Chapter 12
LIVELY
I was rock hard .
Heart pounding in my throat, I shoved my way into the locker room, shutting the door behind me with more force than necessary. The muffled noise from the rink barely registered as I exhaled sharply, trying to calm my racing heart.
The cool air did nothing to settle the heat crawling up my spine. I tore off my gear in sharp, impatient motions, every brush of fabric against my skin only making things worse, tightening the frustration coiled low in my stomach.
And that was because all I could think about was her.
Hailey Baleman.
The way she'd moved on the ice—sharp, relentless, the perfect mix of grace and brutality.
It'd been exhilarating, dancing with her like that; every time I'd thought I had her, she'd slipped out of reach, only to come crashing back in, unwilling to back down, fearlessly challenging me, reeling me in.
My cock pulsed and my eyes nearly rolled to the back of my head. Shit. Just one game with her, and I was near ready to come.
Fucking hell.
I exhaled sharply through my nose, yanking off my jersey, my undershirt, peeling down my pads, my socks. My hands were steady, teeth gritted, but inside, I was a goddamn mess.
Ugh. I couldn't believe I'd turned into the freak who'd get a boner in the middle of a game, but playing with Hailey Baleman did…
things to me. It'd been pretty impossible to stop the low, aching pulse in my crotch at the sight of every flick of her wrist as she'd stolen the puck, at every hard shove against my side as she'd fought for space.
She was literally carved into my instincts.
Every cut she made, I followed. Every move, every feint, every damn second of that match had felt like a dance that I never wanted to end.
And the worst part? The second she won—the second she skated past me in that last, crucial minute, fast as a bullet—I'd known I was screwed, because I wasn't even mad I'd lost.
She'd earned that win. And playing her on the ice, and having her beat me on it, only made me want her even more now. So bad my cock was leaking .
I hissed a breath through my teeth, yanking my shirt over my head before tearing off the rest of my gear. The second I was down to just my jockstrap, I stopped. My pulse hammered as I stared down at myself, jaw tightening.
Shit.
This wasn’t just some passing heat. It was deeper than that, thrumming under my skin like an itch I couldn’t scratch. And it had nothing to do with just wanting to get off.
Because that was the thing. If all I wanted was to get Hailey Baleman out of my system, I could handle that. But this? This was worse.
Because I didn’t just want her body. I wanted her .
I wanted to be the focus of her gaze whenever I walked into a room.
I wanted to see that ice cold, aloof expression she always had on melt into a smile.
For me. I wanted her stubbornness, her sharp edges, the way she never let me get away with anything.
I wanted to earn the way she looked at me, to be the reason she let her guard down before I let myself act on the raging lust she inspired in me.
Yeah, tell that to Weeping Dick Lively over here .
Jaw clenched, I stepped into the nearest bathroom stall and shut the door behind me. And then, my gaze flicked down.
Fuck.
I braced both hands against the wall and let out a sharp, harsh breath, squeezing my eyes shut and willing myself to calm the hell down. But my brain had other plans, replaying our earlier conversation like it was in reel mode:
“I don’t have a face for that.”
"Oh, you do. You have a whole lot of different faces, and all of them are damn hot."
Her expression; lips turning down, that crease forming between her brows, disgust etched into the lines of her face, had damn near done me in right then and there.
Nearly did me in now, too.
"Shit." I hissed, catching my hand before it could finish traveling down my body, towards my cock. God, Hailey Baleman was the cruelest test of restraint I’d ever faced, and I could feel myself slowly slipping with every passing day.
"You keep saying shit like that because I don't fight back, but I bet you'd stop if I match you."
God, what I wouldn't give for her to do just that: match me .
“In your dreams.”
Her parting words echoed in my head like an automatic rebuttal to my longing. I swallowed hard, throat tightening as my lower lip caught between my teeth. If only she knew the things she did to me in my dreams…how often I woke slick, aching, and so desperate I’d started sleeping in condoms—
No .
