LOGINBlurb My father paid a hockey god to be my babysitter. Now he's the one I need saving from. Rule #1: Don't fall for the man your father is paying to watch you. I never was good with rules. When Coach Hartwell hired his star player, Ray Collins, to be my secret shadow, he thought he was protecting his "naive" daughter from the party scene. He didn't know Ray would become my obsession. Ray is arrogant, possessive, and everything I swore to hate. But when my picture-perfect world shatters, he's the only one who shows up. His hands are meant to report my every move. Instead, they trace secrets on my skin. This was a business transaction. Cash for protection. But you can't put a price on the way he looks at me or the way my heart races knowing every touch is a lie we're both choosing to believe.
View MoreRay's Pov
I should have said no.
The second Professor Hartwell asked me to babysit his daughter, I should have walked out. But I didn’t. I just sat there, in the worn leather chair across from his desk, trying to figure out what game we were playing.
I’d been in his office plenty of times. Usually, it was because I’d missed a morning skate or my grade in his Econ class was slipping. This was different. The door was shut, the noise from the hockey arena was just a distant hum, and he was looking at me like I was a play he was drawing up.
“She does not know I am asking you,” he said. His voice was low. He slid a photograph across the polished wood.
It felt slimy. Like a secret handshake or a backroom deal. Not a favor from a coach to his team captain.
I looked down.
The girl in the picture was laughing. Her head was tilted back, her dark hair swinging. She wasn’t just pretty. She was the kind of pretty that made you stare. My eyes stuck on the curve of her smile, then drifted down to her hip before I jerked them back up.
Sexy. The word popped into my head before I could stop it.
No wonder she needed a babysitter.
“Sir,” I said, clearing my throat. It felt tight. “I don’t think I get it. What are you asking me to do?”
“You’re the captain, Ray Collins. You know what happens after games. The parties. The guys.”
He said the word guys like it was something dirty. “My daughter has decided to join the team as a photographer this semester. I need someone to make sure she does not get… distracted.”
“She’s an adult,” I said carefully. What I wanted to say was, This is crazy. But I bit the words back. I needed this man. I needed the letter he could write for me.
“She is nineteen,” he corrected, leaning back. His chair creaked. “She has spent her entire life in classrooms and libraries. She does not understand the world. She does not understand what boys that age want from her.”
And there it was. The real ask.
“You want me to babysit her.”
“I want you to watch out for her. Treat her like you would a sister. If you saw your sister at a party with a bunch of young men who only want one thing, what would you do?”
I didn’t have a sister. “I’d probably tell her to have fun and make good choices,” I said. It came out with a little bit of an edge.
The air in the office got colder. He didn’t like my tone.
“I will make it worth your time.” He leaned forward again, elbows on the desk. “Five hundred dollars. Every week. Cash. And that recommendation letter for graduate school you asked me about? Consider it done.”
Fuck.
The word was a hammer in my chest. I needed that letter. I needed it like I needed air. It was my ticket out. My scholarship got me here, but his letter would get me out of here. Out of my past.
All I had to do was spy on his daughter.
He watched me. His eyes were sharp. “I trust you, Ray Collins. And I expect you to keep yourself in check.”
A short, laugh escaped me. “Coach, I don’t chase after little girls.”
“I am hoping to keep it that way,” he said, his voice flat.
He took my silence as a yes. “She starts Monday. First team meeting of the season.”
He slid a thick, white envelope across the desk. It wasn’t sealed. I could see the green edges of bills inside.
My hand moved before my brain could stop it. I picked it up. It was heavy.
He gave a single, firm nod and flicked his hand toward the door. “This stays between us. Now get out. I’ve got game plans to work on.”
“Yes, sir.”
I stood up, the envelope feeling like a brick in my hand. I opened the door and stepped back into the bright, noisy hallway of the athletics building.
My teammates were already there, leaning against the wall. Liam and Derek, two of our defensemen, straightened up when they saw me.
“What did the old man want?” Liam asked, a grin spreading across his face. “You in trouble again, Captain?”
I shoved the envelope deep into my jacket pocket. I forced my own grin, the easy, cocky one I wore like my jersey. “Nah. Just stroking my ego. Telling me I’m the best player he’s ever had. You know, the usual.”
Liam snorted and shoved my shoulder. “Yeah, right. Your head’s gonna get so big your helmet won’t fit.”
Derek launched into a story about a pro scout he’d heard was coming to our next game. The conversation swerved away from me, just like I’d planned.
