Chapter Twelve #2
“I miss the guys I used to go out with,” I admit.
“The people I came up with from juniors, especially. We used to dominate by day and raise hell by night. I could still call them and they’d answer, but when you change teams over the years, things don’t really stay the same.
And the idea of starting over with a new team… ”
I trail off, not interested in drawing attention to the fact that most of the Fury are younger than me. Hockey years are like dog years, especially when you get beat up as badly as someone in my position, so the difference in our ages feels stark.
Maybe I let that annoy me more than it should. It’s not their fault I would kill for just one day in my pain-free, twentysomething body. I wouldn’t take a single unstrained breath for granted.
Could that be what Sadie is attracted to? Young hotshots? Maybe the Callums of the world are more her speed. Twenty-three or however old he is, with probably a decade or more of hockey left in his tank.
I grit my teeth. That kid wouldn’t know what to do with her.
But I would. And if I got it wrong, I’d figure it out fast.
“I get it,” she murmurs. “You think you have these deep, lifelong friendships, but when you leave a team, you realize those bonds were so centered around one thing that no one got to know each other for real. Singular obsession.”
“Yup. Hockey takes up almost every ounce of your attention. Good friendships, if they last, are a bonus.” I study her. “Do you miss it, Rivers? Playing, I mean.”
Her eyes reflect the city lights and the blue glow lighting the water. “Every day. Nothing will ever fill that void. But I’ve been lucky to stay connected to hockey through coaching. It’s everything I’ve ever wanted and thought was impossible for me.”
Yet she lets out a sigh that sounds almost pained.
“But…?”
“No ‘but.’ I just wish I could believe it’d last. That I won’t fuck everything up and get fired. I don’t know what I’d do, or how I’d forgive myself, for fumbling something so important to me.”
Her words resonate a little too much. Life on the other side of hockey is a hazy, shapeless void I do everything in my power not to think about. I can’t stomach the thought right now.
But in her case, life is just getting started. She’s young and talented, her name always followed by words like “new” and “up-and-coming” and “rising star.” Unlike some of us, who are trailed by an entirely different set of words.
Washed up.
Past his prime.
Over.
“You are not fucking anything up, Rivers. You gave the Fury their first win in a long time. That’s no small feat.”
“You talk about it like you aren’t part of the reason the team won.” The jets keep this water in a damn frenzy. She’s already drifted closer, like she’s tired of fighting the push. “You were different tonight, though. You held yourself differently.”
A tiny swell of panic rises in my chest. Is she looking at my shoulder on purpose to make a point?
Does she have X-ray vision on top of everything else?
“When I’m paired with Callum, I’m more inclined to hang back and hold the line.
He loves to get up there and throw his weight around. It worked for us tonight.”
“Your posture was different. Are you sore?”
She’s so close we could be dancing. “I play hockey. Of course I’m sore. Nothing out of the ordinary.”
Her lips tip down into a frown. The longer she doesn’t speak, the faster my heart beats.
“Okay,” she finally says. “But if ever you feel—”
“I’ll ‘feel’ in the offseason. We’ve got games to win, Coach.”
“I worry about you.” She swallows, drawing my gaze to the smooth skin of her neck. “All of you, I mean. Some injuries don’t leave room for second or even third chances. If things go sideways, you’re just…done.”
My cells seem to move faster under the spotlight of her gaze. Is she speaking broadly, or about me, specifically? Or maybe she’s speaking from her own experience. “What took you out?”
“Labral hip tear.” She dusts a hand over her right hip and lets it fall away. “I felt like something was wrong, but my coach made me…” Her voice breaks off as I close my hand over her waist and guide her closer.
“You told him something was wrong and he put you in anyway?” Thunder cracks overhead as she stares down at my hand on her body.
“Our, um…backup goalie was out,” she says softly. “I threw myself into a save and…I felt it. I felt the moment my life as I knew it—”
My thumb brushes the front of her hip.
“—changed.” Her gaze locks with mine.
Fuck, I’ve got to stop.
But as I retract my hand, her fingers find mine.
She moves my touch an inch lower to her scar, holding it there. “Here.”
I trace the raised sliver of tight skin, pulse pounding in my ears. “Does it still hurt?”
Her breathing has synced with mine, fast and hard. “It aches sometimes.”
My fingers splay over the front of her hip, my calloused palm sliding on the top of her thigh. She exhales sharply, even as she cants her hips forward as if to welcome the touch. Her expression shifts, revealing the banked heat in her eyes.
Her gaze moves to my lips.
My mouth burns as her attention lingers there. The window of time where we can pretend this is a harmless touch is rapidly closing.
