BLAZE: Enemies to Lovers College Hockey Romance by Eddie Cleveland (ebook reader macos .txt) 📕

but he won’t win the war. He thinks that my job is a joke. Obviously, he doesn’t take me seriously either. It’s not easy being El Chapo’s personal nanny.

Blaze acts like the entire world has been fooled into playing by a set of rules. Meanwhile, he set the rule book on fire. Of course, it’s no surprise he’s like that. If all of Westbury’s Warrior-elite are treated like royalty, then the hockey boys are the Kings. And there is no shortage of college girls willing to kneel before them. There isn’t a single place on campus these guys can go without being recognized. Every party, hockey practice and even in every class, they are constantly approached. Usually by bunnies.

Usually by several.

Easy access doesn’t stop at meaningless sex. Everything at Westbury is handed to these guys on a silver platter. The “special curve” they are graded on is no secret. At the end of the year, they pass, no exceptions. It doesn’t matter how many classes they miss, how many projects they never work on, they always skate by.

There is very little in life that guys like Blaze actually earn. Except being a cocky jerk. He’s definitely earned that title. If hockey boys are kings, he has the biggest empire. Here’s the thing though, I remember him from my senior year. Even back when he was just a freshman, he walked around Westbury like clouds should be forming under his feet with every step. He’s always been this bad.

If anything, he’s now got a few years of college hockey to back up his attitude. Blaze sucks at a lot of things. Impulse control. Manners. Modesty. However, hockey isn’t one of them. Those cloud-steps make a lot more sense when I watch him play. On the ice, he’s a god amongst men.

I slow my walk to the door. What am I doing? If I leave, this job is over. I’m supposed to revamp the Warriors’ image. More specifically, I’m supposed to keep the one thing that keeps tarnishing that image from self-destructing. If I leave Blaze in a strip club, drinking and influencing new guys on the team to do the same, I’m done. If I give up, I deserve to lose my job. There’s no way that’s happening. This contract with Westbury is my second chance to get my first opportunity in my field. It’s not like I can use my last job on my resume. I can’t let Blaze bully me out.

I stop and turn to see Blaze still sitting where I left him. He doesn’t even glance over. It’s clear that our little argument had zero effect on him. He pushes back his shaggy hair and takes a long swallow of the beer he’s forbidden to drink. He’s already forgotten I was even there. How am I going to get his stubborn ass out of here?

A waitress with brown hair stops beside me and stares at Blaze. “He’s pretty, but sex toys are a lot less trouble. Guys like him don’t change unless they’re forced to. At least a vibrator doesn’t steal the last cookie or the blankets.” She keeps walking to the bar, empty beer bottles threaded between her fingers. “Or break our hearts,” she yells back over her shoulder.

She’s right, of course. Not about the heartbreak, obviously, but that Blaze will never change. Why would he? No one will ever force him to. Professors, coaches, fans and bunnies, they all give them a free ride - in more ways than one. Guys like Blaze think they rule the entire universe because that’s exactly how they’re treated. Who in their lives tells them they don’t?

“I will,” I mumble.

Clenching my fists, I march back toward Blaze. The entire time, he never takes his eyes off the stage. He’s never going to pay attention to me when there’s a girl dancing up there. He’ll just tune me out.

I will not be ignored. He might not remember me from his freshman year, but I’m about to make an impression he’ll never forget. I turn up a hall that leads to the bathrooms and stage entrance. With each step, I go back and forth about which one will be my destination.

Toilet. Stage. Toilet. Stage. Toilet... Just like a kid picking petals off a daisy. My foot hits the ground, and the last word in my mind is clear.

Stage.

I hesitate at the steps leading up. Standing up tall, I throw my shoulders back and remind myself that I’m never letting any man make me give up my job again.

My daisy is out of petals. Stage wins. Before I can second guess it, or talk myself out of it, I walk right up the stairs. My mind is completely blank as I step onto the stage. I’m immediately filled with regret as hot, white lights blind me. The dancer stops coiling herself around the pole and frowns at me.

Why didn’t I choose the toilet first? Toilet then stage, that would have been a better decision.

But here I am, frozen like Bambi about to get flattened by a Mack truck.

“Go, Becky!”

That’s his voice. Blaze. He thinks his Ball-Buster name is so funny. Well, he’s about to watch me earn it. Queens stand tall to keep their crowns in place, I remind myself. My shoulders slide back, and my chin tilts up. Everyone knows in a game of chess, the Queen is the most powerful. He doesn’t know it yet, but the King of Westbury has met his match. I’m going to make him kneel before the Queen.

I step forward, and the girl moves back from the pole. She’s probably worried that I’m crazy or dangerous or both. I feel bad for that, but not bad enough to back down. I’m making a point here, a point that will show her in two seconds that I’m not a threat.

“Be careful of the oil,” she calls just as my foot hits a slippery patch on the glassy floor.

One of my feet kicks out, and I yelp as gravity