Chapter 21
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CALLUM
Sneaking down a hotel corridor before sunrise shouldn’t require elite hockey reflexes, but right now I resemble a spy on a covert mission, hoodie half-zipped, hair a total disaster from having Rose’s hands in it for hours.
And I can still taste her. My pulse hasn’t settled since last night.
Not through kissing her senseless, not through falling asleep tangled around her, and definitely not now as I slip back toward the team floor, praying no one opens their door.
If Brennan sees me, I’m dead.
I hug the wall as though it’s my only ally, careful not to scuff my boots on the plush carpet.
A door creaks somewhere down the hall, and I freeze mid-step, heart hammering.
Someone’s shuffling inside. I wait, counting slowly to ten before I dare move again, whispering a silent apology to the universe for being a terrible roommate, or at least a terrible teammate.
Finally, I make it to my room, slide the keycard home, and step inside just as the sky starts to lighten. The door clicks shut and I let out a breath that feels more like a laugh. I can’t believe I actually did that. I can’t believe she wanted me to.
My bed looks cold and untouched, the opposite of hers, warm and messy, the sheets knotted around the imprint of my body.
I drag a hand through my hair, still smelling her shampoo on my skin, and I collapse onto the mattress.
Not lying down because if I do, I’ll probably pass out and miss the bus home.
Everything is different now. And I have no idea how to contain it.
My phone buzzes on the nightstand.
Rose: You made it back without being tackled by Brennan? Impressive.
Even her texts make me grin like a moron. I type back without thinking:
Cal: Barely. Might have pulled a hamstring evading detection.
Rose: Athlete of the year tbh.
Cal: Only if the judges count heated make-outs as training.
There’s a long pause before her reply, and I think maybe that was too much, too… everything. But then she replies, and my heart stutters.
Rose: I mean… I’m very pro that kind of training.
I fall back on my mattress and bite down a laugh like a teenager with his first crush. I should sleep. My brain is soup, my body exhausted, but all I can think about is her: soft, warm, magnetic, and she has some gravitational pull I never signed up for but can’t resist.
By the time I finally manage to crawl off the bed, the city is stirring.
Sunlight pushes through the blinds in pale lines, and the hotel corridor hums faintly with early traffic below.
My head is spinning, but my body knows what it wants before my brain does.
I shower quickly, her taste still in my mouth, then grab my hockey bag, practically forgetting my sneakers on the floor, and move to the lobby.
The team is already gathering, a mix of yawns, stretching, and chatter bouncing off the tiled floor. Brennan and Ryan spot me immediately.
“Up early, Fraser?” Brennan teases, eyes narrowing like he knows something. “Or just practising your spy skills?”
I groan. “Both,” I mutter. Ryan snorts behind him.
“Let me guess,” Ryan offers, elbowing me lightly, “some lady had you up all night?”
I freeze, caught mid-step, heart doing an Olympic triple flip. “Shut up,” I growl, trying to act like I don’t care, but of course, I do. Both of them know something’s up. Brennan’s smirk deepens, he’s filing this under ‘future embarrassing locker-room stories.’
And then there’s Lukas, the rookie from Canada, stretching against the wall. He hasn’t seen anything yet, but he tilts his head, curiosity in his eyes. I can tell he’s going to be trouble, or at least a wild card. “Is she… one of ours?” he asks innocently, voice carrying in the lobby.
“She’s… well, not really,” I say, keeping it vague. Which is a lie. She’s in my head. In my chest. She’s mine to obsess over, though she doesn’t even know it yet.
“Right,” Lukas mutters, but there’s a grin there that tells me he’s sizing me up, trying to figure out how he fits into this dynamic.
We load the bus, the hum of the engine vibrating through the floor, and the chatter rises again.
Everyone’s talking hockey, bantering, tossing pucks back and forth like they’re still on the ice.
And then there’s Rose. Sitting quietly in a corner seat, camera bag at her feet, notebook in hand, smiling faintly at some internal thought.
And I forget the bus, the team, everything but the curve of her mouth and the way her hair falls over her eyes.
“Oi, Fraser,” Brennan says from across the aisle, snapping me out of it. “Stop staring like a lovesick rookie and sit your arse down.”
I swallow, taking the empty seat next to her before she can respond. She glances at me, and there’s a spark in her eyes, teasing and soft all at once. “Morning,” I mumble.
“Morning,” she replies, voice light, but it hits me like a puck to the chest.
The bus starts moving, tyres humming against the road.
The rhythm lulls me into a sort of calm disarray, thinking about last night, this morning, and everything that’s stacked between us.
She’s flipping through her camera, checking settings.
I want to lean over and touch her hand, see if the warmth lingers, but I can’t.
Instead, I steal glances, memorising the way she concentrates, and the subtle bite of her lip.
“Hey,” I finally murmur, voice low, leaning slightly toward her, “you got any more of those heated make-out sessions planned for the weekend?”
