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

I found Riley’s kryptonite. It’s lavender. He hates is. He almost gagged when I brought home a bouquet of lavender, so of course I immediately bought a lavender spray. And I use it. There you go, jerk. I spray the entire apartment with it.

On my way to set, I text Nina.

Liora: Is there a way to keep the Puckster on away games longer?

Nina: No, but what did he do?

Liora: Being himself.

Nina: Oh shoot.

Grace paired me with Aiden while Stacey sulked in the corner. She’s paired with a singer named Russel Ro, and I think he’s way too nice for her, but who am I to say?© 2024 Nôv/el/Dram/a.Org.

I really like Aiden, though.

He’s been nothing but nice. The complete opposite of Riley. I still can’t wrap my head around how furious he was when I ate his cereal. He repeatedly assured me that I could feel entirely at home and use anything I needed, and then he practically snapped my head off because I had a few handfuls of Fruit Loops. My mom once said that men can be like kids, but wow, I didn’t realize how spot-on she was.

Anyway, each couple gets different training times, so the rink and dance studios are never overcrowded. We start our training in the studio because it’s easier to practice lifts on solid ground, especially for those of us who didn’t grow up on the ice. I’m really nervous, but Aiden makes it easy. He’s so forthcoming and always polite.

The studio is simple, with mirrors on every wall and the faint smell of sweat and rosin in the air. I show Aiden the little dance I came up with over the weekend, and he claps for a whole minute until I beg him to stop because I’m not the best when it comes to praise; I tend to get all shy and awkward.

I’ve created a routine to Lewis Capaldi’s song “Someone You Loved.” It may not be the most complex dance, but it needs to impress the judges and audience if we want to make it onto Grace on Ice together.

Grace has reminded us that nothing is guaranteed at this point. We have to perform together flawlessly and hope the judges give us a pass. If they do, we’ll be part of the final cast for the show. I don’t want to get my hopes up, but I have a strong feeling about us. I can’t help but think Grace feels the same way. Even though she hasn’t come down to talk to us directly, I know she watches us closely, silently observing our every move.

We spent all of Monday in the studio, perfecting each move, every step, and it didn’t feel like work at all. It was fun to dance and come up with different moves with Aiden. I was really surprised by how talented he is. If I didn’t know any better, he could pass for a dancer.

But training with a constant filming crew rushing around is a surreal experience. Producers dart back and forth, cameras always rolling, creating a buzz of excitement and nerves in the air. It’s nothing like practicing in the quiet solitude of an empty rink—this is pressure on a whole new level.

Laughter echoes from the next room, and I can’t help but roll my eyes. Priya is paired with Mason. I’m pretty sure he’s just playing her for those pretty doe eyes of hers. And damn it, it’s working because their chemistry on stage is off the charts. But I worry for Priya, I think she actually likes this guy. It’s written all over her face whenever she talks about Mason, and each time, I want to gag. I just hope he’s not going to break her heart. If he does, I’ll break his dick. That’s a promise.

When I come home, I’m greeted with the mouthwatering aroma of Riley cooking. I don’t only mean the scents and spices in the air but seeing him standing there, a headband in his wild mess of black hair, a gray shirt, and his stupid tattooed bicep rolling while he stirs the pot—it makes my knees wobble.

Shit. I looked too long while I untied my shoes.

Not that I’d ever admit it out loud, but if he weren’t such an ass, I’d actually enjoy that view. Then again, I shouldn’t enjoy it anyway. So, all good. Perfectly good. Be the ass you are, Riley.

“Hi,” he says as I walk to the shower.

His eyes drop to my leggings and stay there.

“Hi,” I say back, noticing he’s making red curry with shrimp. Why does it have to smell this good?

“Thanks for the cereal,” he says casually.

“You’re welcome,” I respond, a little taken aback that we’re actually having a civil conversation.

By the time I’m out of the shower, he’s finished and slides a bowl my way over the kitchen counter. My stomach drops. No. No. No. Don’t start being decent now.

I manage to frown at his nice gesture. “You gonna scream at me if I eat that?” I ask, arms folded.

He sighs, taking his bowl and sitting at the table. “Again. I’m sorry. Fruit Loops is my stress food. Come on, sit down. Give me compliments about my cooking and light up my day.”

My stomach growls, and the food looks too amazing to resist, so I take the bowl and sit down. “I bought you two boxes,” I grumble, nodding to his cupboard where he hoards his holy grail of sugar.

He looks genuinely surprised. “Oh, thank you. You didn’t have to—”

“You transformed into a gorilla. I had to.” I take a bite of the curry, and—oh shit. “Wow. Where did you learn to cook like this?”

I take another bite and actually moan, the flavors practically explode in my mouth.

Riley stiffens, his eyes glued to me as I savor his food.

