Chapter 18
Chapter eighteen
Reid
I was dreading practice. After I woke up and Luka was gone, my heart sank.
The bed felt so empty, and I just sat there for a few minutes replaying the night, trying to find when it all went so wrong.
I mean, there had to be something for him to slink off in the middle of the night, no message, no note.
But no matter how many times I replayed every delicious moment we spent together, I came up empty.
So, I showered and came to the rink, totally preparing myself for the fallout.
Would he blame me? Say I’d used my position as captain to coerce him into sleeping with me?
It sounds ridiculous, but that’s the kind of thing your mind starts convincing you is reality, or at least a possible reality, when the guy you just spent the best night of your life with disappears before the sun comes up.
If only this were a trashy fantasy movie, then the most likely excuse would be that he was a vampire, not a guy with serious regret about the arm he woke up under.
Then I got to the rink and saw the sunflower sitting there on the small shelf of my locker, and my stomach flipped with excitement. With a flutter in my chest, I pick it up gently between two fingers, hand shaking, worried that the delicate petals might fall if I was too rough.
The stem is sort of furry in a way, and it’s so top-heavy it’s hard to imagine them growing as large as they do in the wild.
I remember my parents taking my brothers and me on a road trip when they were little, and we passed by a field so full of yellow sunflowers it was like we’d flipped the car and we were driving through the sunset instead of beneath it.
The echo of voices pulls me from the memory, and I quickly pop the flower into my training bag, on top of my clothes so it won’t get squished, and then pull on my gear and head out to the ice.
I spot Luka laughing and chatting with a few of the guys, and while I try to keep my head about me, his voice keeps pulling my attention, and I almost slip when stepping out onto the ice.
Thankfully, no one notices. In fact, Luka hasn’t looked at me even once since I got down here.
I guess if he’s going to act as if nothing happened, and that this is a totally normal practice instead of the first practice after a mind-blowing night together, then I guess I can do that too.
Maybe. Okay, probably not, but I’m still going to try.
“Nice of you to join us, Raines,” White calls, and Luka glances my way.
The second our eyes meet, the memory of his mouth on mine surfaces, and I get that swirl in my gut that came the first time he bent over at the bar, purposefully tempting me to check out his perfect, round ass.
Except we’re at the rink, and the semi that memory has given me is totally inappropriate.
I shake my head as if it’ll somehow help to dispel the flashes of his hot, toned body, and start warming up my legs, skating side-to-side slides with White and Dawes.
But then suddenly Luka’s right there beside me, and before I can register what I’m doing, I’ve agreed to talk after practice.
I don’t even remember how it happened. I’m in so much trouble.
***
We finish up our power play drills, and I move to the side to stretch before heading in to shower and change.
Everything about this is wrong—I know it, he should know it, and if the coaches or the team knew, they would tell us both this is a colossally terrible idea.
But no matter how many times I repeat that to myself, nothing about my time with Luka last night feels wrong.
One look at those adorable dimples of his and I fucking melt.
I’m actually pretty certain that there’s zero chance I will ever again get through an entire day of training without thinking about last night.
But I’m not exactly mad about it either.
I mean, unless he never wants it to happen again.
Then I might need to put in for a transfer.
I turn around, and Luka is in a frog pose, stretching like he’s humping the ice, and holy fuck, nope. I am not this person. I am a grown-ass man; I can control my urges. Nope. That cocky shit just looked right at me and rolled his hips slower. Fuck you, Luka.
Urgh, this is torture.
Yes, that’s exactly what this is, and that’s what he’s hoping it is.
A smile spreads across my face. Luka is torturing me.
That and the sunflower in my locker has to mean he doesn’t regret it, right?
Hopefully, that also means he wants to do it again, because if I have to watch him out here doing shit like that, he better believe I’m going to want to.
***
“I know what you’re probably going to say,” Luka sighs, the second I’m outside.
The parking lot is empty, the rest of the team long gone.
My twenty-minute session with the physio after training and almost just as long hot shower made certain of that.
I can usually manage my recovery myself, but my hamstrings were extra tight today, probably from not stretching properly during warm-up or cool-down with Luka there teasing me the whole fucking time.
I shrug.
“I doubt it, but why don’t you go ahead.”
“You’re going to say that it was a mistake or that it can’t happen again,” he says, his brow furrowed, lips turned down, waiting for me to affirm his words.
I step closer, and his gaze moves to his feet.
And as much as watching him squirm should make me happy, seeing as I was the one tormented all through training, I can’t stand to see him like this, the ball of bubbly energy he usually radiates dimmed by his fear of rejection, of me rejecting him. My stomach sinks.
“I’m not going to say either of those things.”
“You aren’t?” he asks, eyes on me, bright and hopeful.
I shake my head. “But we should probably go somewhere else to talk.”
“Do you still have the room?” he asks, and I laugh.
“No, but I have a feeling if we went there, we wouldn’t be doing much talking.”
His lustful stare sweeps up and down my body.
“Yeah, you’re probably right. So, where to?”
“I know a place. How about you follow me?”
“I can do that.”
The whole way, my heart is jackhammering in my chest watching him follow behind me in the rearview mirror.
Maybe it’s not so much that he’s following me as it is where he’s following me to.
I should have gotten a room somewhere, or suggested we chat at a sports bar, some place it wouldn’t be totally weird to see Philly’s newest rookie visiting.
But no, I think it’s a brilliant idea to take him to the one place that says this could be something real.
“Dad Bro,” David calls from the doorway as I pull into the drive. His attention shifts to the silver Mazda pulling in behind me, and he frowns. Then it’s like I can totally see the moment he recognizes Luka, and his excitement returns as he jogs toward the car.
I step out, but he passes me completely and has Luka’s door open before he’s even shut off the engine.
“Hey, I’m David. Did Dad Bro finally do the decent thing and invite you over for dinner?” he asks, and then I hear Benji.
“Yo, Luka, we didn’t know you were coming over.”
Luka climbs out and immediately gives David a handshake and a half hug.
“I heard Reid’s a half-decent cook, so I figured I should see for myself,” he replies, winking at me, those adorable dimples on display.
“Who feels like spaghetti?” I ask.
“Yes, me,” Benji calls, bounding down the stairs.
“Thank god you’re cooking. David was going to try his tuna bake thing again,” he says.
“Hey! There’s nothing wrong with tuna,” David complains as he leads Luka toward us.
“I like tuna,” Luka says, and Benji shakes his head and wraps one arm over his shoulder, practically dragging him toward the house.
“Not tuna like this, you won’t. It’s more paint stripper than pasta bake, trust me,” Benji tells him.
David isn’t offended, not really. He’s only recently been trying to come up with his own recipes, and he combined one he found online for a creamy potato bake with some ancient cookbook’s tuna pie.
The combination turned into low-key poison, and it had all three of us spending more than half the night in the bathroom. Good thing the house has three of them.
“You can watch the replay with us while Dad Bro cooks,” David says, and Luka cranes his neck to smile at me over his shoulder. I guess we’ll talk after dinner.