Page 5 of The Bad Boy Rule

Wait… Whyisthere anyone else here? This is supposed to be myprivateice time.

I slowly step forward until my front is flush against the boards and narrow my eyes to get a better look.

The first thing I notice is the scuffed black hockey stick in his hand.

A hockey player.

Whoever he is, he’s tall with thick, broad shoulders, hair dripping with sweat, so dark that it appears black, plastered against his face. For a moment, I’m frozen as I watch him sprint from one side of the rink to the other. It seems almost impossible for someone that large to skate that quickly.

A few seconds later, he comes to a sudden stop, slinging ice up as his chest heaves, reaching for a black water bottle that’s sitting along the top of the boards. I watch as he squirts a stream of water into his mouth with a large gloved hand and then douses his face before slamming the bottle back down onto the edge. He turns back to the ice, skates to the red line in the center, and starts quickly stepping over each foot in a repetitive motion. Like a drill of some sort.

I clear my throat, plaster on a bright smile, and call out, “Hi!”

But he doesn’t stop, continuing to move across the ice in rhythmic motions, stepping one foot over another.

Maybe he didn’t hear me.

“Hi!” I say again, louder this time, stepping out onto the ice in a slow glide. There’s a slight tremble in my legs, mostly in anticipation of finally being back on the ice. I skate closer until I’m almost at the space where he’s practicing. “Um… Hello?” My words come out a bit louder than intended, my greeting crassly bouncing off the walls of the rink, causing my cheeks to heat when he whips around, dark eyes landing on me.

His brow arches. “Heard you the first time.”

“Okay, well, uh… hi. Sorry to interrupt, but I think maybe there’s been some type of mix-up? This is supposed to be my scheduled ice time.Privateice time that I booked months ago.”

Unhurriedly, he skates closer to where I’m standing but says nothing, just stares down at me with an annoyed expression. His brows are furrowed, lips pulled into a slight scowl. As if my stopping him from whatever he was doing was the biggest inconvenience he’s had to experience today.

Now that he’s closer, with only a few inches of ice separating us, I can make out his full features. Without skates, he must still be well over six feet, easily towering over my short five foot two. His tousled hair is drenched from sweat and water, the unruly strands nearly falling in his eyes as he peers down at me.

His eyes are deep brown, nearly the same shade as his hair, and appear almost black with how intensely he’s narrowing them. High cheekbones, sharp jawline with a dust of fresh facial hair.

He’s built like most hockey players, broad and powerful, only he seems more… intense.

Reaching for the hem of his black hoodie, he lifts it to wipe away the sweat trailing down his face, revealing a set of contoured abs and a small trail of hair leading into the waistband of his sweatpants. The sleeve of his hoodie bunches just enough to reveal a splash of dark ink circling his wrist that trails up and disappears beneath the fabric.

I realize that I’m staring at this point, so I quickly drag my eyes back to meet his, slowly shifting from one foot to the other.

Get it together, Lennon.It’s not the first time I’ve been around an attractive hockey player. I’ve been at a rink nearly my entire life, and I’ve learned that most, if not all… areexactlythe same.

Cocky. Arrogant. Complete womanizers.

Not to stereotype anyone, but just my personal experience.

His brow arches. “Private ice time, huh? Obviously not, since it’s mine.”

My mouth falls open slightly at his bored and dismissive tone.

Ummm, alright. That’s rude.

I blow out a small exhale and paste on a fake smile, the same one I’ve practiced for the majority of my life. I am a Rousseau, after all, which means that I’ve perfected the art of poised and put together, even when I feel anything but. “I think there must have been a scheduling error of some kind because this is the time I chose based on my availability.”

For a moment, silence meets what I’ve said as his gaze travels down my body in an unhurried perusal, like he’s actually onlynow seeing me for the first time. When his eyes drop to the white athletic skirt and tights covering my legs, the corner of his mouth tugs up into a smirk that seems entirely condescending and patronizing without even speaking.

His gaze lifts back to mine. “I’m not giving up my ice time,princess.No matter how much your parents probably paid for you to have it.”

What?

“Excuse me?” I mutter in disbelief. “You don’t evenknowme.”

The dark pools of his eyes move down to my skates, where he nods. “Expensive skates? Diamond ring on your finger? Don’t have to.”

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