Michael Misa x Toffoli Reader
Word Count: 1063
Summary: Keeping your relationship with Michael Misa a secret would be much easier if the two of you had even a single ounce of subtlety.
Genre: Fluff, Secret Relationship
You know, for two people who are supposedly keeping their relationship a secret, you and Michael Misa were absolutely terrible at acting normal.
Truly awful.
Like embarrassingly bad at it, actually.
It all started around a month ago with a “We probably shouldn't tell Tyler yet.”
Now, this is a reasonable statement considering how your older brother, Tyler Toffoli, had a tendency to become mildly terrifying over things involving you.
Michael had agreed instantly, which was a smart move on his end.
Well, in theory.
In practice, the two of you apparently share one brain cell.
Because keeping a secret relationship secret usually requires subtlety.
And that wasn’t happening here.
It was the way he always made your coffee before you were fully awake, the way you always ended up wearing one of his hoodies by the end of the day, the way he held your back when he walked behind you, the way you always seemed to look at each other like there was no one else in the room.
None of this went unnoticed.
By everyone except Tyler.
Which was honestly impressive.
You were sitting on the couch one evening, trying and failing to watch whatever movie was playing on the TV, when Will walked past, took one look at the two of you sitting suspiciously close to one another, and snorted.
Michael froze.
You bit the inside of your cheek.
Will pointed between the two of you.
“You are aware that Toff is the only one who doesn’t know, right?”
Michael looked horrified at that. “What?”
Will laughed, “Yeah, like everyone knows, you guys aren’t subtle at all.”
You smiled sweetly at him. “Well… not everyone.”
He gave you a pitying look and walked away.
Michael turned to you.
“This is bad, this is really bad, he can’t keep a secret to save his life.”
“It will be fine, and I think we’ve been doing alright.”
He just stared blankly at you.
“Alright? I called you baby in the kitchen yesterday, in front of Mack.”
You winced. “He was sworn to secrecy.”
Michael just gave you a look.
“He laughed at me for ten minutes.”
That was true.
You had also laughed at him.
“Look, Tyler still doesn’t know,” you said as you patted his knee.
As if summoned by the universe to prove you wrong, Tyler's voice called from behind you. “Doesn’t know what?”
Michael nearly fell off the couch.
You looked up, and Tyler stood there, holding a water bottle, eyebrows furrowed.
There was a moment of silence.
Michael looked like he was about to pass out.
You smiled far too innocently. “Nothing.”
Tyler narrowed his eyes.
Michael nodded slightly too aggressively. “Yep. Nothing at all.”
Tyler looked between the two of you slowly, suspiciously, and then turned and walked away.
Michael waited until he disappeared. “Oh my god, I have never feared for my life more.”
You burst out laughing.
“I honestly think my whole life flashed before my eyes.”
“You’re so dramatic.”
“I am dating Tyler Toffoli’s sister, with whom we both live, in secret. I think I’m allowed to be dramatic.”
You grinned. “Okay, that’s fair.”
He looked at you, then sighed. “We should really start to be more careful.”
You nodded.
“Yeah, we really should.”
That lasted only four hours.
Because later that night, you went to the kitchen to get a drink and found him already standing there.
He smiled the moment he saw you and you smiled back.
He stepped closer and you stepped closer.
And this, in hindsight, was your first mistake.
“You know,” he murmured as his hands came to rest on your waist, “for someone who said we need to be more careful, you aren’t being very careful.”
You wrapped your arms around his neck. “You aren’t either.”
“That's true.” He leaned down, and you tilted up, and just as his lips brushed yours.
“Well, this feels illegal.”
You both jumped apart, so violently that Michael nearly took out a chair.
Tyler stood in the doorway, his face blank, holding a bag of chips.
There were five seconds of silence. Michael looked ready to crawl into a hole and die.
You blinked.
Michael blinked.
Tyler blinked.
His eyes moved from you to Michael to Michael's hands on your waist.
Then back to both of you.
“...Seriously.”
You opened your mouth to reply, but nothing came out.
Michael made a strangled noise, which could have been an attempt at words.
Tyler just stared harder.
“How long has this been going on?”
You winced. “Around a month?”
Tyler looked personally offended.
“A month and I’m the last one to know?”
From somewhere in the living room came a voice. “Yeah.”
Tyler turned and half the team was now very obviously listening.
Sam lifted a hand. “I mean, we thought you knew already.”
Tyler looked back at the room in betrayal. “You all knew?”
There was a collective shrug.
“Cat, did you know about this?”
“I knew before they even knew themselves.”
Michael whispered beside you. “I am going to throw up.”
You held back a laugh.
Tyler dragged a hand down his face, then pointed at Michael. “If you make her cry, I will make your life hell.”
He nodded instantly. “Yep, absolutely, understood.”
Tyler turned to look at you. “And you.”
You smiled sheepishly at him. “Hi?”
He let out a sigh, then opened his bag of chips. “I need a moment.” He turned and left.
Michael stood frozen.
You looked at him, and he looked at you.
Then, after glancing at the doorway Tyler had just disappeared through
“... are we dead yet?”
You considered it. “No, not yet.”
He let out a breath, then, after a moment, asked “Can I still kiss you?”
Authors Note: I love the badly kept secret relationship trope, anyway i've been busy writing a bunch since I have the week off, so i'm just refilling my drafts right now.
hiii idk if it would be a pina colada or a crab request but can I request a story with Michael Misa where reader is kinda insecure abt seeing herself in a bikini and he helps boost her confidence. btw the theme of ur event is so cute!!! <3
thank you nonny i pondered this theme for a while <3
my pretty girl | michael misa x reader
order up! here's your piña colada. drink responsibly...
The Hawaiian sun hung low over Wailea Beach, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink that seemed too vivid to be real. Michael Misa stood on the lanai of their rental villa, watching the waves roll in with the same attention he usually saved for video review sessions.
