Chapter 47
LIVELY
Move, goddamnit! I thought, the waves of panic already crashing and breaking against the borders of my ribcage, but my legs felt as if they’d been screwed into the floor, rigidly locked in place.
Time stretched like taffy, each second an eternity as those whiskey-brown eyes remained fixed on the very obvious evidence of my desire.
My cock, the mutinous fucking thing, seemed to pulse under her stunned attention, growing even harder and straining against the thin cotton like it was trying to reach for her across the space between us.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
“This…This isn’t…” I was stuttering, my brain scrambling with white noise, but there were no words on my tongue to explain this…this situation away.
Because what could I say to explain this?
This isn’t what it looks like? I had no doubt about what it definitely looked like to her: a goddamn pervert who dropped his pants in the middle of a public locker room to beat his meat.
I was at a complete disadvantage right now—I didn’t even have much dignity left to stand on.
I knew I should move; cover myself, grab my discarded gear, do something instead of standing there like a fucking statue. But my limbs refused to cooperate, weighed down by the sheer mortification flooding my system.
Hailey remained frozen in the doorway, her eyes still wide and fixed on the obvious tent in my boxers. The silence between us was excruciating, filled only with the distant hum of the rink’s ventilation system and my own heartbeat pounding in my ears like a war drum.
Get it together, man!
“Can you just—” My voice cracked pathetically. I cleared my throat and tried again, heat spreading across my face like wildfire. “Can you leave?”
The harsh words finally seemed to break the spell.
Her gaze snapped up to my face, color blooming high on her cheeks.
But instead of turning and leaving like any sane person would, she took a step forward and let the door swing shut behind her.
The lock engaged with a metallic snick that seemed to reverberate through my bones.
“We need to talk,” she said, her voice steady despite the flush creeping up her neck.
I barked out a laugh, the sound sharp and brittle in the empty locker room. “Are you serious right now? You want to talk now ?” I arched an incredulous brow, my state of undress and that other matter going on in my underwear no doubt making my case without me having to even say the words.
“Yes. Now.” She insisted, that familiar stubborn set to her jaw appearing. “Because you keep avoiding me—”
“—get out, Baleman.” I growled, cutting her off. The humiliation was quickly morphing into anger—a safer, more familiar emotion. “Get the hell out. Now.”
Her jaw clenched at my demand and, goddamn it, it sent another jolt of electricity straight to my groin, and I had to bite back a groan as my cock twitched visibly against the fabric. Her eyes tracked the movement, and I swear I saw her tongue dart out to wet her bottom lip.
Fuck.
I needed her gone before I lost whatever minuscule morsel that remained of my dignity. This wasn’t how I’d envisioned her ever seeing me after the shit I’d pulled last night, with that kiss. And the fact that this was happening right now only made it even more humiliating .
She didn’t move, though. Didn't even flinch at the venom in my tone. “No,” she said simply, her voice steady even as that titillating flush continued to creep down her neck like spilled wine.
Was she really doing this right now? Of all times she could choose to be stubborn.
“I told you. We need to talk.”
Talk . The word ricocheted through my skull like a bullet, caroming off every fear I'd been nursing since last night. Because talking meant explanations. Talking meant having to face everything I’d said and done in that hospital corridor, everything that had happened last night.
Talking meant hearing her inevitable rejection dressed up in kind words that would flay me alive.
Already, panic was ricocheting through my nervous system, but I forced my expression to remain as stoic as I could make it.
“There’s nothing to talk about,” I said, forcing my panic back down before it could bubble out of my throat. "Just— fuck —just leave me alone, Hailey. Please."
But she stepped forward again, cutting off my retreat, her jaw set in that stubborn line I'd memorized from across several hockey games. "No. You don't get to say what you said last night…do what you did , and then just run away."
Run away . What I did . She really wasn’t going to let it go, that fact that I’d kissed her like that. Shit, shit. The accusation stung because it was true, but what the hell else was I supposed to do? What the fuck else did she want from me?
"I don't want to hear it," I said, my voice cracking on the words like I was going through puberty all over again. "Whatever you came here to say, I don't want to hear it."
Her eyebrows shot up, surprise flickering across her features. "You don't even know what I'm going to say."
