Kier Maddex Hockey Bad Pickup Lines

The bids shot up. In the end, several thousand dollars came together. Even Gideon Mercer nodded at him approvingly. Kier almost felt like a responsible adult. Until Sully whispered to him behind the stage: “Dude, you were just so sweet. Should I adopt you?” “Greaves, I swear—” “Children,” Dr. Nessa Calder interrupted dryly. “Kier, I'm checking your shoulder tomorrow. And Sullivan, keep your hands off the fog machine.” “I DIDN'T DO ANYTHING!” “Not yet.” Kier laughed, finally loosened his tie, and let his gaze wander through the hall. Then he spotted you. You were standing somewhat apart from the biggest commotion, near the illuminated window front. Among flashing cameras, prominent guests, and excited fans, it was precisely your presence that caught his attention. He did not know you. And that was exactly what made the matter interesting. “Oh no,” murmured Eamon Kovař, who had noticed Kier's gaze. “What?” “You have that expression.” Tavian leaned forward curiously. “Which one?” “The one right before he makes a really stupid decision.” Rafe followed Kier's gaze and grinned. “Go on, Romeo.” “I don't need tutoring.” “You do,” replied Eamon. “Urgently.” Kier flipped him off and made his way over. Normally flirting came easily to him. A cheeky grin, a casual line, a bit of provocation. But halfway there, he suddenly realized that he had no idea what to say. Damn. You're twenty-six, Maddex. You can play in front of eighteen thousand people. You can manage a conversation. He stopped next to you, one hand casually in his pocket. “Hey.” His mouth twisted into that typically crooked grin. “I actually wanted to say something incredibly charming, but apparently I lost my last functioning brain cells today against Fairbanks.” Behind him, suspiciously loud laughter rang out. Sully. Of course. Kier ignored him. “So I'll try it differently.” He turned slightly toward you, his gray-blue eyes attentively fixed on you. “Kier Maddex. Professional ice hockey player, occasional penalty box resident, and, as you just got to witness, an absolute disaster at meeting people.” His grin widened. “So tell me, if I invite you for a drink now ... do I get two minutes for unsportsmanlike conduct, or will you give me a chance to actually get to know you?” ❄️ COLDER. STRONGER. TOGETHER. ❄️ ❄️ ANCHORAGE, ALASKA ❄️ The Alaska Clash had once again put Anchorage into a state of emergency. 4:3 against the Fairbanks Redclaws. A win in overtime, three scuffles that nearly escalated, and a Kier Maddex who, after a particularly heavy check, had almost turned half the opposing team against him. Head Coach Gideon Mercer had been correspondingly thrilled. “Maddex, if you take another unnecessary penalty, you'll watch the next game from the stands.” “With popcorn, Coach?” “With an appointment with me. Six a.m.” That ended the conversation. Three hours later, Kier stood in the exclusive Northglass Sky Lounge, where the Anchorage Icehawks were hosting their annual charity evening. Black suits, elegant evening gowns, champagne, and sponsors who absolutely wanted photos with the players. Through the huge panoramic windows, the lights of Anchorage glittered under a fresh layer of snow. Kier did not hate such events. He only hated the idea of having to behave at them. “You look like you're about to check someone.” Rafe Hollister pressed a glass into his hand. “Depends on how much longer I have to wear this tie.” Sullivan Greaves grinned. “Twenty bucks if you take it off before midnight.” “Thirty if Gideon has a heart attack first,” added Tavian Roake. Cillian Frost appeared next to them and shook his head. “We're raising money for youth hockey today. Can you behave like adults for once?” Kier grinned innocently. “I'm Canadian. Politeness is in my blood.” “Your penalty minutes say otherwise.” Cillian disappeared shaking his head. Actually, Kier should have been enjoying himself. Instead, his phone vibrated for the fourth time. His agent again. Questions about his breakup again. Five weeks ago, his long-term girlfriend had ended the relationship. Shortly afterward, private information had surfaced in a celebrity magazine. Since then, sports journalists had been speculating about whether the otherwise so self-confident defenseman was taking out his frustration on the ice. Damn headlines. Kier put his phone away. It hurt when someone you had trusted suddenly told your story to the public. “Maddex!” Mara Bennett, the Icehawks' PR director, appeared with a headset and an expression that promised nothing good. “You're auctioning off your signed jersey in a moment. Please no swear words, no ambiguous remarks, and no comments about Fairbanks.” Kier raised an eyebrow. “Am I even allowed to speak?” “I already regret asking you.” Ten minutes later, he was in fact standing on the small stage. “So, folks. This jersey witnessed an impressive win today. And in case you're wondering: no, the bloodstains are not included.” Laughter went through the hall. Mara closed her eyes in despair. But then Kier's grin softened. “But seriously. As a kid, I didn't have much except an old stick and a coach who believed in me. So bid generously. Every child deserves that chance.” For a moment he thought of his deceased father, who used to lace his skates for him on a small ice rink.

Updated November 7, 2026