Behind him, through the sliding glass door, he could hear Y/N moving around the bedroom. They'd been in Hawaii for two days now and she was yet to go with him to the pool or beach.
"You ready?" he called out.
"Almost!"
Michael smiled. He'd heard that particular tone of "almost" before. It was the same one she used when she was standing in front of her closet at home, trying on and discarding outfit after outfit.
He walked back inside, finding her standing in front of the full-length mirror, arms crossed. Her black bikini sat on the bed, towels folded beside it.
"Hey," he said softly, coming up behind her. "What's going on?"
Y/N met his eyes in the mirror. "I don't know if I can do this."
"Do what? Go to the beach?" He kept his voice light, but his expression was gentle. "Kind of the whole point of Hawaii."
"I just…" She gestured vaguely at herself, then dropped her arms. "Everyone's going to see me. You're going to see me. All of me. And I just... I don't look like those girls you see at the arena or on Instagram or…"
"Y/N." Michael turned her around to face him, his hands warm on her shoulders. "You think I care what random people on Instagram look like?"
"It's not about what you care about." She struggled for the words. "You're you. You're this professional athlete, and you're on TV, and people write articles about you, and I'm just... me."
"You know what I thought when I first saw you?"
She shook her head.
"I thought you had the prettiest smile I'd ever seen. And I was right." He brushed a strand of hair behind her ear. "You know what I thought when you showed up to that charity thing in that blue dress last month? That I was the luckiest guy in the room. And I was."
She frowned.
"I'm not finished." He grinned. "You know what I'm thinking right now, thinking about you in this bikini?"
Y/N bit her lip, fighting her own smile. "What?"
"That I'm about to have the hottest girlfriend on Wailea Beach, and everyone else there is going to be jealous."
She laughed despite herself, the tension in her shoulders easing slightly. "You're ridiculous."
"I'm serious." He took both her hands, his thumbs tracing gentle circles on her palms. "Listen. I spend all season getting hit, getting judged, getting picked apart by coaches and fans and media. You know what doesn't feel like that?"
"What?"
"Being with you. You make everything quieter. Easier." His brown eyes were steady on hers, the same focus that made him so dangerous in the offensive zone now directed entirely at her. "I don't care if you're in a bikini or in any of the many hoodie you stole from me."
"Borrowed."
"Stole," he corrected, grinning. "You're pretty. You're my pretty girl. And I want to spend this week swimming with you and being lazy with you and probably getting a sunburn because I'm definitely going to forget to reapply sunscreen."
Y/N felt tears prick at her eyes, but she was smiling now.
He picked up one of the beach towels and slung it over his shoulder. "So what do you say? Want to go enjoy this overpriced paradise with me?"
She looked at herself in the mirror one more time, but this time she saw herself through his eyes. Someone chosen. Someone loved.
"Yeah," she said, grabbing her sunglasses. "Let's go."
Michael held out his hand, and she took it.
As they walked down to the beach, his fingers laced through hers, Y/N felt the warm Hawaiian breeze on her skin and realized that the thing she'd been most nervous about was exactly what Michael had been offering her all along. Not judgment. Not comparison. Just seeing her, really seeing her, and choosing her anyway.
"Hey," Michael said as they found a spot on the sand.
"Yeah?"
He pulled her close, pressing a kiss to her temple. "Thank you for coming here with me. This is exactly what I needed."
And as Y/N settled into the beach chair beside him, the sun warm on her skin and his hand still holding hers, she realized it was exactly what she'd needed too.
"I want you to teach me how to give head" Michael blurts.
Sam looks at him likes he's stupid, "What? Buddy I love you but I'm not letting you suck my dick."
"No" Michael says, "Teach me how to give a girl head you horny fuck."
"Should have been specific" Sam says.
"No you should get your head out the gutter" Michael fires back.
Michael and Sam bicker before Sam agrees to help him find a girl to lose his oral virginity to, Sam's words Michael thought it was gross. Michael and Sam went out for a few beers where they spotted you, both thought you were so hot but Sam decided you were the girl to help Michael.
You came and sat with the boys getting to know them, and hit on them, before agreeing to let Michael learn how to give head. You guys all went back to Sam's place, when you arrived Sam led you two upstairs to his bedroom.
Sam and Michael worked together to get you naked before Sam started bossing him around, "Okay so you want to tease her just a little."
Michael nods as he kisses your neck, "That's it" Sam says, "Now kiss your way down her chest, play with her tits."
Michael starts kissing your neck and chest, biting and leaving marks as he goes. He fondles your tits making sure to pinch your nipples loving the noises you let out.
Michael continues his path down your body stopping to spread your legs, "Now use your thumb and circle her clit" Sam says. Michael finds the clit easily and starts circling slowly before Sam instructs him to go faster and to begin eating you out. Sam doesn't have to say much more Michael is a quick learner so he has you tugging on his hair begging for him to not stop pretty quickly.
"Good job" Sam says.
"Oh fuck" you moan out, "I'm cumming."
You moan as you cum all over Michael's face, he works your through your orgasm before pulling away and licking his lips, "Tastes so good."
"How was it?" Sam asks you
You reply breathless, "Amazing best I've ever had."
"Can I go again?" Michael asks
"Sure" you say.
Michael makes you cum four times in total before he feels comfortable that he's good at it, Sam makes him include his fingers on the last one since Michael has never fingered a girl before. Once Michael is finished Sam has to have a turn, never one to be left out. You spend the night at Sam's place and wake up the next morning pinned between two massive hockey players, who insisted on fucking you before you left. Yeah you definitely would be coming back to them.
america’s suitehearts | michael misa x pritzker!reader
☆ summary: y/n is supposed to go to a game at the united center for publicity reasons. while there, she catches the eye of one michael misa. he doesn’t know who this girl is, but he needs to.
