Chapter 47
Korbin
I spend most of the morning pacing my damn bedroom like a caged animal.
Back and forth.
Across the floorboards.
Then back again.
My thoughts won’t sit still long enough for me to make sense of any of them. Every few steps I catch myself glancing at the door, like if I stare hard enough it will summon the courage I’m apparently missing.
It shouldn’t be this hard.
I’ve faced down players twice my size on the ice.
I’ve brawled to the point of being placed in penalty boxes.
I’ve taken hits that rattled my bones. But asking Bayleigh out—just me and her, away from the noise and the others, makes my stomach twist like I’m sixteen again and about to ask my first crush to dance.
I scrub both hands over my face and force myself to breathe.
She came out of Lincoln’s room early this morning, hair still damp from a shower, her cheeks pink from the orgasm my brother just gave her. Milton teased her, and she laughed so hard she nearly dropped a pan.
I want that with her. I want a moment that’s just ours.
But what if she thinks it’s too soon? What if she thinks I’m only doing this because Milton and Lincoln already got their time with her? What if she’s not ready to be alone with me yet?
My jaw clenches. My instincts don’t give a damn about logic or fear. They keep whispering the same thing: Go to her.
I pace three more times—one fast, two slower—then finally grab the door handle before I can talk myself out of it again.
Just ask her.
Just fucking ask.
The hall smells like bacon and coffee and her, that soft warm-sweet scent that always hits me like a body check straight to the sternum.
She’s sitting at the island between the guys, saying something about burners and Milton’s “chaotic cooking choices.” Lincoln is grinning. Milton looks offended. She’s glowing.
She looks happy, and it makes my heart stutter.
I stop in the doorway long enough to get my bearings and clear my throat. My brother and Milton glance over first, then Bayleigh lifts her head a beat later. And the second her eyes find mine, her whole face lights up—so fast and so bright it hits me like a punch.
Shit. Okay. Okay, I can do this.
I walk closer, ignoring the way Milton wiggles his eyebrows or how Lincoln’s mouth twitches like he already knows exactly what I’m about to do.
“Bayleigh,” I say, voice rougher than I meant. “Can I… talk to you?”
“Of course.”
My pulse spikes, and I swallow hard, forcing the words out before my courage evaporates again.
“I was wondering if,” I drag in a breath. “If you'd want to go out with me today?”
Silence drops over the kitchen for half a second. Her lips part, her cheeks warm, and her scent lifts—subtle, sweet.
“Yes.”
My chest loosens so suddenly I have to steady myself with a hand on the counter.
Lincoln’s grin widens beside her. Milton mouths finally like a dramatic asshole. I ignore both of them.
I clear my throat once more.
“Grab your coat,” I say quietly. “I want to take you somewhere.”
She hops off the stool, slipping her boots on and zipping her jacket with quick, eager movements. She follows me to the door without hesitation, and something deep in my bones settles.
She said yes.
To me.
And I am going to make damn sure she never regrets it.
The car ride starts quiet, but not awkward. More like we’re both trying to get our breathing under control.
She sits close, hands folded in her lap, knee brushing the console. Her hair is pulled into a loose braid, a few pieces falling around her face in a way that makes her look too soft, too breakable, too perfect for someone like me.
I grip the steering wheel a little tighter than necessary.
Halfway down the wooded stretch toward the lake, she turns to me. “Where are we going?”
I give her a quick sideways glance—just long enough for her to read my lips—then smile. “You’ll see.”
She huffs, cheeks puffing a little, and the tiny sound of it nearly unravels me. My hand drifts over, brushing my knuckles over her knee before I can talk myself out of it.
She blushes instantly.
Fuck.
My heart stutters.
We drive past the turnoff to the trailhead. The trees start to thicken, sunlight filtering through the branches in soft golden streaks.
Bayleigh leans closer, looking out the window like she’s trying to memorize everything we pass. When she looks back at me, her expression is open.
I look at her while keeping the road in my peripheral so she can see my mouth. “Can I ask you something?” I say.
She nods.
“Are you nervous? Being alone with me?” I look back toward the road while I wait for her answer.
She considers it, then answers with gentle honesty. “A little. Not because I don’t trust you. Because… this is new.”
I let out a breath and look back at her. “Yeah. Me too.”
Her eyes flicker.
We roll into the secluded clearing by the lake, the water smooth and unmoving. I shut off the engine and get out, walking around to open her door.
Once she’s down, I open the backseat and grab the blankets and pillows I packed earlier—too many, probably, but I didn’t know how to do this halfway. Her eyes widen as I haul the stack out, and the sight punches a little warmth into my chest.
Then I lower the tailgate and start arranging everything in the truck bed, spreading the blankets into a soft little nest and propping the iPad against a pillow. The clearing settles around us like it’s ours alone.
When I turn, she’s staring at me like I just rewired the stars.
“I wanted it to be comfortable,” I say, rubbing the back of my neck. “For you.”
She climbs up without hesitation, settles into the blankets, and holds her hand out for me to join her.
My chest twists.
I climb in beside her, leaning back against the cushions. The breeze carries her scent directly into my lungs, sweet and warm and softly spiked with interest.
We pick a movie, and she curls on her side to face me.
It takes all of two minutes for the talking to start.
Real talking.
About things I never say out loud—pressure from the league, the fear of being replaced, the guilt over how I handled things with Gina, how tired I am of carrying around the version of myself who screwed everything up.
I hear myself telling her things I haven’t even admitted to Milton and Lincoln.
She listens the whole time. No judgment. No pity. Just quiet understanding.
At one point I say something self-deprecating, and she actually smacks my chest for it.
I laugh.
And the way her eyes soften… fuck, something in me comes undone.
She inches closer until her knee brushes my thigh. Her fingers graze my forearm, tracing a line up toward my elbow.
Her scent flares—sweet, heart-hitting, impossible to ignore.
Heat curls low in my stomach.
“Bayleigh,” I say.
She looks up into my eyes, and something primal inside me shifts. I lift my hand to her jaw, thumb brushing the soft edge of her cheek. Her breath catches, chest rising in a trembling inhale.
Her slick’s scent drifts between us, subtle but undeniable.
Her eyes flick down to my mouth.
I lean in—
Then freeze.
What if I ruin this?
What if I’m misreading her?
What if I’m too much, too soon—?
She solves it by closing the last inch. Her lips meet mine. It’s soft at first. Then I answer by sliding my hands to the back of her neck, pulling her in gently, deepening the kiss until her breath shivers against mine. Her fingers curl into my shirt, holding on like she’s afraid I’ll pull away.
I don’t. I won’t.
I kiss her slow, controlled, savoring every second, every sound she makes, every warm press of her mouth.
When I break away, it’s only because I need air.
I rest my forehead against hers, my breath uneven, her scent wrapping around me like it belongs in my lungs.
“Bayleigh, when you’re ready… I’ll give you everything.” I know she can’t hear me, but I can’t help but say it.
Her body melts into mine. And for the first time in my life, I feel what it means to choose someone so completely it borders on instinct.
She’s mine.
And when she finally opens her eyes again, I see the truth of it reflected right back at me.
She wants me too.