Chapter 7
Nash
As the sun sinks beneath the horizon, I lean back in my Jeep, the scent of sweat and ice still clinging to my skin from practice.
We’ve been back home for two days, and I am still not over Leo’s antics.
I close my eyes for a moment, trying to gather the fragments of my day into some semblance of clarity.
The buzz of adrenaline has faded, but the tension in my chest remains—a tight knot of expectation and longing that I can’t shake off.
With a determined breath, I reach for my phone, dialing the number I know by heart.
My parents answer, their voices a comforting melody amid the chaos in my mind.
“Hey, Nash! How was practice?” My mom’s cheerful voice fills the car, a warm embrace through the phone.
“It was good,” I reply, leaning my head against the cool glass of the window. “Same drills, you know how it is.” My heart pounds as I skirt around the thought of Leo, pushing it to the back of my mind where it feels safer—where it doesn’t sting with urgency.
“Good to hear! You’ve been training hard for this championship. We’re so proud of you,” she says, the pride swelling in her voice, igniting a flicker of warmth in my chest. It feels good, but it also feels heavy. Their pride comes with unspoken expectations, ones I’m struggling to meet.
“How’s the team shaping up?” my dad chimes in, his tone shifting from casual to curious. “Have you made any friends?”
I hesitate, feeling the weight of his question.
Should I mention Leo? His bravado feels so foreign to my family, like an intricate puzzle piece that doesn’t quite fit into the picture they see of my life.
“Yeah, the guys are great. Lots of teamwork,” I say, my voice faltering slightly.
I take a deep breath, trying to summon the conviction that everything is fine, even if inside I’m twisted up.
“That’s good. And what about that new guy, Leo? We’ve been hearing a lot about him from the news.” My mom’s question brings the knot back—he is more than a “new guy” to me, and I can’t help but feel a surge of anxiety at the thought of bringing him into our world.
“Um, he’s a solid player,” I say, the words slipping out too casually, like I’m trying to convince myself as much as them. “He just likes to joke around a lot. Keeps it interesting.” I dismiss it with a laugh, but there’s a hitch in my chest that makes my smile feel fragile.
“Oh, that’s good! Joking around is important; you need some fun amidst all the hard work!
” my dad adds, unaware of the undercurrent lurking just beneath my surface.
He always knows how to temper the seriousness of my passion with levity, but I’m uncertain if that’s enough to balance the weight I’m carrying.
“What else? Tell us more about Leo, dear. Is he treating you well?” My mom’s voice dips, a note of concern threading through her words.
“Yeah, we’re just…getting to know each other.” My words come out like a forced secret, a cover for the tangled mess brewing under my skin.
“Remember when you would practice in the backyard all summer? We knew you’d go far,” my dad reminisces. There’s affection woven through his words, nostalgia warming the atmosphere as my childhood memories flicker in my mind.
“Yeah, it feels like forever ago,” I respond, fighting the wave of longing that creeps in, pulling me back to simpler times. I wish I could take that carefree joy and bottle it, shield it from the weight of expectations and the tangled mess I find myself in now.
“We just want you to stay focused, son,” he says, and it comes out heavy with unspoken expectations. “Remember, it’s about the game, not just the accolades.”
“I know, I know,” I reply, swallowing the uncomfortable knot in my throat, my heart heavy with the reality of what lies ahead. “I’m keeping my head in the game.”
As the call comes to a close, the familiar warmth of their love washes over me, even as it sits in juxtaposition with the pressure I feel on my shoulders.
“Thanks for checking in with us, Nash. We love you, you know that?” my mom says, her voice softening into that gentle lilt that makes my chest ache.
“I love you guys, too,” I say, sincerity rising as I hang up the phone, my heart feeling just a little lighter, even if the longing for acceptance lingers.
I end the call, and a text message comes through.
Sean: Hey, guys are hitting up Joe's Steak House. You in?
I’m not up for going out, but I know I can’t be a recluse.
Me: Sure. What time?
Sean: One hour. See you then.
I rush home to shower and change, and then head straight to the restaurant. I meet the guys in the lobby.
We gather around a large table, the energy palpable as plates are pushed around, drinks ordered, and laughter bubbles over the din.
The chaos around me should feel comforting, yet I’m struck by an awareness of Leo seated directly across from me, a teasing grin playing at the corners of his lips.
My breath hitches as he leans into the conversation, commanding attention while effortlessly weaving himself into the fabric of our night.
“Nash! Are you going to hog all the fries?” Sean chimes in, playfully swatting at the plate stacked high with golden fries in front of me. Laughter erupts around the table, and I force a grin, a well-practiced smile that feels strained.
“Only if you’re going to keep talking about how many goals I’ll miss next week!
” I shoot back, but my gaze flicks to Leo, who watches me closely, amusement flickering in his eyes.
