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

Fingertips tremble against my clit, gasping breaths echo in my dark room.

The memory of Riley’s touch is burned in my mind.

His fingers filling me, taking me to the chasm, only to leave me aching.

When he knocked, I pretended to be asleep, too overwhelmed to face him and admit that I wanted to stick to the contract because I was afraid I might actually develop feelings. Afraid to tell him that I kind of already have.

Instead, my mind replayed every moment of his touch over and over.

The rumble of his voice.

The hunger in his eyes.

The bold press of his hardness against my ass.

I couldn’t fall asleep, and as soon as he was in his own room, my hands instinctively went into my panties.

I imagined his sculpted body, remembering how it looked with water and soap cascading down every defined muscle. My fingers work frantically beneath the covers, chasing the release he’d denied me.

I’m close, so close.

But climax hovers out of reach.

And just when I think I can make it, a muffled groan sounds from the other side of the wall.

The cadence is unmistakable—Riley is pleasuring himself too.

I squeeze my eyes shut, imagining his strong hand fisted around his cock, stroking in time to my fingers rubbing tight circles on my clit. Soft grunts escalate to deep moans of ecstasy. Hearing his pleasure pushes me over the edge. I bite my lip to stifle my cry as I shatter.

I pant and mortification replaces the fleeting bliss.

What was I doing, getting myself off to my roommate? I can’t let myself fall for his charm and risk everything I’d worked so hard for.

I roll over and will myself to sleep.

But sleep doesn’t come in a while.

I tiptoe out of the apartment after hiding in my room for hours.Content is © by NôvelDrama.Org.

I told my mom what happened—though obviously not the part about the fingering. I just mentioned that we broke the contract by kissing, and she advised me to trust my instincts. But my gut tells me that Riley isn’t ready for a serious relationship, which is what I need. We’re on different pages in our lives. The sooner I accept that, the easier it will be to realize that if I let this go any further, it’s just about sex and nothing more.

My skates bump against my back with every hasty step.

I need to clear my mind before tonight’s show. The thought of seeing Riley only adds to the jumbled chaos in my head. After yesterday, I just can’t handle the thought of seeing him today. I’m feeling so shy and guilty that I don’t even know if I can look him in the eye again. Okay. No, I can’t.

I know I have to eventually, but not today.

Yesterday was just too much.

He fingered me. In a crowded living room.

And after the party, we touched ourselves, fully aware of what the other was up to.

It’s incredibly embarrassing.

When I make it to set, the dressing room buzzes with nervous energy as stylists wield hairspray and powder brushes with the intensity of soldiers arming for battle. I sit statue-still, barely daring to breathe, as Nora, a severe-looking woman with purple hair, pins my hair into a sleek updo with a crazy amount of glitter.

Priya plops into the chair beside me with an exaggerated sigh. “I think I’m going to puke.”

“Why? Are you hungover?”

“No. Please, I only had one cocktail.”

“Two.”

“Fine. Two. I’m still standing. No, I’ve never seen so many people out there! The audience room is bursting!”

“You’ve got this,” I reassure her, squeezing her hand. “We’ve practiced the routine a million times. Just pretend it’s only Aiden and me out there watching.”

“Easy for you to say,” Priya grumbles. “I don’t have a hot hockey player waiting to comfort me after.”

I roll my eyes, ignoring the flutter in my chest at the mention of my hot hockey player. “It’s not like that. We’re just friends.”

“Right,” she says. “Friends who eye-fuck each other across the room.”

Before I can defend myself, Stacey saunters over, all faux concern and barely concealed glee.

“Aww, I hope you’re not too worried about Riley being away. I’m sure he’ll behave himself…then again, you know how athletes get on the road.”

White-hot jealousy churns in my gut, but I school my features into a mask of calm indifference. “I trust Riley. But thank you for your concern.”

Stacey smiles. “If you say so. I just think it’s weird you’re not more concerned. I mean, he does have quite the reputation as a player, both on and off the ice.”

Priya glowers at her. “Don’t you have anything better to do than stir up drama, Stacey? Like, I don’t know, actually practicing your routine for once?”

She huffs and flounces away, but the damage is done. My mind reels with unwanted images of Riley, shirtless and glistening with sweat, tangled up with a faceless puck bunny. I shake my head to clear it. No, I wouldn’t let Stacey’s poisonous words infect me. I had to stay focused on my goal. Everything else was just a distraction. And, as long as no one sees it, he can have others.

Our relationship is fake, damn it.

I don’t even have the right to feel jealousy.

But maybe, after yesterday, he doesn’t want another woman…

“Skaters, two minutes to places!” the director says.

I put on another layer of red lipstick, and we’re ready to roll.

Priya grabs my hand, and we dash behind the stage, where Aiden practically crashes into my arms. His fidgeting hands mirror the butterflies swirling in my stomach. Priya waves at me before running to Mason. When he kisses her forehead, I want to gag.