The spoon lingers in front of his slightly parted lips and he looks pained.

“What?” I say, my voice muffled with a full spoon of this red goodness. His gaze flicks to my lips, and he shifts awkwardly in his chair. Is he okay?

“Nothing,” he says, finally putting that spoon in his mouth. “I’m just happy you like it.” He clears his throat. “Our team had dinner at a Thai restaurant where they cooked in front of the tables, and I talked with the chef and got some recipes from him. It’s his gaeng phet but without celery. I’m allergic.”

“Funny. I always thought you were the type to have chefs cooking for you at home.”

Riley snorts. “Well, my family does. I only learned to cook in college. I don’t like to have too many random people at my house. I need someone helping with cleaning since I’m away a lot, and I don’t want to spend my weekends dusting everything I haven’t touched.”

I nod, remembering how surprised I was to see him doing his own laundry last week. Maybe I pictured rich people wrong.

“But otherwise, I like taking care of my own things.”

I smile at him and then take another bite and moan again. Damn, this is good. His cooking stirs something deep inside me that I can’t ignore.

Riley clears his throat again. Is he okay?

My trembling hand loses grip of the spoon, causing it to clatter against the bowl with a loud clang. “Sorry,” I say and quickly keep on eating. I’ve never had this before. That a man could make me have all these feelings about him. Just hours ago I fantasized about killing him with lavender, and now. Well now, I want—

Damn it. It’s easier when he’s not nice to me.

I can focus on hating him. But when he looks at me like that, like he’s undressing me with his eyes, I get the feeling he sees nothing but me. My heart races, and I don’t want to think about that because he clearly has other women on his mind. I’ve seen the fan mail he gets—hundreds of women begging for his attention. If it wasn’t for our contract, he could just text whoever he wants, like he’s browsing a catalog for hookups. The thought sends a pang of jealousy through me.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” I ask, his gaze still focused on me, making my skin tingle.

There’s that smile again. Damn it. I hate this smile so much I know it’s all I’ll think about later. It’s infuriating how much power he has over me with just a look.

“I think I like cooking for you, James. Those little sounds you make. Be careful. You might turn me into an addicted man.”

I snort, trying to play it cool, but deep down I am swooning. But I don’t want to swoon. Shit. “I didn’t moan.” Oh, I did.

“You did.”

“You wish.”

“I may.”

We stare at each other again. My cheeks are burning.

I release a breath and stand up. Are my knees shaking? Shoot. They are. I can’t let him see how much this little banter is affecting me. But more importantly, he can’t know he’s making me wet between my legs.

“Good night, thanks for the curry.” I put the bowl in the dishwasher and lock myself in my room, not daring to come out again.

The day started on a different note.

Not only do I finally get to hit the ice with Aiden, but it seems like Riley genuinely feels sorry for flipping out over the cereal. He got me a romance novel and acted like it was no big deal, but I’m surprised he remembered I mentioned liking romance books. I didn’t think he’d be the type to remember details like that. The blurb sounds so fun, and I’m looking forward to diving into it during our breaks or downtime between training sessions. It’s been years since I bought myself a paperback.

After the warm-up off the ice, Aiden and I glide hand in hand, using the whole rink. We begin with some basic duet spins, and it’s clear Aiden must have had exceptional training beforehand to pick up the steps so smoothly. Then we move into mirrored crossovers.

“Hey.” I grin and guide him to the right. “You’re doing great!”

“Thanks. I’m a bit nervous about the lift, though.”

“We’ll manage,” I say and slow him down. “Let’s try some small steps first.”

Private conversations are scarce between training sessions, always wary of the cameras that could flare to life at any moment. It’s hard to open up when you know your words could be edited into a neatly packaged clip for TV. So we stick to small talk, like reminiscing about my cat, Kittie—who isn’t actually a purebred but a scrappy stray I couldn’t resist taking in. Aiden shares about his golden retriever back home in LA, gushing with love for her and telling tales of their hiking adventures while I show him some moves on the ice.

I demonstrate an advanced crossover step, the movement fluid from years of practice. Aiden watches intently, absorbing every detail. He stands at the end of the rink, wearing black trousers and a shirt while I wear one of the two pair of training leggings I own and a fitted training jacket.

“You try.”

When he tries it himself, his first attempts are shaky, his balance wavering on the thin edge of the blade.

“Relax,” I encourage, skating over to him. “Let the edges do the work. It’s all about finding that balance.”

He tries again, and this time, he manages the step just well enough. It’s a start, but I see the frustration in his expression.

We spend the rest of the session refining his technique and transitions. Once he’s steady enough, I suggest we try the dance we practiced in the studio, this time on ice.

The song starts with Aiden alone on the ice, he sits in the middle of the rink and slowly stands up when the music starts. He then takes a turn and a little jump. He lands it nicely and I grin proudly. Yes! It looks great.

