taping when former contestant Lars Holm made ‘inappropriate comments’ to professional dancer Holly Martinez.
Insider footage shows Nate Eriksson (currently suspended from the NHL for reckless conduct) being physically restrained moments before stepping onto the floor for a smoldering performance with Martinez. Fans are calling it the most intense moment of the season… READ MORE →
@hockeybrobilly on X:
Wait wait wait. Eriksson almost decked a guy on a dance show??? I knew he could throw hands, but this is next-level romantic violence. Bring him back to the league AND give him a rom-com deal.
@thathockeyguy Threads:
Back in Toronto, Nate once broke a guy’s nose for chirping our rookie’s mom.
So yeah. This tracks. But the soft look on his face when he watched her dance?
That’s new. Still. Looks like his suspension hasn’t really taught him how to solve problems without dropping gloves.
Helluva way to try and get himself off the bench… or re-signed…
Leaked Take the Floor b-roll audio:
“We’re gonna need someone on standby with a fire extinguisher for this Paso. I’m not kidding. He just tried to deck Lars and afterwards she looked like she wanted to climb him like a pole. This isn’t ballroom, this is foreplay with footwork.”