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

When Riley drove up with his black, shiny Aston Martin, I couldn’t help but marvel at the sleek lines. I’ve never been in a car that cost this much.

Just as I’m about to ask where to put my stuff—feeling embarrassed about my worn suitcase I bought when I was fourteen—he snatches my bag from me and puts it in the trunk. Apparently, there’s no arguing with him when it comes to loading his car. He then holds the car door open for me, and I behave for once and slip in. But I can’t ignore that my hand brushed slightly against his when I do. It’s awkward. We’re both adults and should know how to act around each other, but instead, it feels like we’re seeing someone attractive for the first time.

I give Priya a wink and a thumbs-up. I giggle. She’s practically glued to the window, and so gone for him. He even snapped a selfie with her, causing her to die a little inside.

It’s strange the effect he has on women. I’m not immune to his looks either, but every time a girl just looks at him, she seems to momentarily lose her train of thought. Okay, I do, too, but it’s amusing. It’s like he’s the kind of guy everyone finds attractive, the point where all threads meet.

Priya said that Brea, her influencer roommate, only dated hot guys, but even she pranced past us with a look of sheer astonishment, and I think her soul had momentarily escaped from her body the minute she saw Riley. And the worst is, he just knows he can have them all. I googled him the other night…

He grew up in the Hamptons, with a silver spoon practically welded to his mouth. His family owns multiple hotels in New York, a legacy spanning decades, and his mom sells mansions to pop stars. If girls didn’t swoon because he looks like Michelangelo’s David come to life, they’d swoon because he can probably buy anything he wants. It makes me hate my situation even more, feeling like a stray he’s taken in. I need to make it clear this is a job.

The car ride to his apartment is filled with tense silence.

After a while, unable to bear the heavy silence any longer, I clear my throat and muster up the courage to speak. “So, um—”

“Are you—”

We both speak simultaneously and burst into laughter.

“Sorry, I couldn’t stand the silence. You go first,” he says.

I feel my cheeks heat up. “No, same. You go.”

He shakes his head, smiling. “I just wanted to know if you’re ready. The minute we step out of this car together, it’s real. There’s no backing out. I can drive you back now, but once we’re out, we’re linked together.”

I swallow, not entirely sure what he means but replying anyway. “Yeah, I’m sure. I’m all in.”

“You know my life can be crazy. People know me out there, and it’s possible you might get photographed in situations you don’t like. It’s better to always be prepared. I have shades with me in case I feel like my eyes look like shit. People make the dumbest assumptions when you have rings under your eyes.”

“Do I have rings under my eyes?” I pull the mirror down and look. It seems normal.

“What? No. Damn. I didn’t mean—you’re beautiful. Um.” He swallows his lips as if he needs to stop himself from talking.

I look away, shutting the mirror. My cheeks are hot, glowing. He thinks I’m pretty? “Thank you,” I say, but it comes out in a shy whisper.

The minute we arrive at the apartment complex, Riley practically leaps out of the car to grab my luggage. I want to protest—being a woman doesn’t mean I’m incapable of handling my own things—but he’s already there, his grip firm yet gentle on the handle.

Standing next to him, I stare up at him. His cheeks have a rosy hue. Is Riley blushing? Because he just called me beautiful?

No. It can’t be.

He has at least five women on each arm. He must have called a dozen of women beautiful. This can’t make him blush. No.

I open my mouth to say something, but as he shuts the trunk, I catch sight of a group of teenage girls huddled together, their smartphones out, recording our every move.

I freeze.

Did they wait in front of his home to get pictures of him? Panic floods my system, and my heart races as I squeeze myself between Riley and his car—using all of him as my shield. This is why he asked me if I was ready. I had no idea how famous he is.

He tilts his head down and raises one brow in surprise.

“O-over there,” I say and nod behind him.

With a sly glance over his shoulder, he probably notices their love-struck gazes and winks playfully at them.

My face burns with embarrassment, but Riley stands tall and unbothered in front of me. He’s so used to this.

“Um, is this normal?” I whisper, hoping to blend into his broad chest and disappear forever.

He places a finger under my chin, softly guiding my gaze to meet his. “Listen. You need to get used to this. I have some crazy-ass followers, and while it’s nothing compared to those movie stars, you’ll encounter things like this on a daily basis from now on. I’m here. Always. They won’t get near you. They’d have to go through me first, okay?” I’m still frozen. “Okay?” he repeats, so I nod. “Just to be clear, they will take photos and might even follow you.”

