Page 4 of The Pucking Arrangement

And then, just before he disappears, he looks back.

The air between us crackles. His gaze drops, lingers, sears—a silent promise.

My breath catches.

He smirks, just the barest twitch of his lips, like he knows exactly what he’s doing to me. Then he turns away, leaving me flushed and wrecked.

Oh yeah, Dmitri Sokolov is trouble. The best kind of trouble.

If I was going there.

Which I’m definitely not.

Chapter2

Game On

Erin

The moment I step into my studio apartment in the Village, I toss my bag onto the bed and open my laptop. My YouTube channel, Classical Crossroads, has been steadily climbing—fifty thousand subscribers tuning in for everything from Bach to behind-the-scenes practice vlogs. But lately, the analytics have stalled.

“Time to shake things up,” I mutter, scrolling through my most-watched videos.

The Beethoven cello sonatas? Always a steady performer. MyPractice with Meseries? A go-to for music students. But the real viral moments—the ones that blow up overnight—are always the unexpected collaborations. Like last month’s impromptu duet with a street drummer in Washington Square Park. Or the subway concert that turned a late-night commute into a standing-room-only show.

I tap my fingers against my desk, an idea forming.

When Hockey Meets Classical Music – The Rhythm of the Game.

A few scribbled notes later, my phone buzzes.

[Liam]: Coming tonight? Last game before playoffs.

I hesitate. I should practice. I should edit. But I could also film a few new videos—and if that just so happens to involve capturing some hockey footage, well…artistic inspiration comes in many forms.

[Me]: Maybe. Thinking of filming some content for my channel.

[Liam]: Perfect. Family box is open. Sophie’s bringing Jenna. Jessica will be around too.

Two hours later, I find myself speed-walking through the VIP entrance at Madison Square Garden, my camera bouncing in my bag, telling myself this is purely for content. Strictly professional.

And absolutely not about the six-foot-four brooding Russian defenseman who just happens to be playing tonight.

The family box is just as obnoxiously over the top as I remember—plush seats, a God-tier view of the ice, and a buffet spread so decadent it feels like a crime to eat from it without a formal invitation.

I grab a drink, sink into a seat, and try to focus on video ideas.

Not on the fact that in a few minutes, Dmitri Sokolov is going to hit the ice for warm-ups.

Ishouldbe thinking about content. Plotting a new series. Strategizing ways to build momentum for my channel. Instead, I spent the afternoon in a TikTok rabbit hole, inhaling every Defenders warm-up video I could find. The cardinal sin of every creative person—consuming more than producing. But in my defense, the content was mesmerizing.

Or, more specifically,hewas.

Dmitri on the ice is pure dominance—every movement sharp, precise, a masterclass in control. He moves like the rink belongs to him, cutting through the space, owning it.

And his warm-up?Completely inappropriate.

First, the deep lunges—his knee nearly brushing the ice, muscles flexing tight, restrained power thrumming through every inch of him. There’s no hesitation in the way he moves, no wasted effort. Just raw, breathtaking strength. Then the slow, deliberate twists at the waist, his broad shoulders rolling as he loosens up, thick padding doing nothing to hide the sheer power beneath. He plants his skates wide, tilts his head side to side, cracking his neck with a quiet finality that sets my skin on fire.

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