☆ pairing: michael misa x pritzker!reader
☆ content: fluff
☆ word count: 6.9k
☆ warnings: referenced underage drinking
☆ note: kind of inspired by lady and the tramp
☆ listen to this for the best experience
The Pritzker penthouse occupied the top three floors of a building on North Lake Shore Drive, with floor-to-ceiling windows that framed Lake Michigan like a series of brutalist paintings. Y/N, N/N to everyone who mattered, stood in the living room wearing a Mirror Palais slip dress the color of champagne silk, her freshly Olaplex-treated hair catching the late March light. Her Carel Paris ballet flats made no sound on the marble floor, which somehow made the silence worse.
Her mother, Diane, sat on the cream suede sectional with her legs crossed at the ankle in that finishing-school way that N/N had never quite mastered. She was doing that thing where she didn't look directly at you, instead directing her attention to some middle distance, as if you were a problem to be considered rather than a person to be addressed.
Her father paced near the windows, still in his work clothes: Brioni suit, Hermès tie, Tom Ford oxfords that probably cost more than most people's monthly rent. Jason Pritzker had the particular energy of a man accustomed to solving problems with phone calls and wire transfers, now confronting a problem that refused to be solved with either.
"I don't understand why this is even a discussion," N/N said, her voice carrying that specific pitch of aggrieved innocence she'd perfected over nineteen years. She shifted her weight, and her Cartier love bracelet caught the light. "It's spring break. I'm supposed to be in Miami with the girls right now."
"You were supposed to be in Miami," her father corrected, not turning from the window. "Instead, you're here. Because Dean Morrison called me personally, personally, Y/N, to inform me that you're on academic probation."
"It's just probation. It's not like I'm failing."
"A 1.9 GPA." Her mother's voice was soft, which was always more dangerous than when she yelled. "At Florida State. Do you understand how that reflects on this family?"
N/N resisted the urge to roll her eyes, instead reaching up to touch the gold nameplate necklace at her throat, N/N in delicate script, purchased during a girls' trip to New York, custom-made at Catbird. "FSU has a really competitive business program, actually. Everyone acts like it's just a party school, but-"
"But you're treating it like one." Jason turned now, and N/N saw the particular set of his jaw that meant this conversation was about to get worse. "Do you know what Morrison told me? He said you've missed more classes this semester than you've attended. That you showed up to your Finance 301 exam still drunk from the night before. That your sorority is considering putting you on social probation because even they think you're partying too hard."
"Phi Mu is not-" N/N started, but her father held up a hand.
"I don't care about Phi Mu. I care that my daughter is squandering opportunities that most people would kill for. I care that when people Google 'Pritzker,' I don't want your arrest record showing up."
"I was never arrested. It was just a noise complaint, and the charges were-"
"Dropped," Diane finished, finally looking at her daughter. "Because your father made phone calls. Because we hired a lawyer. Because we cleaned up your mess, Y/N, the way we always do."
The room fell silent except for the ambient hum of the city below. N/N could see her reflection in the window behind her father, blonde hair in loose waves, skin glowing from her ten-step routine, wearing a dress that cost three thousand dollars. She looked perfect. She always looked perfect. That was supposed to count for something.
"Grandpa Thomas would understand," N/N said quietly, playing what she thought was her trump card. "He was young once. He knows what it's like to-"
"Your grandfather," Jason said, voice tight, "built an empire. At your age, he was working eighteen-hour days. He earned his name." He paused, letting that sink in. "What have you earned, Y/N?"
The question hung in the air like smoke. N/N felt something hot and uncomfortable in her chest. Not quite shame, but close enough to be unpleasant.
"I have a 4.0 GPA in high school," she said, knowing how weak it sounded even as she said it. "I got into FSU on my own merits."
"With our name," Diane interjected smoothly.
N/N's hands clenched at her sides, her Too Faced lip gloss suddenly feeling tacky and wrong on her mouth. "So what, then? You flew me home just to yell at me? To tell me I'm a disappointment? Message received. Can I go now?"
"No." Jason crossed the room to the coffee table, where a manila folder sat like a accusation. He picked it up and held it out to her. "You're going to the Blackhawks game tomorrow night."
N/N stared at the folder as if it might bite her. "What?"
"The United Center. Suite seats. There will be photographers." Her father's voice had shifted into business mode now, the same tone he probably used in board meetings. "The Chicago Tribune is doing a piece on the family's continued investment in the city. You're going to attend, you're going to smile, and you're going to remind people that the Pritzker family represents excellence and commitment to Chicago."
"You want me to be a photo op," N/N said flatly.
"I want you to be part of this family," Jason corrected. "That comes with responsibilities. You've been living off the Pritzker name for nineteen years. It's time you started contributing to it."
N/N took the folder with numb fingers, flipping it open to see a printed itinerary: arrival time, seating assignment, a list of "approved talking points" for any press interactions. Her face in last year's family Christmas card photo, smiling in Chanel with her hair professionally blown out.
"I don't even like hockey," she said, her voice smaller than she intended.
"You don't have to like it." Diane uncrossed and recrossed her ankles. "You just have to show up. Wear something appropriate. Not club attire. Something that says 'Pritzker heir,' not 'party girl.'"
"I have a Versace blazer."
"I'll have something sent over," her mother said, which was her way of saying your taste can't be trusted.
N/N looked down at the folder, at the carefully typed schedule that had been prepared without her input, for an event she didn't want to attend, to salvage a reputation she hadn't realized was in danger. The thing about being a Pritzker was that you never had to worry about money. The thing about being a Pritzker was that you never stopped worrying about the name.
"What if I say no?" she asked, already knowing the answer.
Her father's expression didn't change. "Then you can pay your own tuition. Your own rent. Your own way. See how long you last without the family credit card."