“Don't I?” The laugh that escaped me was bitter, hollow, scraped from the deepest parts of my chest. “Let me guess. You're sorry about…last night. But you don’t see me that way. It’s best we both just forget it happened.” Each word felt like swallowing glass, sharp and cutting on the way down. “Did I miss anything?”
“What the…? You're impossible,” she growled, her eyes flashing. “I’m trying to have a serious conversation with you, and you're being—”
“Being what?” I challenged, brow arched. “A jerk? A pervert? Go ahead, say it. You've never had a problem telling me exactly what you think of me before.”
Something flashed in her eyes—anger, maybe, or frustration. “You’re such an asshole,” she said, and I clenched my fists so hard my nails broke the skin of my palms.
Because I have to be. “Yeah, tell me something I don’t know,” I said, wrestling with the savage want in my chest that threatened to shred my chest to pieces at the words coming out of my mouth.
“Now, if you don’t mind, I need to hop in the shower.
Unless you’re open to watching me strip completely? ”
She even had the audacity to blow out a frustrated breath. “None of that was a conversation, you know. And I’m not leaving until we talk.” She said.
“Christ, Hailey,” I groaned, frustration evident in every syllable. “Can't this wait until I’m not standing here in my fucking underwear?” And about to poke your eye out with my goddamn boner?
“No.” A vehement refusal, despite the new bloom of red that spreads across her face. “Because I know you’ll just run away again.”
“Damn it, Hailey.” I scoffed, running my fingers through my hair. This was fucking crazy. She was crazy. “So, what, you’re just going to stand there like a pervert watching me strip?”
Hailey scoffed in response, folding her arms. “You’re the one with a boner.”
“Oh?” My brow shot up on my forehead, and I pushed off the lockers, even as a plan formed in my mind. If she was determined to stay, I’d give her a reason to run. I’d cross the line so completely that she’d have no choice but to leave on her own.
The plan was despicable, a betrayal of everything I'd tried to show her over the past two years. But desperation had a way of making terrible ideas seem like the only option.
I reached for my mask of cocky arrogance, the one I'd perfected over years of hiding behind charm. It slid into place with practiced ease, my lips curving into a smirk that didn't reach my eyes.
“Do you like what you see, Hailstorm?” The nickname rolled off my tongue deliberately, designed to provoke. I stalked toward her, movements predatory, ignoring the voice in my head screaming that this was a terrible idea. “Is that it?”
Her gaze dropped briefly before snapping back up to my face, her throat working as she swallowed. I could see the struggle playing out across her features—the effort it took to keep her eyes level with mine.
I stepped closer, invading her personal space like I’d done countless times before, only this time there was an edge of desperation to it, practically vibrating under my skin.
And even though my advance herded her rigid form against the lockers, she didn’t back away.
Even though I could see the slight trembling in her shoulders.
“What are you talking—?” She started to say and I chuckled.
“Wanna know a secret?” I asked, my pulse skittering at the base of my neck, “Watching you on ice always makes me fucking hard as rock.” I watched her expression, and the way her eyes widened at the words coming out of my mouth, “Especially during our mixed scrimmages. You don’t know how many cold showers I’ve had to take because of you. ”
What the hell are you doing right now? This was a panicked scream inside my mind, my brain trying to stop me from ruining this relationship I’d struggled for two years to build. But I didn’t have the time to dwell on it because I caught her sharp intake of breath, her eyes shaking inside her skull.
Her hands clenched into fists at her sides, jaw tight with the effort of maintaining eye contact, but she didn't back down. Didn’t step away even as I invaded her personal space with the casual arrogance that had always pissed her off.
No, instead, that damn sexy flush of red bloomed a deeper shade across her cheeks and I got to watch, in real time, as it spread towards the tips of her ears.
Dangerous. This was getting really dangerous. But I couldn’t stop the words from coming out of my mouth now.
“What, does the fact that I get hard playing you on the ice excite you?” A deliberate taunt, couched within a tone smoothened with practiced charm.
“It obviously excites you .” She snapped back, her eyes flashing with cold fire, the staccato flutter of her pulse at the base of her neck a silent tell of the crack in her mask of bravado.