Chapter 28 Chloe
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CHLOE
The sound of Jonno clearing his throat is like a bucket of ice water dumped over us.
I jump back so fast I nearly trip over the bench, and Ollie just about smashes his elbow against a locker trying to untangle himself from me. My lips are tingling, my heart is racing, and I’m ninety-nine percent sure my face is the colour of a ripe tomato.
Jonno raises one eyebrow, his arms folded like some sort of disapproving dad. His voice is calm, measured, way too calm.
“Again? Well, don’t let me interrupt.”
I want the floor to swallow me whole. Ollie, of course, just grins sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck like a schoolboy caught kissing behind the bike shed.
“Hey,” he says. “We were just…uh, team bonding.”
“Team bonding?” Jonno repeats, deadpan. “In the locker room. At midnight. With your tongue down her throat.”
Ollie shrugs, unbothered, his grin widening. “Effective, isn’t it?”
I cover my face with my hands. “Oh my God, Ollie, stop talking.”
Jonno sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose.
“You two…” He shakes his head slowly, muttering something about ‘bloody hockey players and their hormones.’ “Look, I don’t care what you do off the clock, but the walls have ears.
And eyes. And mouths. Some of the team’s still around.
You don’t want this turning into locker room gossip, trust me. And then there’s Murph.”
Too late, I think. Murphy’s probably already writing a ballad about it.
“Yes, sir,” Ollie says, mock-saluting. “Mum’s the word.”
Jonno glares at him. “Don’t get clever. Just use a door next time.” He points toward the exit, then strides out, leaving us in mortified silence.
The door shuts. For a beat, neither of us moves. Then Ollie bursts out laughing.
I swat his arm. “Don’t you dare laugh. I’ve never been so embarrassed in my life.”
“Oh, come on,” he says between chuckles. “It wasn’t that bad, we could’ve been naked. He didn’t threaten to bench me. That’s practically a blessing.”
“You’re impossible.”
“And you,” he says, tugging me back toward him, “are adorable when you’re flustered.”
I try to glare at him but it’s hard when his smile is so boyish and warm. My chest does that stupid fluttery thing again, the one I’ve been trying to ignore. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”
“Lucky?” He leans down, his lips brushing mine in a teasing almost-kiss. “Darling, that’s a skill. Years of practice.”
I snort, pushing him back. “Practice with who?”
He smirks. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”
I roll my eyes, though the heat curling in my stomach betrays me. “We should go before Jonno drags us out by the ears.”
“Fine,” Ollie says, though he steals another kiss before letting me go. “But you’re not getting rid of me that easy.”
Outside, the air is cool against my flushed skin. The city is quiet, the streetlamps glowing, and the buzz of adrenaline still hums in my veins. Ollie walks beside me, hands shoved into his pockets, his stride easy, like we weren’t just caught snogging like teenagers.
“So,” he says casually. “Dinner, locker room snog, public humiliation. I’d call that a successful date.”
I laugh despite myself. “You’re insufferable.”
“You keep saying that,” he says with a grin. “Yet you keep kissing me. Interesting contradiction.”
“Shut up.”
“Can’t. It’s part of my charm.”
I shake my head, smiling. “Charm isn’t the word I’d use.”
“Devastatingly handsome, then?”
“Try again.”
“Magnetically irresistible?”
I arch an eyebrow. “Delusional.”
“Harsh, but fair,” he says, bumping his shoulder against mine.
The drive back to my flat feels intimate. There’s no rush, no frantic tug of urgency like before. Just the steady rhythm of heartbeats, the occasional brush of his hand against mine, the quiet comfort of being together.
As we pull up outside my door, he hesitates, rocking back in his seat. “So, uh… after our little locker room adventure, do I get invited in again? Or am I on the naughty list?”
“You’ve been on the naughty list since the day I met you,” I say dryly.
He grins, leaning close. “And yet you are still letting me in.”
I sigh, pretending to be exasperated, though my heart is hammering. “Fine. But no funny business this time.”
“Define funny business,” he says, waggling his eyebrows.
I shove him through the door before my neighbours hear him.
