Chapter 9
Nash
We arrive in Hartford, Connecticut, for our next game.
The hotel room is shrouded in shadows, the soft hum of the outside world fading into the background as I pull the covers over myself, the fabric brushing against my skin like a gentle caress.
I glance across the dimly lit space, feeling the weight of anticipation settle between us, heavy and intoxicating, as I sense Leo’s presence next to me—so close, yet a world away.
As we settle into the rhythm of the night, I can’t help but replay the day in my mind—the laughter, the shared stories, the connection deepening in ways I never anticipated.
There’s something undeniably electric in the air between us, and as I steal a glance at Leo, the moonlight spills through the window, illuminating the contours of his face.
He rolls onto his side, mirroring my own movement, and suddenly we are facing each other, breaths mingling in the narrow space between us. Our gazes lock, and for a heartbeat, the world outside ceases to exist; it’s just us, two souls drawn together in an intricate dance of desire.
“Nash,” he murmurs, the way my name slips from his lips igniting a flutter of something primal deep within me. The moment feels impossibly charged, laden with anticipation as I inch closer, driven by an instinct that makes my heart race.
Before I fully comprehend the motion, I find myself rolling over, seeking warmth, seeking the closeness that has been building between us. Leo leans against me, our bodies fitting together like two puzzle pieces—perfectly aligned, yet fraught with the potential for chaos.
The brush of his skin against mine sends a shockwave of awareness coursing through me. I become acutely aware of the heat radiating from him, the hardness of his erection pressing into my thigh, an unmistakable sign of his desire that sends an answering rush through me.
“Is this okay?” he whispers, voice low and laced with hesitation as he leans in just a fraction closer.
My heart pounds, thrumming in my chest, as I try to find my breath amidst the intensity of the moment.
It’s exhilarating, overwhelming—everything I’ve ever wanted but been too afraid to reach for.
“Yeah,” I reply, the word barely escaping my lips, thick with longing as I melt into the warmth of him. My skin tingles with anticipation, every nerve ending humming as I respond to the pull between us, ignited by the uncharted territory we’re stepping into.
“Good,” he breathes, and suddenly, our lips crash together, igniting a spark that sets everything ablaze. The kiss is tentative at first—an exploration of this new connection—our mouths moving together in rhythm, a slow, delicious unfolding that captures everything we’ve been dancing around.
But it quickly escalates, fueled by desire that courses between us like wildfire, crackling in the air and leaving my heart racing.
Our hands instinctively roam—his fingers tangling in my hair, pulling me deeper, while my palms trace along his muscular back, the warmth beneath his shirt setting every part of me aflame.
We lose ourselves in the kiss, the world outside dissolving into a haze of longing and urgency. With each brush of our lips, I feel the chaos of our previous encounters slip away, replaced by a new vulnerability—a raw need that opens me up, an invitation to explore the depths of this connection.
The kiss intensifies, and with each exploration of our mouths, a torrent of emotions flows through me—an exhilarating blend of thrill and fear.
As we finally pull apart, breathless, I can barely process what just happened—the implications looming in the air around us, thick with anticipation. I search Leo’s eyes.
“What does this mean for us?” I ask, my heart pounding against my ribcage, every ounce of vulnerability pouring into my words. I can see the same questions reflected in Leo’s gaze.
He reaches for my hand, intertwining our fingers once more.
“I don’t know yet,” he replies softly, sincerity etched across his features.
“Tell me something about yourself,” I offer.
I realized earlier that I hardly know anything about Leo. At first, I wanted to keep it that way, but now, I want to know who he really is.
“What do you want to know?” he asks. “My life has played out pretty publicly.”
“Where are you from?” I begin.
He laughs, but there isn’t humor. “I grew up in New York. My mom was young when she had me and lost custody of me when I was ten—never met my dad. I bounced around in foster homes. Some were good, some weren’t.
I started playing hockey in middle school.
At the time, my foster parents thought it would be good for me.
I fell in love with the sport, and along the way I had coaches who believed in me. I went pro right out of high school.”
“Wow, I didn’t realize all of that. I mean, I knew you went pro after high school, but not the foster care part,” I admit.
“It’s ok. What about you?” He turns it to me.
I tell him about my parents, who are kind but conservative. I share about my older brother, an accountant with two kids. We aren’t close because he is 10 years older than me. I explain how Talia is the closest thing I have to a sister and best friend. We spend the next hour sharing about our lives.
It’s unexpected, but nice.