Aiden releases me and I nod toward a crew member snapping photos of them. “Do you see that? He’s only nice to her when someone’s watching.” I’d be devastated if Riley was the same way. Only showing affection when the camera’s on. But then—crap. That’s exactly what we agreed on. What is wrong with my brain? We even signed a contract. Damn it.

“Mason is a prick,” Aiden says as we plop down on some chairs by the stage entry, watching the show start from a big screen.

I hear Priya laugh, her sweet voice is high pitched as she flirts with Mason. She looks amazing. Actually, any color on her does. Today, it’s a bright green with hundreds of rhinestones.

“Will you help me bury him if he hurts, Priya?”

“Where’s the shovel?” Aiden jokes, and we settle in as the lights dim and the audience erupts into applause.

Shayleen and Tim, our ever-smiling show hosts, step into the spotlight. I’ve seen them a couple of times during practice, and exchanged hellos, but they only show up when the cameras are rolling, so I don’t know much about them. Tonight, they’re dazzling under the lights, Shayleen’s glittering hair pinned up, and Tim’s brown locks neatly styled. They banter effortlessly, their chemistry popping even from backstage. Both are decked out in shiny blue costumes, skating on the ice. The audience giggles at the short videos showing them learning to skate just for the show, their struggles hilariously endearing.

“Welcome to the premiere of Grace on Ice,” Shayleen announces, her voice bubbling with excitement as the lights turn pink and yellow. “We have an incredible lineup of talented skaters for you tonight, each vying for a chance at glory—”

“And a hefty cash prize,” Tim hollers into the mic. “Wowza! I’m not even joking. We’re talking one million dollars!”

The crowd erupts.

Shayleen chuckles. “That’s right, Timmy. And let’s not forget our judges, who will be putting these hopefuls through their paces. Speaking of which, let’s introduce them now!”

The lights swivel to illuminate the judges’ table, where Grace, Twain, and Idris sit, their faces impassive. Grace, in particular, looks like she’d rather be anywhere else, her red lips pursed in a thin line, but when they mention her name, she forces a smile.

“First up, we have the incomparable Grace Holland. She owns more gold medals than most people own toilet paper and is our current ice queen extraordinaire,” Tim says, earning a few smiles from Twain and Idris and a death glare from Grace. She didn’t even crack a smile. Guess she didn’t like the toilet paper joke.

As they introduce Twain Teller and Idris Bell, I lean in to whisper to Aiden. “Is it just me, or does Grace look even more terrifying than usual tonight?”

He grimaces. “She’s definitely on the warpath. We’ll need to be flawless if we want to impress her.”

“Talk about pressure, huh…”

On the screens flanking the stage, a montage of clips featuring the competing pairs starts to play, each set to a pulsing beat. When Aiden and I appear, spinning and leaping in perfect sync, the audience roars their approval. Hearing my own voice on television is always awkward and makes me cringe a bit. During my competitive days, I gave plenty of interviews, but I never watched them back because I spent every spare moment practicing.

Aiden nudges me. “Hear that? They love us. And it’s all thanks to Riley and you.”

My heart stutters at the mention of his name. “What do you mean?”

“Come on, don’t be modest. You know the only reason we have so many fans on social media is because of you and Riley and all his fans. The golden boy of hockey dating a gold medalist figure skater? It’s a publicist’s dream come true.”

“I told you it’s f—”

Aiden stops me, as if the walls have ears. “It helps us and I’m happy, thank you. We don’t need a charade like Mason does or to be mean like Stacey. It’s great that you two work for us, and I just wanted to thank you, that’s it.”

Aiden smiles. He’s just the nicest person there is. I lean into him, well aware of the cameras snapping photos of us now. I sigh. I bet those tabloid magazines will call me a cheater any time soon. Whatever.

As Priya and Mason are announced, I sit up straight in my seat. Dressed in vibrant green and black outfits with intricate designs, they glide onto the stage. The music builds to a crescendo, matching the intensity of their gazes as they take their positions. The singer starts and they burst into motion, their bodies moving in perfect harmony like two green flames dancing.

My jaw drops as I watch Priya glide across the ice. She is stunning. She casually mentioned last time we went for a coffee that she used to compete in pair figure skating but never made it far. I can’t help but wonder why. From what I’ve seen, she’s incredibly talented. But then she tells me the heartbreaking story of how her partner ditched her for another girl and she lost all interest in pairs. That is, until she found Grace on Ice. She looks like she’s enjoying it again and I’m happy for my girl.

Upon striking their final pose, chests rising and faces flushed, a flicker of uncertainty dances in Priya’s eyes.

Grace leans forward, her gaze piercing and critical. “Adequate,” she says with disdain dripping from her voice. “But hardly exceptional. I demand more from you next time.” The other judges echo her sentiments, each critique sharper than the last.

As the scorecards are raised, Priya and Mason’s expressions falter. Twenty-one out of thirty—a commendable score, yet falling short of their true worth. My gaze shifts to Aiden.

“They’re out for blood,” I say.

“Grace is not called the Ice Lady for nothing.”

“‘Adequate,’” I mimic her. “They were great.” I can’t believe it.

As they leave the ice, I run to the exit.

