PUCKED BY THE ALL STAR HEARTTHROB CAPTAIN

After soaking in the warmth of a quick, steaming bath to rid my skin of the pool's lingering chill, I had finally pulled Mikel’s oversized grey hoodie and sweatpants over my skin. The thick fabric engulfed me completely, swallowing my small frame, but the instant warmth it provided was a welcome relief to my aching muscles.

Taking a deep, stabilizing breath, I unlocked the door and stepped back out into the bedroom suite.

To my immediate surprise, Mikel wasn’t in the room anymore. Even more surprising was the state of the room itself; the entire space had been meticulously rearranged in the short time I was gone. The romantic, elaborate heart-shaped rose petal arrangement that had triggered my massive panic attack just minutes ago was completely gone. The silk sheets had been smoothed over, the loose flowers cleared away, and the room had been restored to a clean, deceptively normal state.

I walked over to the massive king-sized bed and sat down on the edge of the mattress, letting out a long, weary sigh. I mindlessly kicked my bare legs back and forth, listening to the muffled, heavy vibrations of the bass still pounding through the floorboards from the backyard below. The party was clearly still raging.

‘He probably went back down to join them,’ I thought, a sudden, unexpected pang of emptiness squeezing my chest. It made sense. He was the star hockey captain, the king of the campus, and the man of the hour after a spectacular 4-1 victory. He shouldn't have to wait around for me. After all, in the grand scheme of his high-status social life, I was completely irrelevant. I was just a temporary GPA fix, a ghostwriter hiding behind rules and a fake relationship.

I sighed again, running a hand through my damp hair. I didn’t want to go back outside. The mere thought of stepping back onto that patio made my stomach knot with anxiety. More than anything, I desperately didn’t want to face Kenneth. I couldn't bear the thought of dissecting why he had been standing there completely drenched, or worse, dealing with the cold, cutting disgust he so easily threw my way.

Desperate to escape my own suffocating thoughts, I dropped my back flat onto the plush bed, staring up at the ceiling.

*Click.*

The sharp sound of the door mechanism breaking the silence made me freeze. My gaze moved instantly toward the entrance.

When the door swung open and Mikel walked back into the room, an involuntary, completely unbidden smile bloomed across my face. The sudden wave of relief that washed over me was terrifying, but I couldn't stop it.

As Mikel walked toward the study table in the corner of the suite, I finally noticed the heavy black backpack he was clutching in his right hand. He hoisted it up, placing the backpack firmly on the table with a dull thud, before turning his head to look over his shoulder at me. His eyes locked onto mine, his expression unreadable but intense.

"Come over here, Brianna," he said, his deep voice cutting through the distant drone of the music.

I pushed myself up, sliding off the bed, and walked across the hardwood floor toward him. The oversized sweatpants bunched around my ankles, making me feel incredibly small under his towering gaze.

When I reached the table, Mikel reached out and smoothly pulled a heavy wooden chair back for me. I offered a quiet murmur of thanks and sat down.

Instead of moving away, Mikel dragged the opposite chair out and sat down directly across from me. He unzipped the heavy backpack, and with a slow, deliberate movement, he pulled out a thick British History textbook and a fresh notebook, placing them squarely on the table between us.

I stared at the pristine pages, a incredulous laugh bubbling in my throat. I almost rolled my eyes right then and there. Mikel was truly an enigma, a beautiful, confusing contradiction of a person. Who on earth brings academic textbooks to a wild, alcohol-fueled team victory house party just to study in a locked upstairs bedroom? Anyone who saw the ferocious, ruthless captain on the ice would never believe he was secretly a serious freak when it came to his eligibility.

Mikel adjusted his posture, leaning forward slightly as he appraised my expression. "Are you hungry?" he suddenly asked.

I instinctively shook my head, my lips forming a silent ‘no’ before I could even think about it. But almost instantly, as if on cue to betray me, my stomach let out a loud, aggressive, and incredibly hollow churn that echoed clearly in the quiet space of the room.

The corners of Mikel's mouth twitched, and that familiar, devastatingly wicked smirk carved its way onto his lips.

I felt a scorching wave of heat rush straight to my cheeks, flushing with absolute embarrassment. I pressed a hand against my traitorous stomach, glaring at the textbook to avoid his amused green eyes.

Without teasing me out loud, Mikel simply bent down, reaching back into the depths of the large backpack. When his hand reemerged, he pulled out an insulated leather bag. He unzipped it and carefully extracted two large containers of aromatic, high-end takeout. He placed one container directly in front of me, sliding a pair of chopsticks across the wood, before setting the second one down for himself.

