Chapter 30
THIRTY
Hazel
“Just give me one moment!” I say as I slip into the master bathroom after we get home. I make a quick tour of all the essentials, slipping out of my dress and freshening up, but then I stand in front of my closet. I dab the perfume on my pulse for a moment while I pause to make sure I’m making the right decision by letting him in on this secret. I’m nervous, and that this man can make me nervous after everything probably says something on its own. I reach into the drawer, though, and pull it out, slipping it on and then taking a deep breath before I walk back out into the master, flicking the light off in my wake.
He’s leaned back on the bed, boots and hat gone and his shirt half unbuttoned from where I mauled him on the way in. I’m busy staring at his tattoos, and I only look up to meet his eyes when there’s a sharp intake of breath on his part.
“What’s that?”
“A jersey with my name on it,” I muse as I climb into his lap, straddling him on the bed. He reaches out absently to support me, his hand brushing over my ass and then digging in as I wiggle down into a seated position.
“Why do you still have it?” He looks down at his college jersey as it pools on the tops of my thighs.
“I still wear it sometimes.”
“When you burn effigies on a full moon?” He smirks, and then his smile darkens. “Cause it better not be when you’re with him.”
I roll my eyes. “When I go see the Chaos play the Rampage in Denver. This way, I don’t have to pick sides, and I get all sorts of compliments from the sports bros on knowing who the home-state boy is.”
“Do you tell them how you stole it?” His eyes grow heavy with lust as his fingers play with the hem.
“You mean tell them how you stole me out of your teammate’s room and made me cover up with it?”
“I maintain Reynolds had no business fucking touching you.” He shakes his head like it still pisses him off.
“I maintain that it was none of your business.”
“You didn’t complain when I had my head between your thighs later that night.”
“I was just making the best of a bad situation.” I smirk at him, and he answers it for a moment before his eyes suddenly cloud with concern and his brow furrows.
“When did you go to a Chaos-Rampage game?”
“Last year.” I lean forward and kiss the side of his neck. He lets out a soft sound of approval, tilting his head to the side and closing his eyes. “And the year before that.” I dot another kiss. “And the playoffs before that.”
I barely get the last word out before his hand wraps around the side of my neck, his thumb bracketing my chin as he pulls back from me. His eyes burn into me as they travel over my skin, like he’s trying to make sense of what I’ve just said.
“What do you mean?” I can hear the suspicion in his tone.
“I mean… if you were in Colorado playing, I was in the seats watching. Like always.” I promised myself I’d never let him find out. I’d sworn my friends to secrecy when they went with me. Made them commit to a social media blackout of our attendance on any platform he or anyone he knew might see. So I can’t believe I’m admitting it so freely now.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” He blinks rapidly, and his mouth twists like he’s fending off pain.
“What would it have changed? You had your life, and I had mine.”
“I would have gotten to see you. There were days I would have killed for a glimpse of you.”
“I’m sorry…” I say softly. “I didn’t think you’d want—”
“I always want you,” he cuts off my explanation, his hand skimming down my jaw, and I lean into it, closing my eyes.
His thumb runs over my lips. “Why won’t you let me kiss you?”
“Boundaries.”
“For you or me?”
“For my icy little heart.” I smile at him. This conversation has gotten so heavy, and I hate that I somehow ruined the night. I knew the jersey was a risk, but it was one I thought would make him happy or amused, maybe even tease me for being obsessed with him.
“I see. Is there any hope for me?” he asks as he absently rubs his thumb over the swell of my lower lip, back and forth, like he’s considering the possibility. “Melting it, I mean?” His eyes lift to meet mine, and it feels like he’s asking me something much more pointed than whether or not he can kiss me.
“If anyone can melt it, it’s you. I never count you out, Stockton.” I press a kiss to his thumb. His eyes go soft and drift over my face for a moment, lost in thought, before he comes back to me.
“You should have told me about the games,” he repeats, his brow furrowed.
“I’m sorry. Do you want me to make it up to you?” My hands go for his belt, undoing the buckle slowly while he watches me.
“Show me how sorry you are.” His eyes glitter with the challenge.