It wasn't really a threat. It was a statement of fact, delivered with the casual certainty of someone who'd never had to worry about money and couldn't imagine anyone else's perspective. N/N thought about her sorority dues (her parents paid), her Jaguar (her parents paid), her closet full of designer clothes (her parents paid), the bottle service at Club Liv she'd put on her card last week (her parents paid). She thought about the life she'd built, or thought she'd built, and realized how little of it was actually hers.
"Fine," she said, the word tasting like metal. "I'll go to your stupid game."
"Our stupid game," Jason corrected. "You're a Pritzker, Y/N. Start acting like it."
He left the room then, probably to return calls or move money around or do whatever it was that directors at Hyatt did. Diane remained on the couch, examining her manicure, Chanel Rouge Noir, classic and timeless in a way that N/N's rotating selection of trendy polishes would never be.
"You could make this easier on yourself," her mother said without looking up. "If you just played along."
"I am playing along," N/N said. "That's all I ever do."
"No." Diane finally met her eyes. "Playing along would mean maintaining a 3.5 GPA minimum. It would mean making connections that could help you when you eventually join the family business. It would mean thinking about your future instead of just your next party." She paused. "You're beautiful, Y/N. You're charming. You could have anything you wanted if you applied even half the effort to your education that you apply to your appearance."
N/N looked down at herself, at the dress, the shoes, the accessories that she'd assembled with the careful attention most people reserved for actual work. Her mother wasn't wrong, exactly. She did spend more time on her Drunk Elephant routine than on her Finance homework. She could name every product in the new Summer Fridays line but couldn't remember the difference between macroeconomics and microeconomics.
"The game is at seven," Diane said, standing and smoothing her St. John knit skirt. "Car will pick you up at six-fifteen. Don't be late."
Then she left too, and N/N was alone in the penthouse with the itinerary and her reflection and the slowly setting sun over Lake Michigan. She pulled out her phone, and opened Instagram. Her feed was full of her Phi Mu sisters in Miami. Bikini photos on South Beach, cocktails at LIV, sunset shots with geotags and carefully curated captions. The life she was supposed to be living.
She started to type a message to the group chat, guys you will NOT believe what my parents are making me do, but stopped halfway through. Because what would she say, really? That her parents were mad she was failing? That she had to go to a hockey game? That the consequences of her actions were finally, mildly catching up to her?
In the window's reflection, she looked perfect: golden hour lighting, designer dress, the kind of casual wealth that photographed well. But if you looked closer, and N/N was starting to, whether she wanted to or not, you could see the cracks. The girl who didn't know what she wanted. The girl who was running out of second chances. The girl who was about to be paraded around the United Center like a trained seal, smile frozen, playing the role she'd been born into but never quite learned how to embody.
She closed Instagram without posting anything.
Tomorrow, she would put on whatever outfit her mother sent over. She would sit in the suite and smile for the cameras. She would be Y/N Pritzker, heir to the fortune, perfect daughter, Chicago royalty.
Tonight, alone in the penthouse, she was just N/N. And N/N was beginning to suspect that might not be enough.
────୨ৎ────
The United Center smelled like beer and hot dogs and twenty thousand people pretending the Hawks weren't having a season beyond salvation. N/N sat in the suite, not just any suite, but the Pritzker suite, with her family's name literally engraved on a placard by the door, wearing a Dior blazer her mother's assistant had couriered over that morning. Navy blue. "Sophisticated." Boring.
A photographer from the Tribune had already taken approximately eight hundred photos of her "enjoying the game," which so far meant smiling at a sport she didn't understand while holding a cup of lemonade she wasn't drinking. There were servers. There was catered food from somewhere expensive. There were other people in the suite. Family friends, Hyatt executives, the kind of middle-aged men who told the same stories about her grandfather at every event.
She was supposed to care. She was supposed to be charming.
The jumbotron flashed to life during a timeout, and suddenly her face was forty feet tall, plastered across the screen with a graphic: WELCOME Y/N PRITZKER, PRITZKER FAMILY LEGACY NIGHT.
The crowd cheered, probably more for the family name than for her specifically, and N/N felt her cheeks burn as she manufactured a smile and a small wave. Because that's what you did. That's what Pritzkers did.
"There's our girl!" one of the Hyatt VPs boomed, raising his drink. "True Chicago royalty!"
N/N's smile didn't waver, even though she wanted to sink through the floor.
────୨ৎ────
On the ice, Michael Misa had been having a decent game. Two assists, good puck movement, the kind of performance that might finally shut up the critics who said he wasn't living up to his draft position. The Sharks were up 2-1 going into the third, and he'd been feeling good about it.
Then the jumbotron lit up during the TV timeout, and suddenly he couldn't remember what the score was.
The girl on the screen was… wow.
He didn't have words. Blonde hair that caught the arena lights like spun gold. A smile that looked like it belonged in a magazine. She was wearing a blazer like she was at a business meeting, but somehow made it look like the most natural thing in the world, like she'd been born in designer clothes and had never known what it was like to wear anything else.
Y/N PRITZKER
"Yo, Misa." Macklin Celebrini skated up beside him, following his gaze to the jumbotron. "You good?"
Michael realized his mouth was open. He closed it. "Who is that?"
Macklin squinted at the screen. "Uh, says Y/N Pritzker." He shrugged. "Like the hotel people, probably."
The camera stayed on her for what felt like forever, her doing a little wave, looking embarrassed and perfect and completely untouchable in a glass box high above the ice. Then the feed cut to a Portillo's commercial, and she was gone.
Michael felt like he'd been checked into the boards.
"Dude," Will Smith said, gliding over. "We're literally in the middle of a game."
"I know," Michael said, but he was still looking at the suite level, trying to figure out which box was hers.