I want to glance behind him, but his grip holds me captive. Suddenly, my pulse seems to beat for a whole other reason. But he’s right. And just in this very second, I realize that I need this fake relationship more than he knows. It’s better for people to talk about our romance than to wonder why I vanished for years.

“I won’t back out,” I say firmly. “I want this, Riley.”

“Good girl,” he says, his grip on my chin tightening ever so slightly. “I’m going to pull you in now.”

I pause, as if he’d just thrown a can of ice water down my back. “What. Why?”

“We need to give them something to talk about. So, are you okay with me pulling you close?”

I remain still but nod nonetheless.

I’ve agreed to this. I can do this.

He straightens to his full height, his touch both gentle and possessive as he cradles my face now, drawing me closer until our breaths mingle. There’s a jolt shooting through me. My stomach wobbles. Is he going to kiss me?

My skin tingles and my heart gives an impatient twang, but instead of closing the distance between our lips, he touches my earlobe with his lips. I shiver slightly at the sensation of his warm breath and the low, husky timbre of his voice. “I think we need to practice this,” he continues softly, the tip of his nose brushing against my ear like a caress.

There’s a playful edge to his words, and his touch shifts from my face to the small of my back, sending another wave of unwanted sparks of heat through my skin. I’m torn between the urge to lean into his embrace and the nervous flutter in my sternum. But this is ridiculous. I don’t even know him, and this is just proof that if you think someone is attractive, you go delulu. This is all about looks. But my heart bounces as if it needs to get out of his grip or—stay there. Stop it. We should be in love with a soul, not a face.

“Chill. You’re acting as if I’m about to kidnap you.”

I swallow, mustering up some strength to keep speaking even though he’s making my brain go haywire. “Well, depending on whatever romance novel you’ve been reading, that could be the start of a bestseller.”

He leans back a fraction just enough that I can see his smile, and suddenly, I’m eye to eye with him, captivated by the subtle hues in his irises—neither quite brown nor orange, but a warm whiskey color with a hint of golden amber that’s utterly mesmerizing. I’ve never seen eyes like his before.

I hold his gaze, feeling a playful glint dance from his eyes to my lips. Without thinking, I moisten them with a flick of my tongue.

“You read?” he asks.

I clear my throat. “Hm?”

“I asked if you read.”

“I do,” I reply softly, feeling his touch grow stronger against my back.

“What kind of books?”

Our hips brush against each other. That feeling. It’s like my whole body knows he’s there.

“Anything I stumble upon at the thrift store,” I say.

“If you could only read one genre for the rest of your life, what would it be?”

“I have a weakness for romance novels,” I confess, meeting his smile with a shy tilt of my head.

His smile widens, and his nose brushes against mine. “Then take some inspiration from them and touch me like you mean it. I don’t need a TikTok video of me squeezing a girl to death against a car.”

“Touch you? How?” I ask, feeling a sudden surge of awkwardness. Can one man really render me this speechless?

“Are you a virgin?”

“No. Why?”

“You act like it.”

“Better a virgin than a manwhore,” I shoot back, trying to regain my composure.

“There’s that fire. Touch me on my back.”

I reach out tentatively, my fingers brushing against his back. He presses his body against mine, and I let out an involuntary sound. Am I this needy? It’s been quite a while since I last had sex, but it’s not like it helps me or anything. I don’t get off having sex. I need my fingers or my vibrator. Why am I this thirsty now?

“Excited already?”

My throat tightens as I reach out, my fingers trembling as they make contact with his taut back, layered with muscles upon muscles. Jesus. All of him is hard. I wish I had longer nails so I could scratch him—hurt him. Just as I start to get lost in the moment, he interrupts with a playful tone, reminding me that this may not be as thrilling for him as it is for me. “Mm-hm, keep going like that, baby,” he teases.

I release my hold on him. “Okay, I think we’ve played enough. Let me go.”

His grin widens, infuriatingly charming. But he steps back, grabs my luggage, and nods to the doorman by way of greeting. “Come on.”

Once we reach Attie, Riley tosses him the keys and they fly through the air. “Thank you, man.”

And we’re in, away from all of his fangirls.

“So, you’re even too lazy to park your own car?” I say as we enter the elevator.

