Rinkmates: A steamy Hockey Romance (The Mates series Book 1)

If I hear the words quad and salchow together in a sentence one more time, it might be the thing that finally tips me over the edge. I’ve been on the edge since I woke up this morning with a knot of nerves in my stomach. After another grueling training session, all I wanted was a few minutes of peace under the hot spray of the shower. But just as I begin to unwind, I hear them: Stacey, Patricia, and Molly. Their voices bounce off the tiled walls.

“Did you see how Liora stumble today?” Stacey’s voice is like nails on a chalkboard. “It’s a wonder she hasn’t broken an ankle yet.”

“Yeah,” Molly chimes in, her tone dripping with mock sympathy. “Maybe she should stick to something safer, like knitting.”

I clench my jaw, feeling a wave of anger washing over me.

It’s like being back in those cutthroat competitions where every skater was both a competitor and a potential enemy. Priya had to leave early today for dinner with her dad, and without her calming presence, the studio feels even more toxic. I chose to use the bathroom here, hoping to avoid another awkward encounter with Riley at home. Now, I’m regretting it.

I finish my shower quickly, keeping my movements as quiet as possible, but when I hear Stacey and her squad laughing and something that sounds a lot like running away, I wrap a towel around myself and step out into the changing area, only to find—nothing. My clothes are gone. Every single item has vanished from the bench where I left them.

Panic tightens my chest as I scan the empty room.

Stacey.

Shit. Fucking shit.

I run out of the shower, but she’s gone.

It’s all closed up—everyone else has left.

My stomach turns into a storm of nausea.

Ever since our first day, Stacey has had it in for me. Her obsession with pushing me out intensified when Grace commended Aiden and me for our routine last time. In this studio, compliments are ammunition, and jealousy is the battleground. Stacey must have seen this as her chance to take a shot at me. It’s clear she is dead set on bullying me away from my place here. But I won’t go. She’s messing with the wrong one. What I’ve learned is that karma will pay back. She’ll get what she deserves. Stupid bitch.

I’m grateful that she didn’t take my skates and didn’t steal my clothes during the first week. It would have been a disaster. Now, I receive dresses from the set crew and can finally buy new clothes for myself.

Wrapping the towel tightly around myself, I hurry to my locker to grab my phone. I should have stored my clothes there, too, but it never occurred to me that someone might be childish enough to steal them. Holding my phone, I realize there’s no way I can risk taking the subway or calling an Uber in just a towel. Heat of humiliation floods my cheeks as I just stare at the screen.

It’s a frustrating situation, but with neither Priya nor Nina owning a car and Aiden already on a date, there’s only one person I can turn to. The thought causes my heart to race for a completely different reason.

The second Riley picks up the phone his voice comes through, all tense and concerned. “Lia? What’s wrong?”

Well, I have never called him before, so I can’t be surprised he assumes I need something from him. I do. I take a deep breath and push aside my pride to ask for his help. I considered asking him to just bring me clothes, but the thought of him rummaging through my stuff—and potentially finding things like my little teddy bear and asking about it—made me hesitate. I just couldn’t do that. Instead, I ask, “Hey, can you please come get me? Maybe?”

The line goes quiet for a few seconds, and I worry he might say no.

“Yeah, of course. Where are you?”Content is © 2024 NôvelDrama.Org.

Wow. His quick agreement surprises me; he doesn’t even ask why I need him. This is…kinda sweet?

“At the studio. Everything’s closed, and…I don’t have my clothes.”

“Wait—what? Why don’t you have your clothes?”

“Long story. Just—please hurry. I owe you big time, okay?”

“I’m in New Jersey right now, giving the kids free skating sessions. It’ll take a bit to get to you. Are you all right to wait?”

“Wait, you weren’t just making that up to impress me?” I say, my heart warming at the thought of him working with kids in need.

“Nope, it’s my monthly altruistic deed,” he replies, sounding rushed, as if he’s getting all of his things ready to leave. “You know, I could send Ethan to pick you up. He might be faster—”

“No way, I’ll wait.” The thought of cranky Ethan escorting me in my semi-naked state makes me shudder.

“Okay then, what’s in it for me?” I hear a car door open, his voice dripping with cocky amusement.

“Anything you want,” I blurt out, immediately regretting my hasty offer.

“That’s a dangerous promise to make.”

