Her Rustanov Bully: the (possibly romantic?) tale of how I pucked around and found out

Just in case you were looking for a blueprint on how to accidentally earn yourself a bully, let me walk you through how I got mine.

First Mistake: Agreeing to my brother’s crazy, horrible scheme to seduce and drug my college’s hockey star, Yom “Yum” Rustanov, to get him disqualified for doping before his big international championship game. In the dictionary under femme fatale, you’ll replace me—in the antonyms section.

Second Mistake: Accepting Yum Rustanov’s invitation to his hotel room when my conscience wouldn’t let me spike his drink. Sure, it was my once-in-a-lifetime chance to lose my V-card to a hockey god—but guilt over my first mistake had me running out in tears.

Third Mistake: Returning to school. I should have transferred. Because now, the hockey god is bodychecking me into walls, slamming his hands on either side of my head, and growling, “Did you really think there’d be no consequences for your actions?”

So, yeah… I’ve accidentally earned myself a bully. One totally committed to making my last year of college a living hell—and doing a terrifyingly excellent job of it.

But when a life-or-death emergency leaves me with no one else to turn to, my ice-cold bully steps up—with conditions. And now I have to wonder: is agreeing to his terms my worst mistake—or the spark that sets a fire I’ll never be able to put out?