“Fun?” I raised an eyebrow. “Watching you skate in circles isn’t exactly my idea of a good time.”
He smirked, clearly enjoying himself. “You’re missing out. But hey, stick around. Maybe I’ll grow on you.”
“Like a fungus,” I muttered under my breath.
As he skated away, I couldn’t help but notice the way the other players looked at him. He was still their leader, even here in the minors.
I nudged Ryan, unable to keep the irritation from my voice. "Does he always get this much attention?"
Ryan smirked. "That’s Colton for you. People follow him. Always have."
I folded my arms. "Yeah, well, maybe they shouldn’t."
Ryan shot me a look. "And yet, here you are watching him just as much as they are."
I opened my mouth to argue but shut it just as quickly. Instead, I crossed my arms and looked back at the ice, watching Colton weave effortlessly between players. "I just don’t get it," I muttered. "Why does everyone still act like he’s some kind of legend?"
How did Colton do it? How did he manage to make everyone like him, even when he was screwing up?
Maybe there was something about him—beyond charm—that people naturally gravitated toward. I couldn’t shake the thought, which was inconvenient because it was a lot easier to hate him when he was just a cocky mess.
After practice, Colton insisted on introducing me to some of the team. “Guys, this is Riley,” he said, slinging an arm around my shoulders like we were old friends. “She’s my… what do you call it? My handler.”
I shrugged his arm off, shooting him a glare. “I’m not your anything. I’m just here to make sure you don’t embarrass yourself.”
The guys laughed, clearly amused by our dynamic. One of them grinned at me. “Good luck with that. Colton’s a handful.”
“Tell me about it,” I said dryly.
Colton, of course, took it as a challenge. He spent the next 30 minutes being his usual, insufferable self. He turned on the charm for the female reporters and cracked jokes with the team. He slipped into the role with the ease of someone who’d done it a thousand times before.
But then, for a second—so fast I almost missed it—his jaw tensed. His eyes flicked up to the faded banners like he was remembering where he used to be. Then, just as quickly, the cocky grin was back, and he skated out like he owned the place. A perfect performance.
I shook my head. Maybe I was imagining things. Or maybe Colton Hayes wasn’t as unaffected as he wanted everyone to believe. It was maddening.
At one point, he leaned over to me during an interview, his voice low. “You know, you could smile a little. You’re making me look bad.”
“You don’t need my help for that,” I shot back.
He laughed, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “I like you, Riley. You’re not like other girls.”
“And you’re not like other guys,” I said sweetly. “Most of them have a sense of shame.”
He grinned, clearly enjoying the banter. “Touché.”
As the interview wrapped up, one of the reporters turned to me. “And you are?” she asked, her tone polite but curious.
“Riley Carter,” I said, forcing a smile. “I’m just here to ensure Colton stays out of trouble.”
The reporter laughed, glancing at Colton. “Good luck with that.”
“She doesn’t need luck,” Colton said, his tone teasing. “She’s got a glare that could freeze the rink.”
I rolled my eyes, but the reporter seemed charmed.
“Well, it was nice meeting you, Riley. Colton, good luck with the season.”
“Thanks,” he said, flashing his trademark grin. “I’ll need it.”