“Is it? Maybe I’m just feeling generous today.” I reply, trying to sound nonchalant despite the nervous flutter in my chest.

“Generous, huh? I might hold you to that.”

“Just get here before I freeze.”

“On my way,” he replies, a hint of amusement in his voice.

“Lia?” Riley’s voice calls out in the studio’s parking lot.

I step out from behind the large concrete pillar where I’ve been hiding, my towel barely covering me.

His eyes widen as he takes in the sight, and he visibly swallows hard, his breath catching. His gaze roams, and he clears his throat. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think he’s making an effort to focus on anything but the fact that I’m standing there wrapped in just a towel.

However, he quickly pulls himself together and reaches for the black hoodie draped over his shoulders. With a quick shrug, he pulls it off and hands it to me. I slip in, grateful for its length as it reaches past my knees.

He opens the car door and practically urges me inside.

“I swear,” he says, sitting in the driver’s seat. “Press those thighs together for the life of you.”

“Um, okay?” I say, catching a whiff of his scent.

His hoodie smells like fresh laundry and a hint of musky cologne.

Damn, he smells so good.

The ride home is awkward.

Riley keeps glancing at me out of the corner of his eye, a frown tugging at his lips. He looks like he’s in pain, and for a moment, I wonder if it’s because of me.

At some point he finally breaks the silence and asks, “Who would do something like that?” I notice his tight grip on the wheel. “Steal your clothes, I mean. Is bullying common on set?”

“Not really,” I lie, my fingers tightening around the hem of his sweater. “It’s complicated.” Something in his voice makes me hesitant to mention that Stacey and her squad have been badmouthing Priya and me for a while now, or that one comment about my cheeky ass made me stick to salad for lunch whenever the girls are around. It might sound silly, but some habits are hard to shake off, especially when you’ve lived with them for so long. It takes constant effort to change. Even though I try to act confident and tell Priya that all bodies are great, which they are, my mind still quickly reverts to old insecurities.

“Why wouldn’t you just shower at home?” he presses.

I can feel his gaze on me, searching for answers.

“Because…” I trail off, not wanting to admit that it’s partly because of him. Not partly—it’s 100 percent because of him. “You know it’s not a big deal. It doesn’t matter. I’ll get it sorted.”

“Doesn’t matter?” He scoffs. “I wouldn’t shower on set again. Find out who did this. It’s bullying.”

I know who did it.

Fucking Stacey Saab.

But I keep quiet and nod instead.

I just need to be more careful.

Grace on Ice has been toxic from the start, but what do you expect when there’s a million-dollar prize at stake? It’s a life-changing amount, and Stacey has always been deceptive—even when there’s no prize involved other than a medal.

She used to bully others instead of relying on her skills.

We pull up to the apartment building, and Riley shuts off the engine, turning to face me. “Liora, promise me you’ll be careful.”

“I promise,” I whisper, my cheeks burning. “Thank you for the ride.”

He rakes a hand through his hair. “Always. Now, let’s get you inside before I track down whoever did this.”

I quickly change and, as I step out of Riley’s bathroom, I find him sprawled on the couch, lying on his stomach.

“You’re invading my bedroom,” I tease, glancing at the TV with the paused show. Ever since they renovated my bedroom and I started sleeping here, he’s been watching his shows in his own room.

“Well, you wrecked my evening plans, so I thought I could watch my show on the big screen for once.”

My throat tightens. He’s so kind, and I feel a pang of guilt. He probably had other plans tonight than driving me around town. “I’m sorry. Did you miss anything because of me?”

“No, no. I was planning to read. It’s all good. I just wanted to check on you and there’s this new series that got me hooked…so…”

“I’m good, thank you,” I say, sinking down next to his feet.

He tries to get up but winces, collapsing back onto the couch.

My stomach drops. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Just—fuck. My back. I must have strained a muscle with the kids today. I love them, but they use me as their personal playground. So yeah, maybe I wanted to check in with you and noticed I couldn’t get up again. But just wait a bit, it will be all fine—God, this hurts.”

I can’t even blame the kids for wanting to use him as their play tower. I want to too. But in a different way that’s absolutely not okay to think about right now. “Oh god, I’m sorry,” I say, blurting out without thinking, “want me to massage you? Maybe I can find the spot.”

He blinks. I blink back, my mind racing.