There’s something in that look, a connection that tugs at my insides, igniting the tension that simmered just beneath the surface all evening.
The conversations blend—a blur of jokes and friendly jabs—but I can’t shake the pull of Leo’s gaze as it shifts from me to the players beside him.
And then it happens—our eyes lock for a split second, and it’s like the world fades away. The hum of voices becomes distant, and I can hear my heartbeat thundering in my ears. There’s an intensity that crackles between us, like an electric pulse sparking.
“Is someone going to ask Nash if he’s got his game face on for the championship?” a voice cuts through the moment, and the table erupts in teasing once more.
“Just make sure to aim low, Nash,” he teases, his voice a playful jab, though I can see the flicker of something deeper lingering behind those dark eyes. The laughter around us rolls on, but my focus narrows, honing in on him. “Or maybe take some notes from me?”
“Notes from you?” I respond, my voice dripping with mock disbelief, but the banter feels charged, electric. “I think I’ll pass.”
Our exchange hangs in the air, a teasing dance just shy of acknowledgment. The others continue their chatter, yet I can sense the unspoken challenge woven tightly between us.
With each passing moment, I lose myself in the way Leo grins, how his laughter seems to resonate through the very core of this gathering.
He becomes a beacon, and as much as I try to brush it off, the tension claws at me—an unbearable mix of frustration and attraction tangled in each fleeting glance.
As the evening winds down, my heart races, caught in the pull of the moment.
The last round of drinks arrives, and laughter dances like flames licking the edges of our lively gathering.
But in the midst of it all, I can’t ignore the way our gazes keep finding one another, lingering just a moment too long, promising complications ahead.
Once the plates are cleared, the group starts to get antsy. There’s a small dance floor near the bar, and a few of the guys have found some girls to dance with. I excuse myself, needing a break.
“Are you leaving?” Marcus asks, as he sips his beer.
“No, just heading to take a piss,” I offer.
I walk toward a long hallway, hoping that no one attempts to force me into dancing with a woman again. I can’t decline every time they try to set me up, or it might spark questions.
***
The hallway is dimly lit, casting elongated shadows that dance along the walls as I make my way down.
My heart pounds, still thrumming with excitement from dinner, but the way Leo’s gaze lingered on me sends a shiver down my spine.
It’s ridiculous how his presence follows me, igniting a mix of exhilaration and fear that I can’t quite pinpoint.
I lean against the cool wall, collecting my thoughts, feeling the pulse of the evening thrumming in my veins.
I close my eyes for a moment, inhaling deeply, trying to sort through the confusion swirling inside me.
I keep seeing flashes of Leo’s grin, the teasing lilt in his voice that challenges me while tugging at something deep within.
It feels like a trap, luring me into a web of desires I shouldn’t entertain.
Then, suddenly, I hear the restroom door swing open, and there he is.
Leo emerges, framed in the faint light of the hallway, and the world narrows to just him.
Our eyes lock, and the air shifts between us, thickening with unspoken words.
It’s electric, intoxicating; I’m both frightened and drawn toward him in a way that makes my head spin.
Before I can process anything further, he’s closing the distance between us, stepping in with a confidence that makes my heart race even faster. I brace myself against the wall, unsure of what he is doing.
“What the hell are you doing?” I whisper, surprise flooding through me, a mix of exhilaration and confusion lacing my tone.
He leans in closer, our breaths mingling in the scant distance separating us. “I’m trying to work out this tension, Nash,” he replies, his voice low and steady, dripping with promise.
“I—” My words falter, caught in my throat as his hand glides down, brushing against me. I gasp softly, shock racing through my body, panic and thrill clashing like waves.
“Are you open to working with me more? On and off the ice?” he murmurs, the weight of his question grounding me in this reality that I never anticipated. I can see the challenge flickering in his eyes, the desire igniting something within me that I can’t seem to ignore.
But what do I want? That simple question dances on the tip of my tongue, battling with the whirlwind of confusion tearing at my thoughts. I stare into Leo’s eyes, searching for answers, but all I can feel is the surge of adrenaline mixing with desire.
Before I can gather my thoughts, his touch shifts, the warmth of his hand brushing against me intimately, a pulse igniting where my breath hitches, caught between fear and thrill.
I want to push him away, to deny this feeling, but my body betrays me, craving the connection, the danger wrapping around us like a tight embrace.
My dick springs to life, and his hand brushes against my hardness. His eyes go wide.
“Nash?” He whispers my name like a secret.
“Yeah,” I manage, breathless, caught between wanting to step back and wanting to lean in.
I realize that whatever happens next, there’s no turning back. My heart races as we stand together, breathing the same air, ignited by an attraction I can no longer deny.
“I will see you later,” he says into my ear.
He turns and walks out of the room, leaving me stunned and turned on.