I forced my mind to shift gears immediately. I wasn't going to—no. Not here. Not now . Because, as much as my body was begging for it, I couldn't bring myself to do that. Not with her.
Hailey wasn't just some fantasy. She was real . And if I ever got the chance— when she gave me that chance, because I had no intention of letting her slip away from me now; I sure as hell wasn't going to be the guy who reduced her to something as cheap as spank bank material.
I pushed off the wall, dragging a hand down my face.
Okay. Shit. I had to fix this; get myself occupied with something else.
So, I turned on the spray, tilting my head back to let the water wash over me, willing the last of the tension to drain from my muscles.
Slowly—too slowly—the feverish heat in my blood began to settle.
And by the time I stepped out, my body had cooled, Dick Lively no longer weeping and back in sleeper mode. I could function again.
Thank fuck .
It was when I was toweling off water from my hair, already in my boxer briefs, that the locker room doors flew open and the guys began to file in.
Voices filled the space as my teammates barreled in, all of them still buzzing from the match. I barely had time to drag my shirt over my head before Dylan’s voice rang out, sharp and gleeful.
“Well, well, well. If it isn’t our overconfident Captain, freshly humbled, Lively Big Mouth Summers.”
I turned just in time to see him sling an arm around Matt Dawson’s shoulders, both of them wearing matching grins.
Mason and Logan weren’t far behind, already unpeeling their gear, and Evan leaned against a locker, shaking his head with exaggerated disappointment.
“You had one job, Summers,” Mason said, pointing at me with a roll of tape. “One job.”
“To prove that men are still the dominant species in hockey?” I deadpanned.
“To win us some damn money,” Logan corrected. “Because we, and I cannot stress this enough, are broke.”
That earned a chorus of agreement, all of them turning in unison toward Randy, who was still peeling off his gloves.
Randy, the only one dumb enough to believe in me.
“You absolute idiot,” Dylan said, shaking his head. “We could’ve had a clean sweep. We could’ve walked away with easy money. But nooo, you had to be the lone believer.”
“I thought we were supposed to have team spirit,” Randy shot back, but his lips curved into a half smile.
Matt smirked. “We do. Just not blind faith.”
“Yeah,” Evan snorted. “Even Summers didn’t bet on Summers.”
I rolled my eyes. “Appreciate the confidence, boys.”
They ignored me, already squabbling over their winnings—or lack thereof. Mason pointed at Dylan. “Hand it over, Cap. We all put in.”
Dylan's jaw ticked as he reached, visibly reluctant, into his pocket and pulled out his wallet. "Damn it."
I arched my brow at him. "I'd expected you to be the one pissed about me losing because we've just lost the prime practice slots, not because of some stupid bet."
Dylan turned to glare at me. "Shit, you think I ain't mad about that, too?" He grumbled, his jaw working. "But you try betting in 60 bucks only to get less than a quarter of it back, asshole."
I scoffed. "That'll be y'all's fault for betting on her altogether, right?" Dylan narrowed his eyes at me as he shoved a couple of crumpled bills into Mason’s hands. “There. That’s my portion.”
Matt sighed and dug into his own pockets, followed by Logan and Evan. Randy, still muttering about team loyalty, handed over his losing bet with extreme reluctance.
The exchange had barely finished when another voice cut through the noise.
“All right, enough,” Coach Gunner’s gravelly tone brought the room to a standstill. I took a deep breath and held it as our coach stepped into the locker room.
And, sure enough, his eyes were dead set on me. "That was a rather disappointing performance out there, Summers." He said, his voice cold, and the atmosphere in the room dropped even lower, and I could literally feel the entire room hold their breaths.
I didn't say anything to that—I knew for a fact that he wasn't saying it to get a response from me. ‘What's done is done’; that was one of Coach Gunner's principles, so I knew he wasn't trying to nag me for it. But he was aiming for something—I also knew him enough to know that much.
Then he asked the same damn question Hailey had.