I can still feel the heat in my cheeks, but I try to shrug it off and act as calm as possible.

“He likes to drive my cars, so actually, I’m doing him a favor and he can use it whenever I’m away. Paint me the villain you think I am, but don’t be disappointed when you realize I’m not the bad guy you thought I was.”

Inside the elevator, the space feels impossibly small.

My heart races as Riley’s cologne, a heady mix of woodsy smells and fresh laundry, wafts toward me once more. I try to keep my eyes ahead, but I couldn’t help sneaking a glance at his strong jawline and these impossibly broad shoulders.

He must have sensed my gaze, because he turns to catch me staring. “Like what you see?” he says. Oh, that stupid teasing glint in his eyes.

“There’s leftovers from your breakfast right above your jaw. I thought I’d tell you, so that you don’t end up embarrassed.”

“What? Where?” He rushes to the mirror, but of course he won’t find anything because his damn face is perfect and I just wanted to say something—anything. I feel bad about it, but I can understand these girls out there. This man is so handsome I feel like an ogre next to him. He’s way out of my league, and I have no idea how they can believe that I could be his girlfriend. I live in a trailer. He lives in this rich penthouse. He looks like a Calvin Klein model, my hair hasn’t seen a hairdresser in years. My face is plastered with makeup that’s worth ten dollars in total, and my nails are short, broken, and not even worth mentioning. I look down at my feet, suddenly feeling absurd for saying yes to this clownery.

People will laugh at us. At me.Content is property of NôvelDrama.Org.

“You’re seeing things, girl,” he says, and we enter his minimalistic, oh-so-manly apartment.

“Sorry,” I say with a mischievous grin.

He catches my smile and his own grin widens. “You’re quite the trickster. Got me good.”

I chuckle, feeling a bit more at ease. “So, where’s my room?”

My room is tucked away at the end of the hallway, three doors down from his.

Once a guest room, it now hosts a jumble of my belongings, a mix of cheap finds strewn across the floor. My room oozes luxury with its silk-draped canopy bed, nestled amid a sea of plush velvet pillows and golden-threaded linens. Sunlight dances through floor-to-ceiling windows, illuminating polished mahogany furnishings.

Leaning against the devastatingly beautiful closet, I ponder where to begin unpacking while talking to my mom on the phone.

“Unpacking is supposed to make me feel better, to solve my problems,” I tell her in Hungarian. “But it’s killing me. I thought I’d be moving in with a girl. With someone nice like Priya. Mom, I packed my silly pajamas. Can you even believe it?”

“I’m sure it’s not that bad, honey,” she replies, barely containing her laughter.

It’s clear she’s amused by the whole idea of me living with Riley. Apparently, my mom isn’t any more discerning than Priya. Unbelievable.

“Mom. My shower gel and shampoo were chosen for price, not scent. All I have is that bottle of PAW Patrol shampoo.”

In my defense, I did get three bottles for the price of one, and they are massive. It will probably last forever.

“It’s going to be okay. You’ll see,” Mom says, and I wish she could see me roll my eyes.

Slumping amid all my stuff, which mirrors the chaos of my life, I sigh deeply. Among the mess are my worn, gray ice skates, my flimsy dress, and a black box in the center. At the sight of it, my heart grows heavy.

Mom rambles on about how good ol’ Dan’s trying to convince her to cook for him, now that I’m not around. Even though I miss them both, her story fades into the background as I carefully place a blue teddy bear on the shelf behind me.

“Are you still there, honey?” she asks.

“Yeah,” I reply, touching the little blue bear. I squeeze it, and even though she can’t see me, I hear her sighing as deeply as I do. “It’s going to be all right. I just know it. You’ll be amazing and he’ll be so proud of you.”

The teddy bear feels like a lifeline. It is. I’m not doing this for fun. I have to make things work with Riley. This is my only chance to make things right.

I pat the bear one more time. I can do it. I will do it. “Thanks, Mom. I already feel better. I just miss you both so much.”

“I miss you too. But look, it’s only six months. It’ll be over before you know it.”

A knock on the door makes me jump. I hurry to open it.

“How’s it going?” Riley asks, and my eyes drift to his tattooed arm. Of course, his entire right arm is covered in tattoos, and of course, I’ve always found tattoos incredibly hot.

“Um, good,” I lie and tell my mom that I’ll call her back.