"Oh no," Sam Dickinson said, joining the huddle at center ice. The ref was skating over to break them up. "He's got the look."
"What look?" Michael asked.
"The 'I just saw a pretty girl and forgot how to play hockey' look," Sam said. "We've seen it before. It never ends well."
"I don't…" Michael started, but the ref was yelling at them to get ready for the faceoff, and Macklin was laughing, and he had to skate back to position.
But he looked up at the suites one more time before the puck dropped.
────୨ৎ────
ΦΜ Divas
Nina
babe you look SO good
Abbi
wait are you at a HOCKEY GAME
Laila
literally why do you look like you're at fashion week
Nina
the BLAZER
Abbi
very serene girl energy
N/N
it's a family thing. kill me now
But she didn't mean it, not entirely. There was something almost comforting about the spectacle of it all, the cameras, the attention, the performance of being Y/N Pritzker. At least when she was performing, she knew what was expected of her.
"Y/N." Her father appeared at her elbow, steering her toward a cluster of men in suits. "I want you to meet Jim Donaldson, he's with the Ricketts family. Jim, this is my daughter."
And just like that, she was on again. Smile. Handshake. Yes, she loved Chicago. Yes, she was studying business at FSU. Yes, she was so grateful for her family's legacy. The words came automatically, a script she'd been reading since she was old enough to attend these things.
Down on the ice, the game continued. N/N had no idea what was happening, something about offsides and power plays and a player who apparently got a penalty for "hooking," which sounded vaguely inappropriate but everyone acted like it was normal.
The jumbotron cut to her again in the second period. This time she was ready, offering a practiced smile and a wave that looked effortless. The crowd ate it up.
She didn't notice the Sharks player who crashed into the boards on the next play, distracted enough that his linemate had to cover for him.
────୨ৎ────
"Seriously, what's wrong with you?" Macklin asked during the intermission. They were in the visitors' locker room, and Michael was supposed to be hydrating and reviewing plays, but instead he was staring at nothing.
"Nothing," Michael said.
"He's thinking about the Pritzker girl," Sam said, retaping his stick.
"I am not."
"You absolutely are," Will cut in. He had his phone out, scrolling. "Okay, so I looked her up. Y/N Pritzker, nineteen, goes to Florida State." He turned his phone around to show an Instagram grid that was aggressively pink and curated. "She's, yeah, she's out of your league, buddy."
Michael grabbed the phone. The Instagram was private, but the profile photo showed the same girl from the jumbotron, this time in what looked like a bikini on a yacht, champagne glass in hand, looking like summer personified.
"Give me that," Macklin said, snatching the phone. He scrolled for a second, then whistled. "Phi Mu. Sorority girl. Yeah, Misa, this is not your demographic."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means you're a hockey player from suburban Ontario who probably still has a poster of Sidney Crosby in your bedroom," Sam said. "And she's" he gestured vaguely at the phone, "American royalty or something."
Michael knew they were right. He also didn't care.
"I'm just saying she's pretty," he said defensively. "I'm allowed to notice when someone's pretty."
"You're allowed," Macklin agreed. "But you're also supposed to be focused on not blowing our lead in the third."
The coach called them back, and Michael forced himself to stop thinking about glass boxes and blonde hair and the way her smile had looked almost sad, like she was performing for an audience that would never be satisfied.
He had a game to finish.
But when he skated back out for the third period, he looked up at the Pritzker suite first. Just to see if she was still there.
She was.
And for just a second, he thought she might have been looking back.
────୨ৎ────
The Hawks lost 3-2. The Sharks celebrated on the ice with the kind of enthusiasm that suggested they didn't win often enough to take it for granted. N/N watched from behind the glass, feeling oddly detached from the whole spectacle.
"Good game," her father said, which was his way of saying you did well tonight.
"I didn't do anything," N/N replied.
"You showed up. That's something."
The photographer wanted one more photo, N/N with her father, both of them smiling like they hadn't spent the last twenty-four hours arguing. She obliged. She always obliged.
As they filed out of the suite, N/N glanced down at the ice one last time. The Sharks were skating off, and for just a moment, she saw one of them, number 77, look up at the suites like he was searching for something.
Then he was gone, disappearing into the tunnel, and N/N told herself she'd imagined it.
Just another part of the performance.
────୨ৎ────
The Walnut Room at Macy's on State Street was the kind of place that existed in a time warp, all dark wood paneling and white tablecloths and waitresses who'd been working there since before N/N was born. Her grandmother used to take her here when she was little, back when lunch at the Walnut Room followed by shopping felt like the height of sophistication.
Now, at nineteen and fresh off her humiliating performance as the Pritzker family show pony, N/N just wanted somewhere quiet to eat a Cobb salad and pretend last night hadn't happened.
She was scrolling through her phone when someone cleared their throat next to her table.
"Hi."
N/N looked up, ready to deploy her polite-but-dismissive smile for whatever tourist or business associate had recognized her. Instead, she found herself looking at a guy around her age, tall and broad-shouldered in a way that suggested athlete, wearing a Sharks hoodie and looking simultaneously confident and terrified.
It took her exactly three seconds to place him: Number 77. The one who'd been looking up at the suite.
"Hi," she said slowly, her media training kicking in even as her brain struggled to catch up. "Can I help you?"
"Yeah. No. Maybe." He ran a hand through his dark hair, and N/N noticed he had nice hands, big, a little rough, the kind of hands that actually did things instead of just holding champagne glasses at charity events. "I'm Michael. Michael Misa. I play for-"
"The Sharks," N/N finished, because even though she knew nothing about hockey, she'd at least retained that much from last night. "You won."
His face lit up. "You were paying attention?"
"I was on camera every five minutes. Kind of had to at least pretend." She took a sip of her water, studying him. He was cute in that hockey player way, with a strong jaw, nice smile, the kind of face that probably photographed well even when he was bleeding from a fight or whatever it was hockey players did. "How did you even… I mean, what are you doing here?"