“Did you let Baleman win, Summers?”
The silence clicked like a shotgun, and the air shifted, thickened, my teammates waiting for my answer. But I didn’t hesitate.
“No.” I said, and it came out steady. Cold; harder than I intended, an edge I rarely used with Coach.
And maybe just a little bit affronted because I didn't know what was up with everyone thinking that I had ‘let’ Hailey Baleman win.
What, was I supposed to be a better player because I was a guy?
Hailey was the Captain of the Blizzard Belles for a reason, and that was because she was a damn good player on the ice.
Sure, I had strength and size against her, but she'd countered that with her speed so I'd been unable to body check her like I would've done to any other player.
In fact, she'd run goddamn circles around me, and she deserved that win.
What, did I have to explain that, too? I thought not, but it was annoying that Coach even felt the need to ask me that in the first place.
Coach Gunner didn’t look away, didn’t blink, and I held his stare, unwavering.
“I played that match exactly how I play every match: to win,” I said firmly. “She was just better.”
That was true. We'd both played as athletes competing for the slots and I'd lost, fair and square.
Coach gave a sharp nod after another beat. “Good," he said, his expression softening just a smidge. "That is the kind of grit I'd expect from my Captain."
I exhaled, only now realizing how much tension had coiled in my shoulders.
“Now,” Coach continued, addressing the rest of the team, “since we’re sharing ice with the Blizzard Belles, we need to set some ground rules.”
The anticipatory silence that followed his words felt like weights curling around our limbs.
Coach’s gaze flicked over us, ensuring he had our attention. “One: No messing with their equipment, no ‘pranks,’ no bullshit. If I hear about any incidents, you’ll be skating suicides until your legs fall off.”
That killed whatever complaints were forming.
“Two: No fights. I don’t care if someone throws a cheap shot during practice or if a disagreement gets heated—take it outside the rink. I'm not giving any of you the chance to ruin this before it can even take off."
Matt snorted under his breath. “Not sure if they’re the ones we have to worry about.”
Coach heard him. “Three: Show some respect. These aren’t just some girls taking up space in a damn DEI stunt. They’re athletes. Teammates. Act like it.”
That got a few side glances, some shifting feet, but no one objected.
“Are we clear?” Now, Coach was looking me right in the eye, but he pretty much already knew that I didn’t have a problem with any of that.
"Crystal," I answered for the team, nodding once. Because for the next month, I was going to be in Hailey’s orbit. Christmas came so freaking early.
Coach's mouth twisted into what might have been a smile—might have been a grimace, too. "Good." He said and, with that, he turned and left, the locker room eerily silent in the wake of his departure.
“Are we clear?” Logan broke the silence, doing his near perfect imitation of Gunner, his expression hard as flint, and Matt took it up fast.
“Crystal.” He said, affecting a cutesy tone as he mocked the reply I’d given Coach barely up to a minute ago.
I was about to tell the both of them exactly where they could shove their comments when my phone buzzed. My heart nearly stopped.
Hailstorm : Front of the rink. 5 minutes.
I blinked, my grip tightening reflexively around my phone. She wanted to see me ? Now?
Dylan caught the look on my face and smirked. “Oh, what’s this?”
“Nothing.” I pocketed my phone, forcing nonchalance.
“Uh-huh.” He didn’t believe me for a second.
I ignored him, already gathering my stuff. Throwing my bag over my shoulder, I made a beeline for the door.
"Whoa, Liv, where's the fire?" Logan called after me, amusement laced in his voice.
"The man’s sprinting like his life depends on it. Gotta be an emergency to make you run like that,” Matt added, snickering.
“Or,” Mason said, dragging out the word, “ someone . And we all know who would make him drop everything the second she breathes in his direction."
That earned a round of knowing chuckles from the guys.
I didn’t give them the satisfaction of a reaction. Didn’t even slow down. Just lifted a hand in a lazy wave and threw a quick, “Later, boys,” over my shoulder before pushing through the locker room doors.