Then it’s my turn and I glide into the picture, spinning around him until we move into a spin together. We glide some rounds over the ice, and I make sure we’re perfectly in sync, even as we spin faster and faster.

Next up, we hit this footwork sequence. We’re weaving in and out and glide in big waves around the edges of the rink. As we transition into a synchronized twizzle, every muscle in my body tenses. It is a delicate balance of timing and precision.

He takes my hand and then comes the lift. Just a small one, but still, it’s a risk.

I position his hands on my hips. “Just like we did in the studio, Aiden.”

Nodding, he lifts me, and for a moment, I’m airborne, the world a blur of ice and lights and music. I tap his shoulders. We’re not gliding while he lifts me yet.

“You’re doing amazing.”

We try again and again and a couple of minutes later, the lift is solid. It shows that Aiden has spent a lot of his life in the gym. In the end, we’re both breathing hard, the music fading around us, but I’m convinced my choreography will work just like I imagined it. “I think we can win this shit, Aiden.”

“You think?” He smiles brightly.

“Absolutely. But now back to practice, golden boy,” I say and take his hand.

After training for two straight hours, we finally run the whole routine with music for the first time, and damn. It’s magical. We move gracefully to the music, every step in harmony now. When the music swells to its core, he twirls me around and pulls me close. And with one final, graceful movement, he lifts me up in the air, our eyes locking in a moment of pure joy. He twirls with me, I bend my back, and we soar together over the ice. We move into the final pose, with him wrapping his arms around me from behind. We hold the position until the music fades away.

I turn around, grinning like a Cheshire cat, but as soon as I glance up at Aiden my smile drops. His usually cheerful expression is replaced with one of deep sadness and he can barely look at me.

“I’m sorry,” he chokes out, his voice barely a whisper. He quickly turns and skates away, leaving me standing there.

I’m frozen in the middle of the rink, unsure of what to do. Did I do something wrong? I watch him skate to the end of the rink, stumbling out until he crashes against the wall and sinks onto the floor, crying.

My stomach drops and I skate after him.

“Hey,” I say softly, my hand closing around his in a reassuring grip as I kneel down in front of him. He’s curled himself into a ball, his hands trembling in his lap. I’m not sure what to say since we don’t really know each other, but I still care about him. I just hold his hand, trying to offer support even if it might not make a difference for him.

He nods through his tears but doesn’t meet my gaze.

I gently stroke his shoulder, unsure if it’s been seconds or minutes. The music must have triggered this. That’s the thing about art: when you pour your soul into something, you risk getting lost in it. Dancing, singing—it’s all about emotions. When you’re performing, the audience needs to connect with you, but it also means you risk connecting too deeply with your own feelings. I’ve been there. Several times. Whenever a song hit too close to home, I’d find myself crying on the ice. Alone.

“It’s okay. I’m here. You’re not alone.”

He cries harder at this, his sobs wracking his body. Without a second thought, I reach up to hug him tightly and he clings back, holding on.

Time seems to stretch as we stay locked in that embrace, the music around us fading into the background. His crying gradually softens into quiet sniffles, and finally, he sighs—a deep, heavy sigh that carries the weight of his own baggage.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispers, wiping away the tears in his eyes as he smiles nervously.

“Don’t be,” I say. “We hurt ourselves when we keep it in.”

“You must think I’m a joke.”

“No, of course not.”

He lets out a desperate laugh, his head falling back to rest against the wall.

It’s the first time I truly see his face. His brown eyes are rimmed with red. In that fleeting instant our gazes lock and I feel the weight of my unspoken struggles pressing against my own heart. “Never feel sorry for showing how you feel, Aiden. Not with me.”

“But what if I feel like dying inside.” He lets out a desperate laugh.

Without a moment’s hesitation, I reach out and gently clasp his. “Then I’ll tell you that I’ve been there too. I know we don’t know each other well, but I’m here for you, Aiden. If you want to talk. I’m here.”

“I don’t know what I’m doing.” He lets out a long, long sigh. “I’m trying to get more known through this show and get better deals for acting…I feel like, I’m just not good enough.”

“You were amazing out there. The audience will love you.”

“Not me. The idea of me.”

I pause, uncertain of what to say next. “Aiden?” I finally muster, my voice tentative. “What is this about?”

He takes a shaky breath, and to my surprise, he starts to speak. “You can’t tell this to anyone.”

There’s a knot inside me. Why would I push him into telling me anything? I can’t tell him about the contract with Riley or my past. I don’t have the right to ask him about anything. “Aiden, I’m sorry. You don’t have to tell—”

“Ah, you know. Never mind. I can ignore it. Get going again…” His voice trails off, and he takes another deep breath and I feel bad.

