Skye Emerson sits at a wooden table in the Stonebridge High library, her sketchpad open to a half-finished design for the Valentine’s Day fundraiser. One she’s drawing as a sample for those who would be partaking in the drawing competition.

She’s focused as her pencil scratches across the page, outlining a real looking living heart entwined with vines, but suddenly, her focus drifts away as it keeps slipping, her head occupied with some thoughts. 

She looks across from her where Knox Callahan slouches in his chair as he flips through a stack of budget notes with an unreadable expression without saying a word to her since he got there or giving her a soft glance. He’s quieter than usual, his usual cocky smile replaced by a tight-lipped focused face on the notes. His dark hair falls messily over his forehead, and his eyes, mischief and distant. 

Skye’s stomach churns with unease. ‘Is this it?’ she wonders inwardly, her fingers tightening around her pencil. ‘Was that kiss in the storage room just a game to him?’ 

The memory of his lips on hers, the heat of his hands pulling her close, lingers like a bruise she can’t stop pressing. But now, he’s cold, detached, as if he’s built a wall between them overnight. She steals a glance at him, searching for his attention, but his face gives nothing away. Her heart sinks. Maybe she misread everything. Maybe Knox Callahan, Stonebridge’s golden boy, is just toying with her, like he’s rumored to do with half the girls in school.

She clears her throat as she finally speaks. “You okay?” she asks, keeping her tone normal despite the worries in her chest. “You’re acting like someone stole your stick at the rink… I mean that’s the only thing I can think of right now.” She added.

Knox’s eyes flick up to hers, and for a moment, she thinks she sees something in his eyes, guilt, maybe or frustration. But it’s gone as quickly as it came. He leans back, crossing his arms over his chest, the sleeves of his hoodie pulling tight against his biceps. “Just a bad check on the ice,” he mutters, his voice low and casual. He tilts his head slightly, revealing a faint bruise displaying along his jaw, a red fresh wound mark against his face skin. “No big deal.” He added.

Skye’s eyes narrow. She doesn’t buy it. The bruise looks fresh, but it’s not enough to explain the shift in his mood for no reason. She opens her mouth to push further, but the words die on her tongue. Instead, she nods, dropping her gaze back to her sketch. ‘If he wants to shut me out, fine. I won’t look desperate.’ She says inwardly to herself. But the silence between them feels oppressive, broken only by the rustle of paper and the faint scratch of her pencil.

For thirty minutes, they work in near silence. Skye focuses on her design, adding intricate details to the heart’s vines, her strokes detailed as she tries to ignore the tension. Knox flips through his notes, jotting down numbers with a pen that clicks annoyingly every time he sets it down. Every so often, she catches him watching her, his gaze lingering on her hands as they move across the page, or on the way her hair falls over one shoulder. His eyes are intense and searching, as if studying her now. Each time their eyes meet, her pulse quickens, and she forces herself to look away.

Shortly, from the distance, the library doors swing open, and a group of rowdy students comes in, their laughter echoing off the room alongside their words. Skye tenses as they pass by, their voices loud and teasing. “Yo, Callahan, you and your fundraiser girlfriend look cozy!” one of them calls, a lanky guy with a backward cap. Another, muttering something about “the fundraiser couple.” Skye’s cheeks burn, and she rolls her eyes, trying to play it off, but the invisible uncomfortable heat prickles up her neck. She glances at Knox, expecting him to brush it off with his usual arrogance, but he surprises her. A slow smile spreads across his face, his eyes filling with amusement as he leans forward, resting his elbows on the table.

“Guess word spreads fast,” he says, his voice low enough that only she can hear. There’s a playful edge to it, but his gaze holds hers a moment too long, sending a shiver down her spine.

Skye huffs, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “Let them talk,” she mutters, but her voice betrays a hint of nerves. She flips her sketchpad closed, suddenly self-conscious under his stare. “This place is too loud. Let’s move somewhere quieter. I don’t need distractions.”

Knox nods, gathering his notes. “Art room?” he suggests, already standing. “Nobody’s there this late.”