I can’t do this to her, no matter how badly I want to.
And oh, do I fucking want to. It’s killing me not to jerk her closer, bring her chest flush against mine, taste her pretty lips.
But what kind of man would I be if I, a lowly player, threw everything she’s worked for—is actively working for—into question because I’ve been struck with an unbearable need to touch her?
Self. Control.
It’d be easier to have it if she weren’t looking at me like she was waiting for something.
For me to cross the line first, maybe?
“Your earrings are lemons,” I manage through gritted teeth.
Her eyes shut. “Uh-huh.”
“That’s a thing of yours. Lemon stress balls on your desk, lemon earrings.” My other hand, the one not hovering on her hip, finds her ear. I brush the tiny yellow stud between my fingers. “Lemonade out of lemons, is that it?”
“It’s my middle name. Sadie Lemon Rivers.”
My hand briefly stills. “Wait, really?”
“Yes. They honeymooned on the Amalfi Coast.” Eyes still closed, she adds, “Lemons are a big thing there.”
No middle name has ever been quite so fitting. She brightens everything, but she’s potent, too. Sunshine with an edge. “Pretty.”
She hums as she leans into my hand, her cheek warm and soft against my palm.
So fucking pretty.
My fingers expand to cradle her face. She takes a touch the way I would if she dared put her hand on me, like she’s thirsty for it. “I can’t believe you noticed my earrings.”
I trace the divot beneath her lush bottom lip, the slope of it. “I notice a lot of things.”
The water draws us closer, or maybe she makes the choice to step between my legs. All I know is our chests are an inch apart.
My hand grips her hip. Hard.
She leans in 90 percent of the way, her tentative gaze flicking between my mouth and my eyes.
I slide my hand behind her neck and curl her hair in my fist to bring her closer, hovering my lips against hers without kissing. She gasps against my mouth. The feel of her hot exhale is almost my undoing.
It’s an agonizing tease, but I can’t live another second without at least this. I want all the closeness I can steal while still giving her the out she needs. Plausible deniability. “You’d regret kissing me tomorrow. And I will not be someone you regret.”
She barely seems to breathe. I don’t pull away like I should.
“Leo…”
Our lips play together, testing the bounds of what we can pretend isn’t kissing. Really fucking testing them. I’m so on edge, the faintest tap of her bottom lip against my top as we exchange sharp breaths makes my dick twitch painfully.
I muster up all my strength and willpower to break away. “Good night, Rivers.”
Her eyes meet mine. “Good night, Leo.”
She circles her arms around my neck. I accept the hug, gathering her close. Her wet, bare skin slides against mine in agonizing friction. If I weren’t so miserably turned on, I would enjoy a hug.
My face buries in her hair, and the smell of her shampoo is another stab in my resolve. I tighten my hold on her, inhaling like it’ll keep me alive through winter.
Her hand rakes through my hair, nails scratching my scalp. So good. I groan as my head drops, my focus growing fuzzy as my nose finds the soft skin of her neck. I want to kiss it so bad. Suck it until it’s bruised.
She tilts her head to expose more of it to me, bringing me to the brink of my sanity.
Something slides against my hips.
I’ve all but pulled her on my lap, and now she’s straddling me. Why am I testing myself like this? My abs clench as I anchor her in place with both hands on her hips, my thumbs toying with the ties of her bikini. I want to tug them free. Strip her of these bottoms.
A spike of heat lances through me, and I’m close. Too close.
Dammit it, every time I lace up my skates, I’m going to imagine it’s these tiny strings and be driven to madness all over again.
She rocks forward, and a tiny moan escapes her lips when she presses against my erection. It’s all I can do not to lift my hips for more contact.
We didn’t kiss, and now we aren’t hugging. Or are we? I don’t know what the fuck we’re doing, but I can’t stop. And my brain can’t stop taking it further—to what it would feel like to slide her bottoms aside and line us up, to take her just like this.
I drag my lips over the raging pulse in her neck. Still not kissing—just feeling. With my mouth.
A loud crack of thunder vibrates the water before the first few fat raindrops fall from the sky. The sky is about to unload, and it was nice enough to warn us.
It’s a warning we very much need.
She rears back to look at me, eyes heavy-lidded and lips parted. This time the spell actually is broken.
“Go.” I force out the word, even though it’s the last thing I want.
This has to be the last time we’re alone together, because I don’t trust myself to resist her twice.
It was just a hug.
“You first,” I press. “Before we get struck by lightning.”
Judging by the look on her face as she escapes the tub and hurries to gather her things, you’d think we already were.