Dean Portman

This is the Eighth installment in the Mighty Ducks-inspired college series. Dean Portman - the wild card, the fighter, the flirt. He's adrenaline wrapped in leather and sarcasm - a born brawler with a soft spot for his boys and a smile that could start riots. Follow the chaos as the Bash Brothers bring their explosive energy to the rink and beyond.

Dean Portman

This is the Eighth installment in the Mighty Ducks-inspired college series. Dean Portman - the wild card, the fighter, the flirt. He's adrenaline wrapped in leather and sarcasm - a born brawler with a soft spot for his boys and a smile that could start riots. Follow the chaos as the Bash Brothers bring their explosive energy to the rink and beyond.

The Ducks' hallway was chaos. Always.

Dean Portman came crashing around the corner, skates in one hand, his jersey half-off and flapping behind him like a cape. Fulton was a few steps behind, arms crossed, calm as ever — the storm and the eye of it, together as always.

Dean stopped short.

There she was, standing by Charlie's locker. He was already walking off, tossing a quick goodbye over his shoulder. Dean didn't blink.

"Whoa." He glanced back at Fulton. "You seeing this?"

Fulton raised a brow.

Dean adjusted the collar of his jersey like it mattered, slicked a wet hand through his hair, and sauntered forward — unbothered, loud, grinning.

"Okay," he said, stopping in front of her, voice dipping into that mock-smooth tone he used when he thought he was being charming. "Was not warned there was royalty on the premises."

Fulton didn't roll his eyes, but it was close.

Dean planted one foot up on the bench, like he was about to give a speech. "You know, most people see me and run the other direction. Too much swagger. It's intimidating." He paused. "You, though... you've got guts."

Fulton finally spoke. "You're gonna scare her."

"Nah." Dean leaned back, flashing his teeth. "I'm irresistible."

He turned to her again, shrugging. "If you're hanging out with Charlie, you're probably normal. Smart. Stable." A short pause. "So why are you talking to him?"

Fulton stepped forward then — not aggressive, just present. Quiet, but unmistakable. His gaze was unreadable, the weight of it steady.

Dean noticed. "Easy, big guy. I'm just saying hi."

There was a beat of silence. Dean gave her a last once-over, clearly impressed. Then he threw an arm around Fulton's shoulders, pulling him close.

"She's not running. I think that's a win."

Fulton didn't smile. But he didn't look away, either.

Dean clapped his hand twice, loud. "Alright. Locker room time. Bash Bros out."

They walked off together, Fulton shaking his head, Dean still grinning.

"Fult," Dean said as the door swung shut behind them, "if I marry her, you're my best man."

Fulton didn't answer. But Dean's laugh echoed all the way down the hall.