Despite swearing off athletes for good, Freya Pfieffer can't help but fall for the sweet and perfectly endearing defenseman who meets her gaze at a Montreal Canadiens game. Freya is left spinning-wondering if she should make an exception for Cole Ca...
"Looks like our friends are having fun," Freya observes, turning off her phone and setting it down on the couch beside her. Tate's post, like all of their posts lately, seems to be generating more traction than usual—mostly from apparent hockey fans.
Or at least fans of hockey boys.
Cole approaches Freya, passing her a glass of water before sipping from his own. "They always do," he remarks as he sets his cup down on the coffee table.
Cole's apartment is nice: it's neat and smells like fresh linens, combined with the scent that Freya has come to know as distinctly Cole. The electric fire is going, right beside a small Christmas tree covered in golden lights and ornaments. When Freya had commented on it upon entering the apartment, Cole replied that his mom had brought the decorations when she came to visit, and they'd put up the tree together.
Most spectacular, however, is the view: along the back of the couch is a window that stretches almost from the ceiling to the floor. Freya realizes then that she hasn't been high enough to really appreciate Montreal since she moved here over a month ago. It's prettier than she thought.
Cole, apparently noticing her staring out at the dark landscape below, asks, "You miss Florida?"
Freya sighs, offering him a shrug. "I miss some parts of Florida," she replies. She moves the blanket Cole had placed over her lap so that he can squeeze in beside her. There, he props one elbow up on the back of the couch to face Freya more fully. "Like the heat," Freya goes on, "and my family. My family the most."
His eyes are filled with sweetness and adoration as he inquires, "Siblings?"
"Just one," Freya sighs. "Mac. He's twenty now, goes to school in North Carolina."
"Are you close with your parents?" Cole asks next, gaze never leaving hers.
Freya, though, has to look away for a moment, as if she might find the answer somewhere on the floor of Cole's apartment. "I'm close with my mom," she mumbles, "but my dad actually passed away a couple years ago."
"I'm so sorry," Cole hurries.
She returns her eyes to him, shaking her head. "No, don't be sorry," she assures him. "He and I weren't close."
It's the understatement of the century: Freya hated her father—hated how much he hurt her mother, how he never allowed her to get away. The memory makes her think of Dalton, and she can't help but shudder.
Cole, however, doesn't appear to notice it and tries, "So what made you move all the way here? Seems like a big change."
Freya nods, considering her next words carefully. She isn't sure how to explain why she moved without mentioning Dalton—and all of the baggage that comes with it—which feels decidedly like a relationship kind of conversation, which they aren't in. Still, unable to lie to him, she offers, "I was getting away from a guy."
It seems to make Cole straighten in his seat a bit. "What do you mean?" he asks. Quickly, though, he corrects himself, "I'm sorry—we don't have to talk about it."
His bumbling nervousness carves a little hole in Freya's heart, and she smiles at him, falling forward into his chest. He slips his arm around her back, letting his hand fall onto her shoulder, which he strokes absentmindedly with his thumb.
"Just a crazy ex," Freya sighs. "I'm sure you've had plenty. Or at least crazy fangirls."
Cole releases a little huff of laughter. "I can't say I have," he remarks.
Freya shoots back up, narrowing her gaze on him. "Oh come on," she goads, "I can't even imagine how many girls on in your DMs on a daily basis. You're the Cole Caufield."
He shrugs in defeat. "I'm serious."
Freya, not at all convinced, pulls out her phone, opening Instagram and navigating to Cole's account. She reads the comments on his most recent post aloud.
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
colecaufield on instagram: merci montréal!
♥ Liked by nsuzuki_37 and 90,589 others.
Comments:
random: ugh he's so fucking hot
random: please marry me coley 🥺
random: i would let this man do anything to me
random: please choke me.
random: i would let you walk me like a dog.
random: anyone know if he's single?? 👀
random: great game handsome :)
random: you're number one on my xmas list 🫣
nsuzuki_37: hottie cole 🤩
Load 1,098 more comments...
-------
Freya looks up at him to find he's blushing like an idiot. "To be fair," Freya pipes up, "that last comment was from Nicky."
Cole rolls his eyes, moving his tongue along the inside of his cheek in a fruitless attempt to fend off a grin. Infatuated with his embarrassment, Freya climbs onto his lap, straddling his legs. At this, Cole's breath noticeably quickens, which drives Freya nearly to the edge. She wraps her arms around the back of his head, moving a hand up into his hair, which is still a little damp from the shower he must've taken after his game.
"See?" Freya declares. "The ladies love you. They might just be lining up outside your door."
Cole has to lift his chin a little to meet her gaze, and when she tilts her head down in response, she settles just inches from him lips. "Oh yeah?" Cole counters, the tiniest hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.
Freya hums in response as Cole splays his palms across her back.
"Did I mention how good you look with my jersey on?" he remarks, hands slipping down a little to the hem.
Freya feels heat rush into her cheeks, and every other part of her body, at that. God, she's obsessed with the way he looks at her—like he's never been more enamored with anyone in his entire life. If Freya had any control, she might use it to stop herself, but she's so drawn to him that she can't help but plant a soft kiss on his lips.