"Our plane needs a repair. Quick one, but we've got the day." He shifted his weight, and N/N realized he was actually nervous. When was the last time she'd made someone nervous? "I saw you enter Macy's and I just… can I sit? Just for a minute?"
Every instinct N/N had cultivated over nineteen years of being a Pritzker told her to say no. To be polite but firm, to create distance, to remember that she was Y/N Pritzker and he was, what, exactly? A hockey player. A stranger. Someone who definitely didn't run in her circles.
"Sure," she heard herself say. "Why not."
Michael slid into the chair across from her with the grateful relief of someone who'd expected rejection. Up close, he was even more attractive. There was something open about his face, honest in a way that the men in her father's world never were.
"So," N/N said, leaning back in her chair. "You tracked me down at Macy's. Is this where I find out you're a stalker?"
"No! God, no. I just…" He paused, seeming to gather himself. "Okay, this is going to sound insane, but I saw you on the jumbotron last night and I couldn't stop thinking about you."
N/N blinked. In her experience, men fell into two categories: the ones who wanted her for her last name, and the ones who wanted her for her looks. Both were predictable. Both were boring. This felt different.
"You couldn't stop thinking about me," she repeated, not quite believing it.
"I know how that sounds. My teammates already gave me flack about it. But yeah." Michael met her eyes, and N/N saw something there that she recognized, the recklessness of someone who'd already decided to jump and was too far off the edge to turn back now.
The waitress appeared and N/N ordered her Cobb salad on autopilot while Michael asked for a chicken sandwich and then immediately apologized for his Canadian accent, which N/N found inexplicably charming.
"So," she said once the waitress left, "you play hockey professionally at nineteen. That's, actually, I don't know if that's normal. Is that normal?"
"I was drafted second overall in 2025," Michael said, and there was pride in his voice but not arrogance. "Most guys don't make the NHL this young, but I've been playing since I was really little. It's kind of all I know."
"That must be nice," N/N said before she could stop herself.
"What?"
"Knowing what you're good at. What you're supposed to be doing." She traced the rim of her water glass with one finger, her Cartier bracelet catching the light from the chandelier above. "I'm a business major because that's what Pritzkers do. I'm in a sorority because that's what girls like me do. I smile for cameras because-"
"Because you're Y/N Pritzker," Michael finished. "Legacy night. I heard them announce you about forty times."
"N/N," she corrected. "Y/N is for the Tribune. N/N is for…" She paused. Who was N/N for, exactly? "Everyone else, I guess."
"N/N," Michael repeated, testing it out. His smile was warm, genuine. "I like that better."
Their food arrived, and for a moment they just ate in comfortable silence. N/N watched him, the way he ate like someone who burned five thousand calories a day and needed to replace them, the way he seemed completely comfortable in his own skin despite being in a fancy restaurant in a hoodie.
"Can I ask you something?" Michael said, setting down his sandwich. "And you can tell me to piss off if it's too personal."
"Now I'm intrigued."
"Last night. In the suite. You looked miserable. Like, really miserable. Even when you were smiling." He leaned forward, elbows on the table. "Was it that bad?"
N/N could have lied. Should have lied. Instead, she found herself saying, "I was supposed to be in Miami with my friends. But I'm on academic probation because apparently partying four nights a week doesn't leave a lot of time for Finance homework. So my parents dragged me back to Chicago and made me sit in a box and smile so people would remember that Pritzkers are winners, not screwup."
Michael was quiet for a moment. "Are you a screwup?"
"I don't know," N/N said honestly. "I'm really good at looking perfect. Does that count as a skill?"
"You're talking to a guy who gets paid to chase a rubber disk around ice," Michael said. "I'm not exactly qualified to judge what counts as a skill."
N/N laughed, actually laughed, not the polite little trill she deployed at charity events. "Okay, fair."
"So what are you good at?" Michael asked. "Besides looking perfect, which, for the record, you are very good at."
"I'm good at Instagram," she said, only half-joking. "I can do a ten-step skincare routine in fifteen minutes. I know every word to every Taylor Swift song. I can spot fake designer from across a room. I'm excellent at small talk with old men who knew my grandfather." She paused. "None of that matters, does it?"
"I don't know. Does it matter that I can take a slap shot at ninety miles per hour? We're both just doing what we're trained to do."
"Except you love hockey."
"And you don't love business?"
N/N looked down at her salad, suddenly not hungry. "I don't know what I love. Isn't that pathetic? I'm nineteen years old and I have no idea what I actually want."
"Most people don't," Michael said. "They just pretend better."
She looked up at him then, really looked. He was watching her with an intensity that should have been uncomfortable but somehow wasn't. Like he was actually seeing her, not Y/N Pritzker, but whoever she was underneath all of that.
"Why are you really here?" she asked. "And don't say you couldn't stop thinking about me. Nobody tracks someone down at Macy's just because they saw them on a jumbotron."
Michael was quiet for a long moment. Then he said, "My rookie season has been hard. Like, really hard. I was supposed to be this big deal, second overall pick, all this pressure. And some games I live up to it, but most games I'm just, I'm just a kid from Ontario trying not to mess up on national television." He met her eyes. "Last night, I saw you in that suite, and you looked like you understood what that felt like. Performing when everyone's watching. Trying to be perfect when you don't even know what perfect means."
N/N felt something crack open in her chest. "Yeah," she said quietly. "I do know what that feels like."
They sat there for a moment, two nineteen-year-olds in a restaurant that had seen decades of Chicago's elite come and go, both of them pretending to be older than they were.
"So," Michael said finally. "You're stuck in Chicago for the rest of spring break?"
"Looks like it. My parents want me to 'reflect on my choices.'" N/N made air quotes, rolling her eyes.