Inside, the flat is dimly lit, the glow from the streetlamp filtering through the curtains. Ollie flops onto the sofa immediately, sprawling like he owns the place. I hang up my coat, watching him with a mix of amusement and fond exasperation.
“You’re very comfortable here,” I note.
He stretches, hands behind his head, a grin spreading across his face. “What can I say? Feels like home.”
Something tugs in my chest at that. Dangerous, tender territory. I busy myself with the kettle, filling it just for something to do. “Tea?”
“Always.” He pats the cushion beside him. “And bring yourself too. Don’t leave me lonely.”
I roll my eyes but make two mugs, setting them on the coffee table before perching next to him. He immediately slings an arm around my shoulders, tugging me close.
“You’re clingy,” I murmur, sipping my tea.
“And you secretly love it,” he says smugly.
Maybe I do. I lean into him anyway, the warmth of his body seeping into mine. The silence is comfortable, punctuated only by the quiet hum of the fridge and the faint traffic outside.
“Sorry about earlier,” I say eventually, my voice low. “Getting caught.”
“Don’t be,” he replies instantly. “Worth it.”
I glance up at him. His expression is open, unguarded, his eyes soft in the dim light. There’s no teasing edge now, no bravado. Just honesty. It makes my throat tighten.
“You’re trouble, Ollie Taylor,” I whisper.
“Yeah,” he says, brushing his lips against my hair. “But I’m your trouble.”
The words hit deeper than they should. My heart stumbles, and I’m not sure if it’s from fear or joy. Maybe both.
We talk for ages. Nothing serious, mostly him telling bizarre training stories, me laughing until my stomach hurts.
Every so often, he leans down to kiss me, slow and unhurried, a contrast to the frantic heat of earlier.
It feels different. Sweeter. Like something is shifting between us, becoming more than just sparks and banter and the occasional hot sex.
At one point, he tilts his head back, groaning dramatically. “God, Jonno’s never going to let me live that down. Catching us once was enough, but twice was definitely a rookie mistake.”
“Someone has to keep you humble.” I say, smirking.
“Darlin’, I’m the humblest man alive.”
“Mm-hm. Tell me more about how humble you are.”
He grins, eyes twinkling. “Well, I only check myself out in the mirror three times a day now. That’s growth.”
I burst out laughing, nearly spilling my tea. “You’re impossible.”
“And you,” he says softly, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear, “are perfect.”
The laughter dies in my throat, replaced by a rush of heat. I don’t know how to respond, so I kiss him instead, slow and tender, hoping he can feel the words I can’t say.
Sometime past midnight, we end up tangled together on the sofa, my head on his chest, his fingers tracing lazy circles on my arm. My eyelids are heavy, but I don’t want the night to end.
“You’re falling asleep on me,” he murmurs, amused.
“No, I’m not,” I mumble.
“Liar.”
“Shut up.”
He chuckles, pressing a kiss to the top of my head. “Go to sleep, Chloe.”
“You’re bossy.”
“And you like it.”
I smile against his chest, too tired to argue.
Before I drift off, I hear him whisper, almost too quiet to catch. “God, I’m so gone for you.”
I wake to sunlight streaming through the curtains and the smell of something burning. Heart pounding, I stumble into the kitchen to find Ollie standing at the stove, waving a spatula at a pan of very questionable-looking scrambled eggs.
“Morning, sunshine,” he says cheerfully, though smoke is billowing around him. “Breakfast is served!”
I gape at him. “What on earth are you doing?”
“Cooking for my lady,” he says proudly, though the eggs look like something out of a horror movie.
I burst out laughing. “That’s not food, Ollie. That’s a crime.”
“Harsh,” he says, feigning offense. “These are gourmet. Michelin-star quality.”
“Michelin would sue.”
He grins, sheepish but unbothered. “Fine. Maybe I’m better at eating breakfast than cooking it.”
I take the spatula from him before he burns the place down. “Sit. I’ll save us.”
As I start over, he perches on the counter, watching me with that soft, puppy-dog gaze that makes my knees weak.
“What?” I ask, flustered.
“Nothing,” he says, smiling. “Just thinking, I could get used to this.”
And that, God help me, terrifies me more than anything.