Her laugh is soft, musical. She rolls her eyes, but the flush creeping up her cheeks betrays her. “Careful, Fraser,” she says. “You might get a reputation on the team bus before we even get back to Manchester.”
“Reputation?” I scoff. “I’m already infamous.”
She smirks, snapping a picture of me pretending to glare. “Hmm. Infamous and… distracted.”
I shake my head, but the corners of my mouth lift. “You caught me.”
The ride back is a blur of laughter, hockey talk, and stolen glances.
The team doesn’t miss a beat. Brennan and Ryan jab me mercilessly about her, Lukas is fascinated by the chemistry, and even in the noise, I can hear Rose’s soft laughter, like it’s just for me.
Every time our hands brush as she adjusts her camera bag or leans forward to check her shots, a spark runs through me that’s impossible to ignore.
By the time we reach Manchester, my pulse has been racing for hours.
I’m acutely aware of the way she moves, the way her hair bounces when she tosses it behind her shoulder, and even the way her boots scuff against the bus floor.
I don’t notice the city lights passing by outside; all I can focus on is her.
Once we’re back, the team scatters, everyone heading home for the day off.
I linger by the door as Rose fiddles with her camera, scrolling through shots from last night’s game.
I’ve been rehearsing this in my head for the last hour, trying to figure out how to ask without sounding like a complete idiot.
“Those shots are incredible,” I manage finally, leaning against the wall near the staircase. My voice is softer than usual, and I catch her glance flicking up to meet mine. “Seriously. You’ve got an eye for this, Rose.”
Her lips twitch, teasing, but there’s a softness in her gaze that makes my chest tighten. “You’ve got to say that. Otherwise, I’d start thinking the Panthers are all just sweaty chaos on ice,” she replies, but there’s heat in her words.
“I’d say it anyway,” I murmur, stepping closer.
Just a little. Her eyes track me, and that pause, the fraction of a second, says everything neither of us wants to speak aloud.
The tension coils tight between us. I clear my throat, forcing a casual tone.
“You’re free today, right? It’s a rest day for the team. ”
Her eyebrows lift. “I am, I don’t have to work at the shop this weekend. Why?”
“I was thinking,” I say, careful not to let my voice get too low or my intent too obvious, “if you want to, you could come back to the team’s reserve flat with me, it’s where I’m staying until I figure something more permanent out.
No distractions, no one else around. Just…
coffee, editing your shots, maybe some music. ”
Her head tilts, and I swear she’s weighing me up like a puzzle she doesn’t want to solve too fast. “You mean… just us?”
“Just us,” I confirm, heart hammering. “I mean, if you want. Totally optional. No pressure.”
The nod of her head is so slight that I almost miss it, but the broad smile gives her away anyway. “Good,” I breathe out, a grin spreading across my face. “Let’s not wait around. Once the bus and everyone else disappears, I’ll drive us straight to the flat. No distractions.”
She arches an eyebrow, playful and unflinching. “Straight there, huh? Efficient.”
“Efficient and… necessary,” I mutter, trying to keep my voice steady. My pulse is still loud in my ears.
She bites her lip, but there’s no hesitation in her eyes this time, just that familiar spark that makes my chest ache. “Perfect. I’m in.”
Once the team scatters and the bus is empty, I loop my arm around her shoulders as we step toward the car. The city smells faintly of rain and exhaust fumes, but it doesn’t matter. Nothing matters but the space between us.
I start the engine, keeping a hand on the wheel but sneaking glances at her. She’s relaxed, confident, holding her camera loosely in her lap, and my stomach twists in a way it hasn’t in years.
“You know,” she says, voice low and teasing, “I’m not expecting you to make small talk the whole way. I can handle the silence.”
“Good,” I reply, my eyes flicking to the road, though I’m barely seeing it. “Because my brain is… occupied.”
Her laugh is soft, knowing, and I can feel her leaning just a little closer as we drive. I fight the urge to reach over and touch her, to trace her fingers, to pull her into my lap and not let go. Every nerve in me is taut, and wired to her presence.
The flat comes into view quickly; it’s modest, but mine, for the time being anyway. Empty in all the ways that matter. I pull into the driveway, cut the engine, and glance at her.
She tilts her head, eyes alight with mischief and warmth. “So, this is where all the editing magic happens, huh?”
“Yeah,” I murmur, swallowing. “And maybe a little chaos too.”
Before she can respond, I reach over, drag her close, and kiss her again. Hard and unapologetic, the kind of kiss that leaves both of us slightly breathless and grinning like fools. She melts into me, confident and sure, as if last night wasn’t a fluke, and she wants this as much as I do.
When we finally pull back, I press my forehead to hers. “Welcome,” I whisper. “To our day off.”
She smirks, letting her hand rest on my chest. “I have a feeling it’s going to be memorable.”