Priya’s shoulders are shaking with barely suppressed sobs, but before I can act, Mason pulls her into a tight embrace, murmuring words of comfort against her hairline. I look around and see the camera team filming us and, as if on cue, Mason closes his eyes dramatically and kisses her forehead. I frown at him. This really is just a show for him. My heart aches for Priya. But the night is far from over. There’s always the audience’s vote, and from what I saw, their romance—even if it’s one sided—could really make an impact. People go crazy when they think a couple is in love. Especially with all those rumors about them falling for each other during practice.

“It’s going to be okay, you two were amazing,” I say, shoving Mason playfully as I pull Priya into a hug. He grumbles something under his breath, but I choose to ignore it.

“Why can’t she ever say something nice to me? I think she hates me,” Priya says.

“She doesn’t,” I say. “It’s her. She’s always been cold like this. When I mastered my thirst triple toe loop at sixteen, she didn’t even blink.”

The stage manager yells my name and points to the stage.

I give Priya one last squeeze before heading to the ice with Aiden. The lights are dim, but I can still feel the weight of a thousand eyes on me. I know next week will be tough. If we make it to round two, the interviews will start. Questions will come. I need to be ready.

I close my eyes, take a deep breath, and center myself.

As soon as Shayleen and Tim call our names, the lights blaze on, and we begin.

As the final notes of the music drift into silence, I strike my last pose, chest heaving, heart pounding like a drum. For a heartbeat, everything is still—then the audience explodes into applause. Some are even on their feet, clapping and cheering like it’s the best thing they’ve ever seen. I can’t help but beam as Aiden sweeps me into a hug, his laughter bouncing off the walls. “We did it,” he says against my ear, his eyes twinkling with pure joy.

But as we turn to face the judges, my grin starts to falter. Grace’s expression is like a stone wall, completely unreadable. She presses her lips into a thin line before leaning into her microphone. “Technically impressive,” she says, her tone as cool as ice. “But I’m not feeling the emotion, the connection between you two. It’s…adequate.”

I start to hate that word. The way she says it. It makes all of my hair stand on one end.

My heart sinks even further as the other judges chime in with equally tepid feedback, their enthusiasm draining away like air from a balloon. By the time they hold up their scorecards, I brace myself for the inevitable blow.

Twenty-five out of thirty.

The same score as Stacey and her partner.

I let out a breath, relief flooding through me. It’s not a perfect score, but it’s enough to keep us in the running without needing the audience’s vote. We’re through to round two.

As we leave the ice, Aiden pulls me into another hug. “We were amazing out there, and we’re going to keep getting better. We’ll find a way.”

We’re quickly interviewed by our media staff and give some statements about how we rate our routine, and all the time Aiden is holding me. And honestly, if he hadn’t been there, I might have fallen—my knees are shaking uncontrollably. Even though I’m wearing a cardigan, the tremors just won’t stop.

Once we’re done with all the interviews, I collapse onto the nearest chair. Aiden hands me a water bottle, and I take a long swig, trying to calm my racing heart.

“You were amazing out there,” he says, sitting down beside me. “Don’t let what the judges said get to you.”

I nod, but I can’t help feeling a twinge of disappointment. We’ve worked so hard, and I thought our routine was flawless. But maybe Grace was right. Maybe there was something missing, some spark that we hadn’t quite captured. “Our next choreo needs to be more emotional.”

My phone buzzes in my cardigan’s pocket, and I pull it out, half expecting a message from my mom. But when I see the name on the screen, my heart does a little dance.

Puckster: Hey, just wanted to say congrats on an amazing performance. The whole team watched, and you were absolutely stunning out there. Can’t wait to see what you do next.

I stare at the message, reading it over and over, my cheeks heating up. He’d been watching. Him and his entire hockey team. And he thought I looked stunning.

I type a quick reply, my fingers betraying a slight tremor. “Thanks!” I hover over the send button, contemplating if I should add more. But what else is there to say? Thanks for fingering me, sorry I ran away right after?

But before I can hit Send, Riley sends another message.

Puckster: How’s Oscar doing by the way?

Liora: If I say he’s fine, will you stop texting?

Puckster: No.

I chuckle, drawing a curious glance from Aiden.

Liora: He’s alive, but if he dies, I might have to strangle you for real this time.

Puckster: Can you even reach my neck, baby?

Liora: I’ve got my methods. Don’t underestimate my wrath.

Puckster: Well, if you’re mad, I’ve got 70 ways to make it up to you. Number one: a hug.

Liora: Are the others better?

Puckster: Well, it’s 69, so yeah, definitely.

I sigh inwardly, burying my face in my hands. What am I doing?

I can’t let myself get distracted by Riley, no matter how charming or attractive or funny he might be. I have to stay focused on the competition, on proving to the judges and everyone else that I deserve to be here. But even as I try to push thoughts of him aside, I can’t help but feel a flutter in my stomach when I stare at my phone. He makes everything so much easier. Just seconds ago I was a nervous mess, and now? I’m smiling like an idiot.

Liora: Goodnight, can’t wait to see you score.