What is wrong with me? Massage him? Am I really this eager to touch him? I glance at the way his muscles strain against his shirt. Yep. I am.

“No. You don’t have to,” he says.

I notice his flushed cheeks and the way he stays still. He’s in pain.

“I know, but I owe you…”

“You don’t owe me anything. You needed my help, that’s fine. Forget it. I’ll just lie here for a few minutes, and when I can get up, I’ll let you rest.”

“No,” I insist, realizing this might actually help him out. “It’s really not a big deal. Let me take a look.”

“Liora.”

“Stop being such a stubborn hothead and let me help.”

I push aside my fluttering thoughts about his sexy body and move to straddle him. What’s a little massage, right? I position myself over his hips, hovering slightly as if the touch might set me ablaze. I press my hands into his back, feeling the warmth of his body seep through his shirt.

Damn, he’s ripped. This was a terrible idea.

“You’re going to have to sit on my ass if you want to do this properly,” he murmurs, his voice muffled by the cushion.

“Bossy much?” I tease, shifting my weight and lowering myself onto him. The moment I sit down, I feel a shiver run through him.

“What’s that you’re watching?” I ask, trying to sound casual while my entire body tingles.

“New mystery series on Netflix,” he replies, swallowing hard. “Thought I’d give it a try.”

My fingers tremble.

Damn it, why I’m suddenly this nervous? It’s just a massage…

“Want to watch?” he asks.

“Sure,” I say.

He presses Play and I start to knead the muscles in his shoulders, eliciting a deep murmur from Riley. At the sound of it, everything tingles between my legs.

Oh no. I’m in hell. A sexy hell.

“Jesus Christ, this feels good,” he says, relaxing under my touch.

I start to wonder if he sounds like this when he fucks—wait. Stop. I don’t wonder. No. I never wonder about things like that.

I chuckle nervously, working my fingers deeper into his tense muscles.

Each knot I unravel brings another appreciative sound from him, making my heart race a little faster. He’s so fine, it’s not even funny.

I take a breath. And then another.

I’m not sure how, but I manage to keep it together and look professional, sort of. And when I finally get to the spot that’s been bothering him so much, I do my best to knead it out, just like the physiotherapist always did when I had a pinched muscle. Eventually, Riley sighs in relief, his whole body relaxing beneath my hands.

“Wow. That’s it. I can actually move now. You’re amazing,” he says, his voice still a little strained. “Maybe you missed your true calling.”

“Ha, yeah, right,” I laugh, trying to play it cool.

My hands continue to glide over his back, even though he said I’d already fixed it. I don’t want to stop. Instead of pulling away, my touch softens, becoming gentler, more…intimate. I can’t help but trace the lines of his muscles, savoring the moment.

Just like that, I skim through daydreams I’d never let myself fully acknowledge.

Every caress feels like a confession, each touch a tiny secret I hadn’t meant to share. The closeness makes my heart race, and a stupid grin spreads across my face. Touching him feels like the warm rays of sunshine on a summer day.

Why does his body feel so fucking good?

He sighs.

I sigh.

And then I realize what I’m doing.

My jaw is on the floor.

I’m groping Riley Huntington!

“Okay, I think you’ve paid your debt,” Riley says suddenly, his voice hoarse.

“Um, yeah, okay.” I quickly scramble off him, cheeks burning.

He sits up gingerly, adjusting himself and clearing his throat while I scoot to the far end of the couch.

His cheeks are faintly pink, and he avoids my gaze while I do my best to hide my own blushing. In a swift move, he snags a blanket and wraps it around himself. It’s hot like a sauna in here, why would he need—oh. Oh.

We both turn our attention to the TV.

He didn’t just get a boner because I massaged him, right? Right?

I swallow.

Just the thought gives me a drumbeat pulse between my legs.

Don’t think about Riley’s dick. Don’t.

“Thank you,” he says, and this time it’s me clearing my throat. “That was one amazing massage.”

I smile awkwardly. It would have been if I didn’t get off on groping your fucking muscles.

“Thanks for rescuing me,” I whisper, keeping my eyes on the TV.

“Anytime,” he replies, doing the same.

We don’t say much during the show—we’re both too caught up in what’s happening—but as the second episode wraps up, I turn to face him.

“Do you think it was his brother?”

“Wanna find out?”

I check the clock; we both need to get up early, but the show is so good, I just have to keep watching. “Turn it on.”

