Chapter 4
Four
Colt
A goal, an assist, and a win all while hyperaware of the woman watching—hopefully—from above.
Then press and working my way through my cooldown routine.
A check in with the training staff.
My post-game meal of chocolate milk and a slice of pepperoni pizza with hot honey.
(A man has needs and oftentimes those needs are fulfilled with pizza topped with hot honey).
But, pizza or not, nothing is as good as the soft laughter fluttering through the hallways.
My footsteps slow, gaze drifting to the right and clinging to Kylie’s face.
Her smile…fuck, but it’s beautiful.
Then my eyes skate down her body and fuck, but that’s beautiful too.
Curved exactly as I like—breasts that will overflow my hands, hips that lead to a lush ass I want to kiss and stroke and bite.
I’ve fantasized about her so damned much I can picture it.
How I’ll stroke her. How I’ll kiss her.
How I’ll fuck her.
If I can ever get her to really look at me, talk to me, touch me.
If she’s not scared of me.
If she sees me—
Damon’s phone rings and he looks down with a curse, hand shoving into his pocket. He scowls when he pulls it out and looks at the screen, says something to Kylie. She nods and then he’s gone, disappearing around the corner.
Leaving us alone in the hallway.
Not that she’s noticed me.
Except, even as that thought crosses my brain, her head comes up, eyes connecting with mine.
Hey, gorgeous.
She jerks, as though she’s heard those words sliding through my mind, her gaze tearing away from mine, her shoulders hunching up.
Tense.
Nervous.
Of me? Or of what she feels?
Maybe I should turn around, finish getting changed, and go home to my empty house.
But I don’t.
Instead, I move carefully down the hall, stopping a couple of feet away, leaning back on the opposite wall.
Giving her plenty of space to escape.
But, God, I hope she doesn’t want to.
“Hey,” I say when she doesn’t look at me.
A flash of blue eyes that are so fucking beautiful they take my breath away. “Hey,” she murmurs back.
And…silence.
A million things pass through my mind in an instant—questions to ask, statements to break the quiet that’s fallen between us, poetry to recite—and instead, what comes out is…
“Do you like hot dogs?”
Okay.
Seriously. What the fuck, Madden?
This is charming?
It’s fucking inane.
Kylie goes still.
Then her head lifts again, tilting slightly to the side as her eyes come back to mine…and hold.
And inane or not, the blurted-out question gives me this—
A glimpse of the bright, mischievous woman beneath the shy.
“Hot dogs?” she asks, eyes sparkling.
I feel like the biggest idiot on the planet…and also like I’m hoisting the Cup again.
At the same time.
“Yeah,” I say, doubling down because at this point I have no choice but to double down. “Hot dogs.”
Her lips twitch. “I’ve been around locker rooms far too much to take that bait, Colt.”
I grin. “Yeah?”
“Yes.” A beat. “Definitely.”
“Well, maybe it was just an innocent question about the only meal I know how to cook,” I counter.
“Liar.”
I lift my eyebrows.
“You made lasagna the last time you hosted Game Night.”
“I didn’t think you ate any.”
It had been the first and only time I hosted—mostly because Kylie had come but had seemed so uncomfortable in my space, I made it so I wasn’t free to host since.
(Turns out my house has a lot of leaks. And termites. And appliances breaking down.)
“It was so good I snuck an extra slice into a Tupperware I had in my purse.”
“You carry Tupperware in your purse?”
A delicate shoulder lifts and falls in a shrug and she giggles. “Maybe.”
Beautiful.
So fucking beautiful.
Then she pushes off the wall.
I hold my breath as she comes close.
Five feet away. Three. One.
Her hand lifts toward my face and still, I don’t breathe, don’t speak, don’t dare to move as her fingertips come closer.
Closer.
Touch.
Everything inside me lights up—joy and yearning and feeling alive for the first time in a long time…maybe the first time ever.
Because Kylie is touching me.
Her hand skates over my jaw, fingers gently trailing along the stubble there, and—
She pulls back, pointer finger and thumb pinched together.
“I don’t think glitter goes with your outfit,” she teases, holding up the sparkling speck.
My heart is pounding like I’ve just sprinted across the ice, trying desperately to catch up with some fucker on the other team. “Must have been from the kids earlier.”
She brushes her hand on her pants, leaving that speck there, and though I’m tempted—so fucking tempted—to touch her with the excuse of removing that fleck from her jeans—I remain in place. “I met them with Damon,” she says softly. “They were adorable.”
I think of the kids with their beanies and face paint (and glitter), and grin.
“Yeah, they were definitely that.”
Like someone else I know.
Her eyes flare and I know I’ve given away too much.
“Well,” she whispers, stepping back. “I’m sure you’re tired.” Her gaze slides away, shy creeping back up and over her. “I’ll let you get out of here.”
I reach forward and snag her wrist, staying her when she would have walked away. “Kylie.”
Blue eyes on mine. Lips parting on a shaky exhale. Her body drifts toward mine and for one hopeful heartbeat, I think this might be the moment.
But it’s gone a heartbeat later, lost in Damon’s terse “Goodbye,” that echoes around the corner, in reality intruding on this moment.
When she tugs at my hold, I immediately let her go.
Never do I want to see fear in those gorgeous eyes when she looks at me.
“Goodnight, Colt,” she murmurs.
“Night, Kylie,” I murmur back, watching as she starts down the hall, soaking up the sight of her face when she glances back over her shoulder at me.
Because there’s warmth there.
And hope.
And maybe, just fucking maybe, the barest hint of the same need I feel when I look at her.
And maybe that need is why I slip out into the parking lot, crouch near her car, and slowly let the air out of her tire again.
Or maybe I do it for a totally different reason altogether.
One that means…
Everything is going to change.