Playing To Win || paused might be continued soon ||

chapter two

Some memories stay with you like scars, and meeting Landon Kingston is a scar I'd rather not bear.

It was freshman year—before the endless rivalry, before every argument, before I realized just how insufferable he'd be. Back then, I didn't know that one encounter could set off years of animosity, years of him invading my world. If I'd known, maybe I wouldn't have bothered being polite.

Maybe.

The ice rink was empty that day, filled only with the sound of my blades slicing across the ice, each movement an escape from reality. Figure skating was my sanctuary—my way of keeping it together. And that day, nothing could ruin it.

Or so I thought.

A loud burst of laughter echoed through the rink, snapping me out of my focus. I turned, frowning, as a group of guys strolled in, hockey gear slung over their shoulders as if they owned the place. Typical. The hockey team always thought they ruled the rink, barging in without a second thought.

At the center of them was a guy with dark, unruly hair and a smirk that seemed permanently etched onto his face. I didn't know him then, didn't realize he was about to become the bane of my existence. All I saw was another arrogant hockey player, another obstacle in my way.

Suppressing a sigh, I skated to the edge of the rink, hoping they'd get the hint and leave. But they didn't. They dropped their gear like they had every right to be there. And then the dark-haired guy looked at me and smirked.

"Hey, figure skater," he called, his voice cutting through the silence. "You done with the ice, or do we have to share?"

I held back a retort and skated over, meeting his gaze with a steady glare. "I reserved this time. It's figure skating practice."

He didn't even blink. "Yeah? Well, we've got practice too. Mind speeding things up a little?"

My fists clenched at my sides. "Or maybe you could just wait until your scheduled time."

Behind him, his teammates snickered, like this was all some big joke. The guy leaned closer over the barrier, his grin widening.

"Come on, princess, there's enough ice for both of us."

The way he said it grated on me—like he was challenging me, daring me to give in. I refused to look away. "Or, and just hear me out, you could be patient and wait your turn."

"Patience isn't really my thing," he said with a shrug. "And let's be honest—hockey's a bit more... intense than your little spins and jumps, don't you think?"

The arrogance in his voice stunned me. Little spins and jumps? Was he actually serious?

"You don't know anything about figure skating," I shot back, my voice as cold as the ice beneath me. "And if you think hockey's more intense, you're as clueless as you look."

That finally wiped the smirk off his face—at least, for a second. Then it was back, more infuriating than ever, like he enjoyed watching me get riled up.

"Show me, then. Maybe I'll be impressed."

I opened my mouth, ready to tear into him, but his teammate interrupted, clapping him on the shoulder with a laugh. "Leave her alone, Kingston. She's not gonna waste her time on you."

Kingston.

That was when I learned his name. Landon Kingston, the guy who thought he could walk in and take over my space, my time. The guy who looked at figure skating like it was some kind of joke.

I skated away, pretending his comments hadn't gotten to me, but inside, I was seething. Every jump, every spin that day was sharper, faster, fueled by the need to prove him wrong—even if he wasn't watching. But the truth was, he had already gotten under my skin.

When I finally finished my practice, the hockey team had taken over the rink, Kingston right at the center of it. I watched him skate, fast and sure, weaving through his teammates like he'd been born to do it. His arrogance had reason behind it, and that realization made me furious.

I hated it.

I hated that he was good, that his cockiness wasn't all talk. But mostly, I hated that, against my will, I was impressed.

As I gathered my things to leave, I heard his voice, loud and cocky, calling after me.

"See you around, figure skater."

I didn't look back. I wouldn't give him the satisfaction of knowing he'd rattled me. But from that day on, it was war.

Every practice, every competition, it was a battle—a constant, exhausting game of trying to one-up each other. Neither of us willing to back down, both of us locked in this endless clash of pride and ego.

And now, three years later, here we are. Still fighting, still tearing each other down, still... something.

But that day? That was when it all began. The day I met Landon Kingston, the guy who shattered my peace and turned my rink into a battlefield. The guy who's still in my head, no matter how much I hate it.

And I do. I hate him.