We watch three more episodes, and by the end of it, I’m sprawled on my belly while he lies next to me as if we’re used to watching TV together. We’re so close that our limbs touch—something I only now realize. We sneak glances at each other, and I have to admit, I really like the way he looks at me.

It makes me feel beautiful. Desired.

“Oh, I’m jealous about the plants his wife has. Speaking of which, why don’t you have any plants in here?” I ask him during a cliffhanger moment when the credits start to roll. I love plants. If I had the money, I’d live in a jungle.

“Plants? Me? Nah,” Riley says, shaking his head.

I glance at him, he has his arms draped behind his head and I see the abs pressing through his shirt. I’d love to lie on those. Okay. No. I don’t. Absolutely not. They are hard. Hard as fuck. “I could kill a cactus just by looking at it.”

“Really?” I laugh. “Cacti are pretty resilient.”

“Not resilient enough for me, apparently. Can’t share your obsession but it’s cute.”

“I guess I really am obsessed,” I say, feeling a warmth spread through my body at the memory of all the plants I grow back home. Summer is my favorite—I love trying to grow the veggies and fruits we eat, and more often than not, it works. I’m over the moon whenever I manage to make something grow. “Plants are little pieces of nature you can keep close by and with just a bit of care, they give so much in return. It’s calming. Oh, and I think they make the rooms so much prettier and— Shoot. Sorry, I’m totally babbling.”

“Don’t be sorry. I enjoy listening to you talk about the things you love. You’re eyes light up, and it’s…well, it’s kind of adorable.”

I catch myself smiling at him, my heart doing a stupid little flip.

Dangerous. This is definitely dangerous territory.

“You know, you’re different than I thought you’d be.”

“Different how?” I ask, raising an eyebrow.

“Well, I always saw you as this driven, no-nonsense athlete. But here you are, not wanting me to tear apart the idiot who keeps bullying you, talking about plants like you’re a gardener instead of a skater, and spending all night watching TV shows with me,” he says with a crooked smile. “You’re…softer. And I mean that in a really good way.”

“Yeah, I think I’m softer off the ice,” I admit, biting my lip. It’s because I have to pretend to be hard to keep on going. “But you’re not exactly what I expected either. It’s really great what you do for those kids, Riley.”

“Yeah, I love it,” he says, his face softening. “Working with them keeps me grounded, reminds me why I love hockey in the first place.”

“See? That’s what I mean. You’re different too,” I say, shifting slightly closer. “In a good way too.”

“Glad to hear it,” he murmurs.

We watch the next episode, and our conversation starts to slur. Before I know it, my eyelids grow heavy, and the last thing I remember is Riley’s body beside me as I drift off.

When I wake up it’s early in the morning, the room is dark except for the soft glow from the TV screen. My body feels unusually warm, and I notice a musky scent—sandalwood, maybe? No, definitely musk, and sort of fresh. And I feel a tickling against my neck—something soft yet firm. I glance down and notice a way-too-heavy arm draped across my stomach, pulling me close against his chest. It feels good. His chest.

Wait. His chest feels good?

That’s when I notice we’re fucking cuddling! What? We’re a tangled mess of limbs! How did this happen?

Riley’s breathing is slow and steady, completely at ease. Mine is not. No, I think I’m hyperventilating.

I carefully disentangle myself from his embrace, moving as quietly as possible, like I’m defusing a bomb in a spy movie. One wrong move, and I’ll wake him. Green wire or red wire? I go for it, holding my breath the whole time and—I slip free and sit up, gazing at him as he sleeps.

It’s strange, I’ve never accidentally cuddled with someone before.

I study the peaceful rise and fall of his chest, his face softened in slumber, every line and curve relaxed. The way his dark hair falls across his forehead. The sound of his breathing. Cuddling with him felt nice. It shouldn’t, though.

I mentally shake myself and scurry back to my room to get ready for set, hoping he didn’t notice I craved that cuddling. I need to talk about him to Mom later; she’s the only one who will understand why I can’t let these feelings in. She knows, as well as I do, that I need to get my life in order first. I make a mental note: No more massages. Ever.

Whatever the reason, I’m dangerously close to becoming addicted to his touch, and that’s a risk I can’t afford. I’m already struggling to keep my emotions in check—I don’t need to add heartbreak to the mix.