She hesitates, then agrees, slinging her bag over her shoulder. The old art room at the far end of the school is a haven of quiet, far from the library’s chatter. And they walk through the empty halls. The snow from earlier has thickened, coating the windows in a frosty sheen, and the air feels heavy with the promise of a storm.

The old art room smells of paint and dust, its walls lined with shelves of supplies and half-finished canvases. A single fluorescent light flickers overhead, casting soft shadows across the room. They finished up with their work without saying a word to eat other as they both made their way to the space where the valentine day’s fundraiser would hold.

Skye drops her bag on a table, pulling out a string of fairy lights they’d planned to use for the fundraiser’s decorations. The lights are tangled in a mess of wires and bulbs, and she sighs, setting to work untangling them.

Knox steps in beside her. “Let me have it.” he says, reaching for the strand. His fingers brush hers as he takes it, the touch lingering just a moment too long. Skye’s breath catches, but she keeps her eyes on the lights, determined not to let him see how much he affects her. They work together, untangling the strand of lights in silence, until one particularly stubborn knot refuses to budge.

“Hold on,” Knox says, his voice low. He steps closer, his chest nearly brushing her shoulder as he takes it from her and works at the knot in her hands. His fingers graze hers again, and this time, he doesn’t pull away. Skye’s pulse races. She risks a glance up at him, and his eyes lock onto hers, darker now, more certain, like he’s made up his mind about something.

“Emerson,” he says, his voice a low rumble that sends a shiver through her. “You’re not what I expected.” He pauses, his gaze dropping to her lips. “But nevertheless.”

Before she can respond, he leans in, his lips capturing hers in a kiss that’s anything but hesitant. It’s firm, uncompromising, stealing the air from her lungs. Skye’s hands find his chest, her fingers curling into the soft fabric of his hoodie as she kisses him back, her heart pounding so loudly. The kiss deepens, and her knees weaken as her back hits the wall, as his hands cups her face, his thumbs brushing her cheeks.

His fingers trail downward, grazing the hem of her skirt, then slipping beneath it, hoping to touch her underwear but his fingers touch her bare pubic pussy skin instead.

‘She’s not putting on any underwear?’ He asked inwardly to himself.

“Fuck!” He mutters a moaning groan curse.

The truth? She’s worn all her underwears and she’s washed them all and none of them is dried.

Skye’s breath hitches, nerves and want coursing through her. She’s caught in the moment, in the heat of his touch, when a loud door slam sound echoes through the hallway, shattering their moment.

Skye jerks back, her heart racing, but Knox’s hands tighten on her hips, holding her in place. His lips curve into a cold smirk that doesn’t reach his eyes, and a sign of discomfort crosses his face as he glances toward the door. “We’re not alone,” he murmurs.

Skye follows his gaze to the window, her stomach twisting fear, afraid that Laurel would see her with his man again.

In the dim light corridor outside, Knox saw a tall figure of a person, a man standing motionless, their face obscured by shadows. The person stays there for a heartbeat, watching and then vanishes into the darkness before Knox could notice.

Skye’s breath catches, her mind racing with questions. ‘Who was that? Laurel? Maya? Someone else?’

Knox steps back, cursing under his breath as he runs a hand through his hair. “Damn it,” he mutters with frustration.

Without another word, he grabs his jacket from the table and heads for the door, leaving Skye standing there.

She stares after him as he leaves as her heart beats in worries at the thought that she was falling for Knox Callahan, Stonebridge’s rude, playboy golden boy, and the realization terrifies her.

Author’s Note:

Dear Readers,

Thank you for diving into my hockey-themed story! I’m thrilled to share that I’ll be updating daily, so please add this book to your library to get notified when new chapters drop. I’d love to hear your thoughts in the comments and would greatly appreciate your votes to support the story.

I’m taking my time with this tale, crafting it to feel like a real-life journey, so I ask for your patience if the scenes tug at your emotions. I’m just a writer, pouring my heart into this. And I hope you’ll fall in love with the story as much as I have.

Happy reading!

Blessing Oluebube Oguwike.

Sending love.