“No. Aiden, please. If you want to tell me, please do. I won’t tell anyone. I just don’t want you to feel pressured to talk, but I’m here to listen. You matter to me, Aiden.”

“I don’t want to be here all whiny, I totally understand if you’d like to get back to training…”

“We have enough time. I’d love to hear your story.”

He looks up, his eyes welling with unshed tears. “I’m famous for my shirtless videos, I’m just a body to most people on Instagram, and a few pictures on Pinterest made me famous because an author used my profile pic for one of her characters. I’ve become a popular male model ever since, and I landed an acting deal for a new TV series, it’s promised to be a huge hit.”

I remain silent.

He takes a moment, as if reliving something painful. “But then the casting director saw my phone screen. It was me, kissing my ex.”

He pauses, expecting me to understand, but I’m at a loss. “And that idiot got jealous because you’re a catch?” I try, but he doesn’t smile.

His expression, caught between a crooked smile and a sob, tugs at my heartstrings. “What did he say, Aiden?”

“I kissed a man. He wasn’t jealous, he realized I’m gay. He told me to get rid of my boyfriend and that there was no career in this show for a gay actor. I was just a body for girls to obsess over. My role was never intended to be more than showing off my abs.”

It’s like something kicks me in the stomach. “But this can’t be. It’s the twenty-first century, we’re working toward—”

“Well, showbiz is still a shitshow. We may have Pride Month, rainbow flags, and emojis, but there are still plenty of assholes out there treating us like shit. You might have a sense of how it is in the sports world—how people reacted when a famous soccer player came out. I don’t want to sugarcoat it; it’s still hard to come out in the spotlight. It might be easier, but it depends on who you want to work with in the industry. I’m a nobody when it comes to acting, so building a career as a gay actor from scratch isn’t exactly easy.”

I nod. People can be terrible. I want to believe in a better world, but all the things that have happened to me—and now Aiden’s story—remind me again that despite living in a modern world, despite wishing that we are able to change, some people just haven’t learned from our past. And I wish they would. I wish people would learn and grow together. But some never will and even though I knew this all along, it’s just a thought I don’t like. It’s reality and it makes me feel nauseous.

“And you still want to work with those guys?”

“That’s the thing. I don’t know what to do with my life. I feel there’s nothing I can really do. My Instagram account is all I have. My body. The way I look. The way I present myself, but it’s just…well, a mask. I know I need to build myself a second option. Still, I lost my boyfriend because I hesitated.”

I wince. Shit.

Aiden’s shoulders tremble as he fights to breathe. “I still miss him.”

This was about more than success—it was about proving his worth.

I rest my hand on his arm. “So you told your boyfriend about what happened to you and he just left?”

“Well, he knew I was considering it. I thought about breaking up with him just to get that shitty role. I didn’t say it out loud, of course, but just thinking about ending our six-year relationship over my career was enough for him. He packed his things and never looked back. I didn’t get the role in the series, and my agent thought this show would be a way to get back into things. I’ve felt like shit ever since. It was my biggest mistake, and yeah…the music—it just hit.”

“I’m sorry, we can change it. What music would you—”

“No, no,” he says, suddenly breathing easier. “It’s good if I can channel these feelings. We need this. We need to go far. Maybe I’ll get better roles if people in the industry recognize me from the show. And if not, maybe I can build something meaningful with the money.”

“If they cast me alongside you.”

It’s then that his eyes sparkle. “Oh, I’m sorry, I thought I told you. I asked them to pair us together, and they said yes. So we’re already kind of a fixed pair.”

“Really?” I laugh and nudge him with my elbow. “Well, thanks for asking if I wanted to skate with you!”

He laughs too. “Miss James, do you want to skate with me until we win this damn thing?”

“Well, you’re the worst when it comes to lifts, but do you know what? I’ve never seen anyone pick up a camel spin that fast.” I give him a reassuring squeeze. “No, seriously. I’d love to skate with you. We’re going to nail this routine, I know it.”

With a shaky nod, Aiden dries his eyes with his sleeve. “Thanks. I…I needed to hear that.”

“Anytime. I’m here if you need me. We’re in this together,” I say, patting his leg. “Now, how about we try it again? We still have time to polish it up before tomorrow, right? Also, you need to watch your hands while spinning.”

Aiden manages a small smile, a ghost of his usual grin. “You know it, James. Let’s show this rink who’s boss.”

“That’s the spirit, Aiden.”

He stands up, pulling me up with him. “Huntington can be really proud of you. You’re an amazing human being.”

I want to ask why on earth he should be proud, but then I remember and almost gasp. Oops. Of course. I smile awkwardly. “Oh, yeah, he’s obsessed with me,” I joke. It’s so surreal that a guy like Riley could ever be obsessed with me that I can’t help but laugh. As if.