Riley glances over my shoulder, his brow furrowing as he takes in the chaos of the room that was perfectly organized just half an hour ago.

“All right. Looks like it. Need any help?”

“Nope. Thanks,” I say and stuff my phone into my pants’ pocket. I need a lot but definitely don’t need a man’s help with unpacking.

“Well, Ethan and Nina are here to discuss the contract.”

“The contract?”

“I thought you wanted one?”

Oh. “Right.”

He glances around the room once more before nodding toward the living room. “Come on then.”

I give a small nod, and just when I want to get out, I catch sight of my black bathroom and around twenty packs of tampons.

“Riley…” I say, stopping in between the doorway.

“What?” He looks at me with big eyes.

“Do you think I’m dying each month?”

The way he looks at me makes me think he can’t keep up with my train of thought, but before I can say more, he follows my gaze to the tampons and scratches the back of his head.

“Um, well…you’re a woman, so I figured you’d need them.”

I burst out laughing. “Well, thank you, I’ll have tampons until the menopause hits me. Did you buy these all by yourself?”

“Yep. Used to do it for my sister all the time. And I got you some other stuff too. What’s wrong?”

I must have given him a weird look, so I quickly say, “Sorry, it’s just…unexpected. In a good way, I mean.”

He shrugs nonchalantly. “Just wanted to make sure you were covered.”

Twice in one day he’s made me blush.

Trying not to look at him too much, I quickly close the door behind me and follow him into the massive hallway.

His penthouse is crazy vast, and having it all to myself for the next few days feels like a dream. I’m relieved that I have my own bathroom too—sharing one with him would be…well, too much. Just thinking about accidentally walking in on him half naked in there makes my cheeks flush.

I follow him, unable to tear my gaze away from the way his defined muscles shift beneath his tight T-shirt as he walks. The way his tattooed arm makes me feel things. I shake my head in disbelief at how something as simple as walking can be so attractive. So much for getting my shit together.

“Liora! I’m so happy you decided to move in!” I hear Nina’s voice and try to glance behind Riley to find her. When I do, I’m greeted with a rosy smile that stretches from ear to ear.

Nina sits on the white, plush couch beside a man in a perfectly tailored gray suit. His dark blond hair slicks back, and he focuses intently on a stack of papers spread across the coffee table, with a contract and pen waiting to be signed.

“We need you both to sign on the dotted lines,” the man says by way of greeting.

I come to a sudden stop and glance up at Riley.

“Sorry about him,” Riley says, shooting a scowl at him. “This is Ethan, my agent and publicist. He’s a bit on edge right now and it’s my fault.” Riley’s gaze shifts back to Ethan, his tone turning firm. “How about you start with saying hello, or did you forget your manners?”

Ethan spins around, his expression curt as he gives me a quick once-over. All I get in return is a nod, which prompts me to cross my arms and nod back. Typical New York, full of jerks.

He slides the weighty paperwork toward me, and it stops right before falling off the edge of the table. “This contract outlines your roles and responsibilities as a couple, including no PDA in private, no dating anyone else, and maintaining the charade in public at all times.” He says it like there’s no possibility to ask or add things. Then he takes the pen and hands it toward me. “On the dotted lines, please.”

I raise an eyebrow, unimpressed. “It might be shocking to you, but I’d like to actually read this before I sign my life away.”

“Do you need me to read it out loud for you?”

I walk up to him and snatch the document from the table. “I can read just fine, thank you.”

There’s an uncomfortable silence, and I notice Riley arguing with him with his hands next to me, but I don’t pay attention to it. I’m used to people like Ethan, judging me based on my tax bracket. There’s a shift and a sudden sweet scent fills my nose. When I look up, Nina is next to me and touches my shoulder. “Sorry. Come on, let’s sit at the counter. Ethan is…well, Ethan. Grumpy.”

“He’s a jerk,” I mutter and move to sit at the marble kitchen counter.

“Help her with the legal jargon, will you?” I hear Ethan growling at us.

I turn around. “Oh, how about you worry about your manners rather than me understanding your damn contract. I did a year in law school. Terms like fiduciary duty and force majeure aren’t exactly foreign to me. But thanks for the offer.”

I shoot him a pointed look before sitting down on a bar stool and diving into the contract, determined to make sure I know exactly what I’m getting into.

I’m not sure, but I think I catch Riley smiling proudly.