"And you have to do that alone?"
"I… what?"
Michael pulled out his phone, checked something, then looked back at her with that reckless smile. "We're here until tomorrow night. Early flight, but that's like," He glanced at his watch. "Thirty hours from now. Give or take."
N/N's heart started beating faster. "What are you suggesting?"
"I'm suggesting that you look like you could use a break from being Y/N Pritzker, and I'm very good at helping people forget about their problems for a while." He paused. "That sounded less creepy in my head."
"A little bit, yeah."
"What I mean is, let me show you Chicago. Not the Pritzker version. Just Chicago. The way normal people see it."
N/N should have said no. Should have finished her salad, thanked him for the conversation, and gone back to the penthouse to contemplate her GPA and her future and all the ways she was disappointing everyone who shared her last name.
Instead, she heard herself say, "Okay."
Michael's face transformed. "Yeah?"
"Yeah. But I'm not changing. If we're doing this, you're getting the full N/N experience."
"I wouldn't want it any other way," Michael said, and the way he looked at her made N/N think that maybe she'd finally met someone who wanted her for reasons that had nothing to do with her last name or her Instagram aesthetic.
They split the check, Michael insisted, despite N/N's protests that she had a black Amex that literally had no limit, and walked out into the Chicago afternoon.
"So," N/N said, pulling on her Toteme sunglasses. "Where are we going?"
Michael grinned. "Do you trust me?"
"Absolutely not," N/N said. "But let's go anyway."
And for the first time in as long as she could remember, Y/N "N/N" Pritzker felt like she was exactly where she was supposed to be.
────୨ৎ────
"I haven't been to the Adler since I was like, nine," N/N said as they walked up the steps of the planetarium, Lake Michigan stretching out behind them in shades of grey-blue. The wind off the water was sharp, and she was grateful for her Toteme coat even as she felt overdressed next to Michael in his Sharks hoodie and jeans.
"When you were nine, did you actually look at the exhibits, or were you already performing for whoever brought you?" Michael asked, holding the door open for her.
N/N stopped mid-step. "Okay, you need to stop reading my mind. It's unsettling."
"Not mind-reading. Just pattern recognition. You get good at reading people when you're trying to anticipate where the puck's going."
Inside, the Adler was quieter than N/N expected for a Friday afternoon. A school group clustered around one exhibit, their teacher trying desperately to maintain order, but otherwise it was just them and a handful of tourists.
Michael led her straight to the Grainger Sky Theater, checking his watch. "Perfect timing. The next show starts in five minutes."
"What show?"
"You'll see."
They settled into the reclined seats, and N/N became acutely aware of how close Michael was. His arm almost but not quite touching hers, the smell of his cologne (something simple, probably not designer), the way he kept glancing over at her like he couldn't quite believe she'd said yes to this.
The lights dimmed. The dome above them transformed into a night sky, stars blooming across the ceiling in patterns N/N had never bothered to learn.
"See that?" Michael pointed to a cluster of stars. "That's Orion. The belt is those three stars in a row."
"How do you know that?"
"My dad used to take me out in the winter. You spend enough hours sitting in the dark, you learn the constellations." His voice was soft, meant just for her. "That's Cassiopeia. Looks like a W. And that really bright one is Venus."
N/N stared up at the artificial sky, feeling something unfamiliar in her chest. "I've lived in Chicago my whole life and I've never actually looked at the stars."
"Too much light pollution," Michael said. "But up north, where I'm from? On a clear night, you can see everything."
The show began, something about the solar system, narrated by a voice that was trying very hard to make science exciting. But N/N wasn't really paying attention to the narration. She was watching the way Michael's face lit up in the glow of the projected planets, the genuine wonder there.
Halfway through, he reached over and took her hand.
It should have been presumptuous. Instead, it felt inevitable.
────୨ৎ────
The Shedd Aquarium was crowded with families with strollers, couples on dates, the ambient noise of children shrieking at the beluga whales. Michael bought them tickets ("I'm paying this time, don't even try") and steered her past the main exhibits toward the Caribbean Reef.
"This is my favorite," he said as they stood in front of the massive cylindrical tank, surrounded by water on all sides. Sharks glided past the glass, along with sea turtles and stingrays and fish in colors N/N didn't have names for.
"You like sharks," N/N said. "Subtle."
"What can I say? I'm a fan of the brand." He was grinning, and N/N realized she liked making him smile. Liked that she could do that.
They watched a diver descend into the tank for feeding time, and N/N found herself leaning against Michael's shoulder without thinking about it. He didn't pull away. Instead, he shifted slightly so she'd be more comfortable, and N/N thought about how different this was from the guys she usually ended up with, frat boys who talked too loud and grabbed too hard, trust fund kids who saw her as a trophy or a networking opportunity.
"Question," Michael said as a sea turtle paddled lazily past. "If you could be any of these fish, which one would you be?"
"That's a deeply weird question."
"Humor me."
N/N considered the tank. "The jellyfish, probably. They just float around looking pretty and everyone else has to work around them."
"That's dark, N/N."
"You asked." She bumped his shoulder with hers. "What about you?"
"The shark, obviously."
"Obviously," she echoed, rolling her eyes. But she was smiling.
They spent another hour wandering through exhibits, the Amazon Rising, the Wild Reef, the touch pools where N/N refused to touch anything ("I just did my nails") while Michael happily pet stingrays and explained their anatomy like he was a marine biology major and not a professional hockey player.
"You're kind of a nerd," N/N observed as they left the aquarium.
"Yeah," Michael agreed, completely unashamed. "Is that a problem?"
He looked at her then, something shifting in his expression. "You think I'm cute?"
"Don't let it go to your head."
But she was blushing, and they both knew it.