"Thank you," I muttered under my breath, my voice quiet as the mouth-watering scent of savory chicken and fried rice hit my nose.

I picked up the utensils and began eating, trying to focus entirely on the food. But if only it were that simple. The space between us felt impossibly small, and I could feel his heavy, unwavering stare constantly burning into me. Mikel wasn't even hiding it; he ate with a slow, casual grace, his eyes locked onto my face, tracking every single movement I made. The sheer weight of his undivided attention made me incredibly uncomfortable, my heart fluttering erratically against my ribs.

Distracted by the intense heat of his gaze and trying to swallow too quickly to break the tension, the food caught in the back of my throat.

I violently choked, a harsh cough racking my chest as I struggled to catch my breath.

Mikel’s amused aura vanished in a fraction of a second. He instantly rushed to his feet, abandoning his food as his athletic reflexes kicked in. He bounded across the small space to the bedside table, grabbing the glass jug of water. He poured a full glass with practiced speed and rushed right back to my side.

"Drink. Slowly, Brianna," he commanded softly, hovering over me as he gently guided the rim of the glass to my lips.

I drank greedily, the cool liquid soothing the burning in my throat. Once I could finally breathe normally again, Mikel placed the remaining glass down on the edge of the table. His large, warm hand came to rest against my back, his palm rubbing slow, soothing circles over the fabric of his own hoodie, patting me gently to ensure I was truly alright.

I looked up, my eyes instantly colliding with his. The raw, unfiltered worry etched into his handsome features was so striking, so heartbreakingly genuine, that it made my heart clench in a dangerous rhythm.

I quickly looked away, tearing my gaze from his lips before my wild, romantic thoughts could feast on the dangerous illusion that he actually cared about me beyond our high-stakes deal.

"I'm fine," I said, my voice a breathy whisper as I gently pulled my body away from his touch, reestablishing the boundary between us.

Mikel gave a slow, understanding nod, though his hand lingered in the air for a second before he dropped it. He walked back to his side of the table and slid into his seat. We said absolutely nothing after that, a heavy but surprisingly peaceful silence settling over the room. For the rest of the meal, the suffocating pressure eased; I couldn't feel his intense stare on me anymore, as if he was intentionally giving me the space I needed to breathe.

Soon, we were both done eating. Mikel efficiently stacked the empty takeout containers, packing the plates off the table and sealing them back into the leather bag. To do my part, I reached over, tore a few clean sheets of paper from the back of the notebook, and used them to carefully wipe down the table surface, clearing away any stray crumbs.

With the table cleared, I pulled the thick British History textbook closer to my side, flipping open the pages to the designated chapter on wartime politics. I tapped the paper with my pen, adopting my most professional tutoring voice, and began teaching him the core concepts, breaking down the complex timelines into digestible pieces.

To my absolute amazement, Mikel was an incredible student. Despite what his failing grades suggested, he understood everything perfectly.

Whenever I paused to explain a difficult concept, his sharp mind picked it up instantly. To test him, I scribbled down three separate mock quizzes in the notebook, watching closely as his large hand moved steadily across the paper. He aced every single test I gave him, delivering flawless, highly intelligent answers without a moment of hesitation.

I stared at the perfect marks on the paper, my mind spinning. I finally cleared my throat, leaning back in my chair as I leveled a questioning look at him.

"If you're so inherently good at this, Mikel... why did you pretend to fail in the first place?" I asked, my voice laced with genuine suspicion. "You clearly don't need a tutor to pass this class."

Mikel leaned back, crossing his brawny arms over his chest. A slow, incredibly charming smile spread across his face, his green eyes flashing with a playful, dangerous light.

"I never pretend, Ghost Writer," he murmured, his voice dropping an octave as he tilted his head. "But if you think I'm doing too well... maybe it's just because I wanted an excuse to have you tutor me. Maybe I just wanted a reason to keep you close as my fake girlfriend."

My face erupted into a furious blush at his blatant confession. Without thinking, I grabbed the lightweight notebook from the table, reached across the space, and slapped his muscular hand with it.

"Stop flirting and focus!" I yelled, trying desperately to mask my racing heart with an angry scowl.

Mikel instantly threw his hands up, wincing in dramatic, entirely false pain as he rubbed his arm. "Ouch. You're vicious, Brianna," he teased, his deep chest rumbling.

Seeing his ridiculous, over-the-top reaction broke through my defenses. A genuine laugh escaped my lips, joining his rich chuckle. as the lingering tension from the pool completely melted away into the warm, locked room.