I walked with them toward the locker room, laughing at the right times, all I could feel was the weight in my pocket. It wasn’t just money.
It was a key. A key to my future, handed to me by a man who had just asked me to lie.
And the girl in the photograph, the one with the laughing eyes and the swinging hair… she had no idea her life was now a part of my deal.
I had sold my peace for five hundred dollars and a piece of paper. And Monday, I would start my new job
POV: RileyI saw Ray's message first.Don't look at your photography account. Call me first.I stared at it for three seconds. Then I opened the photography account.I know. He said not to. But I have never been good at being told what not to look at. My father built that reflex in me without meaning to, the need to see the thing directly rather than have it described, because described things always came with someone else's framing attached and I had learned early that other people's framing cost you something.The tag took me four seconds to find. The post was vague enough to be deniable and specific enough to be damaging, the careful language of someone who understood exactly how much they could say before it became a legal problem. An arrangement. A deal. A girl connected to both programs. The comments underneath it were doing the work the post itself was too careful to do directly. Forty, fifty, sixty people filling in the blanks with whatever version made the most sense to them.
POV: RayI saw it during the water break.We were forty minutes into practice, full pads, defensive sequences that required everyone to think and move at the same time, and I was finally in my body the way I needed to be, the ice clean under my blades, the cold sharp in my lungs, the familiar logic of the game filling up the parts of my head that had been running other calculations since six in the morning. For forty minutes I was just a hockey player. Nothing else required. Then the whistle blew for water and Derek pulled out his phone before his helmet was fully off, the way Derek always did, addicted to the thirty-second check that was never thirty seconds, and I heard him make a sound. Not a laugh. Something shorter and less comfortable than a laugh.He passed the phone to the guy beside him. That guy passed it on. The phone moved through the group the way phones move when the content is too interesting to describe and easier to just show. It reached Liam. Liam read it and did not
POV: MarvelI should have chosen a better room.That was the thing I kept coming back to afterward. Not the conversation itself, not the words Tomas said that landed like flat stones dropped into still water, not even the specific look on his face when he asked me the question I did not want to answer. Just the room. Tomas's room was on the ground floor of the Eagles residence with a window that faced the interior courtyard and a door that did not latch properly unless you pulled it all the way closed. I knew that about the door. I had been in that room a hundred times. I pulled it almost closed and sat down on the chair beside Tomas's desk and started talking, and I did not think about the gap. Half an inch of open air between the door and the frame. Half an inch that changed everything that came after.I told Tomas everything. The meeting with Hartwell. The letter of recommendation already submitted, already in motion, a done thing I had not asked for and had not earned and had ac
POV: RileyRay opened the door before I knocked.He must have heard my footsteps in the corridor because the door swung inward just as I raised my hand, and he was standing there in yesterday's clothes with his hair not yet sorted and his eyes carrying the specific weight of someone who had been awake for hours doing something that cost him. I had walked across campus in the cold morning air with Naomi's enhanced photograph saved to my phone and Hartwell's message screenshot burning in my chest and by the time I reached Ray's building I was moving fast enough that my breath was coming out in sharp white clouds. I stopped in the doorway. We looked at each other for one second. That was all we needed. He stepped back and I came inside and he closed the door and the ordinary warmth of the room pressed in around me like something I had not realized I needed until it was there.The room smelled like burned paper. Faint but unmistakable. I did not ask about it. I understood without asking
Ray's PovI should have said no.The second Professor Hartwell asked me to babysit his daughter, I should have walked out. But I didn’t. I just sat there, in the worn leather chair across from his desk, trying to figure out what game we were playing.I’d been in his office plenty of times. Usually,
POV: RayMonday came like a punishment. I stood outside the athletics media room with my hands in my jacket pockets, telling myself I was calm. I was not calm. I'd barely slept. Every time I closed my eyes I saw the photograph on Hartwell's desk, the girl with the laughing eyes and the swinging hai
Riley The Rink Bar was everything I hated about hockey culture crammed into one sticky, overheated room.Blue and gold jerseys clashed everywhere I looked, Falcons and Eagles pretending to be civil while shooting daggers at each other over red plastic cups. The music was too loud, the bass vibrati
RileyI had done exactly one thing in my entire life without my father’s approval, and I was determined not to mess it up.Figure skating.It was my secret rebellion, planned and saved for in silence. While my father graded papers and muttered about “frivolous pursuits,” I watched old Olympic routi






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