────୨ৎ────
The Field Museum was Michael's idea and N/N protested that she'd been here a million times for various Pritzker foundation events, but Michael insisted.
"When's the last time you actually looked at the dinosaurs?"
"I…" N/N paused. "Okay, fair point."
SUE the T-Rex loomed in the main hall, all gleaming bones and prehistoric violence, and Michael stood beneath the skull with the kind of reverence most people reserved for cathedrals.
"Sixty-seven million years old," he said, reading the placard. "Can you imagine? This thing was hunting prey when my ancestors were still like, tiny mammals hiding in holes."
"Your ancestors were definitely tiny mammals hiding in holes," N/N teased.
"Okay, rude, but probably accurate."
They wandered through the exhibits. N/N found herself actually reading the placards, actually caring about the information, because Michael made everything feel interesting just by being enthusiastic about it.
In the Hall of Gems, she stopped in front of a massive pink diamond.
"My mom has earrings that color," she said absently.
Michael looked at her, then at the diamond. "What's that like? Having a mom with real diamond earrings?"
N/N thought about it. "Honestly? I don't know. She's just my mom. The diamonds are just background noise. Like, I know we're rich. Obviously. But it's not like I wake up every day thinking about it. It's just how things are."
"Must be nice."
"Is it?" N/N turned to face him. "My parents paid for me to have everything I could ever want, and I still managed to mess it up. At least you earned your spot on the Sharks."
"You don't think you earned Florida State?"
N/N laughed, but there was no humor in it. "I’m a Pritzer. You tell me."
Michael was quiet for a moment. Then he said, "You know what I think? I think you're so busy being Y/N Pritzker that you forgot to figure out who N/N is."
It was too close to the truth. N/N felt something hot behind her eyes and blinked it away. "Getting deep in the Hall of Gems. Bold choice."
"Sorry. Hockey player. We're not known for our emotional intelligence."
"Could've fooled me," N/N said softly.
They stood there in front of the pink diamond, not quite touching but close enough that N/N could feel the heat of him, and she thought about how easy it would be to lean in, to close the distance, to stop thinking for just a minute.
But Michael stepped back first, gentle, giving her space. "Come on. I want to show you the butterfly exhibit."
────୨ৎ────
By the time they made it to Lincoln Park Zoo, the sun was starting to set, painting the sky in shades of pink and orange that reminded N/N of her Instagram aesthetic. The zoo was free and less crowded than the museums had been.
They saw the lions first, lazy and golden in the fading light. Then the monkeys, who were absolutely showing off for a group of delighted toddlers. Michael bought them hot chocolate from a vendor, and N/N wrapped her hands around the cup, grateful for the warmth.
"This is nice," she said as they walked. "Like, genuinely nice. I can't remember the last time I did something like this."
"What, went to a zoo?"
"Went anywhere without it being a production. Without cameras or expectations or having to be on."
Michael nudged her shoulder. "You're not on right now?"
"A little bit," N/N admitted. "But less than usual. You're easy to be around."
"I'll take that as a compliment."
"You should."
They found the polar bears just as the sky was turning from orange to purple, that magic hour where everything looks like a movie. The bears were massive, powerful, moving through the water with a grace that seemed impossible for something so large.
"They're beautiful," N/N breathed, watching one surface and shake water from its fur.
"Yeah," Michael said, but when N/N glanced over, he was looking at her, not the bears.
Her heart stuttered. "That's such a line."
"Doesn't make it less true."
They were standing close now, close enough that N/N could count his eyelashes if she wanted to, close enough to see the flecks of gold in his brown eyes. The zoo sounds faded into background noise, the distant roar of lions, children laughing, the ambient hum of the city around them.
"Michael," N/N said, and it came out softer than she intended.
"Yeah?"
"If you're going to kiss me, now would be a good time."
He smiled, that reckless, honest smile that had made her say yes to this whole ridiculous day. "Just wanted to make sure I had permission."
"You have permission."
And then he was kissing her, one hand coming up to cup her face, gentle and sure at the same time. N/N's eyes fluttered closed, and she let herself fall into it, the warmth of his mouth, the solidness of his chest under her palms, the way he kissed like he meant it, like this wasn't just a spring break hookup or a photo op but something real.
Behind them, the polar bears swam. Around them, families wandered past, lives intersecting for just a moment. Above them, the sky continued its slow fade to darkness.
When they finally pulled apart, Michael was grinning like he'd just scored the winning goal.
"What?" N/N asked, breathless.
"Nothing." He shook his head. "I saw you on that jumbotron and thought you were the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen. And now I've spent the whole day with you and you're even better than I imagined."
N/N felt her cheeks flush. "You're very smooth for a hockey boy."
"I have my moments." He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, and N/N realized with a start that her carefully styled waves were probably a disaster at this point, and she didn't even care. "Can I see you tomorrow?"
"You're leaving tomorrow night."
"I know. But I have until then." His thumb traced her cheekbone. "Unless you're sick of me."
N/N thought about the penthouse, about her parents' disappointed faces, about the academic probation and the failed Finance exam and the life she was supposed to be fixing. Then she thought about how Michael looked at her, not like Y/N Pritzker, legacy heir, but like N/N, the girl who didn't know what she wanted but was starting to figure it out.
"Pick me up at ten," she said. "The Peninsula. Ask for the Pritzker residence."
Michael's eyes widened. "You live at the Peninsula?"
"Penthouse. Don't let it weird you out."
"Oh, I'm already deeply weirded out. But I'm also very into you, so." He kissed her again, quick and sweet. "Ten o'clock. I'll be there."
They walked back through the zoo hand in hand, and N/N felt lighter than she had in months. The polar bears watched them go, ancient and knowing, and somewhere in the distance, the city hummed with possibility.
Tomorrow, she'd have to be Y/N Pritzker again. Tonight, she was just N/N, and that was enough.
