Chapter 14
Sebastian
Despite our unforgettable kiss on my birthday, or the heated moment we’d shared at Thanksgiving, Grace was still in the denial stage of her feelings.
There was no other explanation for the lengths to which she went to avoid me.
It wasn’t entirely unexpected, not considering our past, but that didn’t assuage my frustration.
And after a week of catching glimpses of her retreating form around DuLane, and seeing her flee from the lunch table the moment I sat down, I was ready to make her pay.
If I had to suffer in my wanting for Grace, she’d have to suffer in her wanting for me.
My plan to ambush Grace on common ground was simple, though it required me to roll out of bed even earlier than I preferred, which was saying a lot.
The girl was relentless when it came to training, which, rather annoyingly, was only more of a turn-on.
Until meeting her, I’d never known anyone who dedicated as much time to hockey as I did.
Feeling more determined than ever, I arrived at the empty training facility with a skip in my step.
When I reached the weight room, I settled onto a machine along the back wall and waited.
It gave me a perfect view of the entrance, and I didn’t have to wait long.
Grace arrived ten minutes later, her steps featherlight as she slipped through the door.
I could hear the faint sound of music pouring from the wireless headphones perched over her ears.
Silently, I watched her approach the row of stationary bikes and settle onto one.
This is going to be fun. If there was anything I’d learned from the past few months, it was that Grace looked incredibly sexy when I got her all worked up.
Her head whipped around as I slid onto the bike beside her.
“What do you want?” she asked, pulling her headphones down to sit around her neck.
“It’s bold of you to assume I want anything other than a warm-up.”
She glanced at the empty row of bikes before returning her gaze to me, eyes narrowed in a look of suspicion. “Do you need to use the bike directly next to me?”
“This is my favorite one. I never have to adjust the seat height.”
“Move.”
I smirked. “What are you going to do if I don’t? Push me off?”
The horrified look on her face was more gratifying than I could have imagined.
She could pretend that our kiss meant nothing, but I wasn’t going to let her forget about it.
Grace looked away ashamedly and, without another word, slipped on her headphones and resumed her warm-up.
The entire time, I remained on the bike beside her, allowing my gaze to stray over the length of her body.
I knew she could feel my eyes on her, and I took pleasure in the way her cheeks grew warm under my attention.
She finally slowed to a stop fifteen minutes later, abandoning the bike station after a long chug of water.
I considered the possibility that Grace was about to flee the scene, but I had a feeling her pride would win out.
As expected, I was right. There was a stubborn set to her shoulders as she laid out a mat in the stretching zone.
“What do you want, Sebastian? Why are you following me around?” she asked when I approached.
“I figured I ought to check out your training regimen, given our little competition.”
Grace shot me a look of exasperation as I plopped down beside her.
“And,” I said, shifting to face her head-on, “I wanted to figure out why you were avoiding me. We are, after all . . . what did you call it again? Oh yes—fracquaintances.”
“Not my best moment,” she huffed. “And I’m not avoiding you. Some people just aren’t meant to be friends.”
Grace was right about one thing. We were never going to be friends. It would have to be more than that, for me. And based on her disappearing act, I was confident she felt the same. What other reason would she have to avoid me?
“Then join me for my lifting session. If you’re not avoiding me, that is.”
Grace bit her bottom lip in consideration. The sight made me want to lean over and claim her mouth for a second time.
“I’m working on mobility today,” she said.
“Perfect, I really need to loosen up.” When I saw how unimpressed she was with my words, I added, “Give me a chance to show you that I’m not the same asshole you met in September.”
Damn, I sounded desperate, but I was past the point of caring.
“Fine,” she relented, though she didn’t sound happy about it. “Just this once.”
I flashed her a broad smile. “Tell me where you want me.”
She only arched an eyebrow in response, but I could see the telltale signs of a blush in the heat that crept up her neck. Good, I thought. I wanted her mind deep in the gutter beside mine. If we were both there, I’d feel less alone.
Grace grabbed another mat from the back wall and passed it over. I laid it alongside hers, leaving just a sliver of space between them.
“Let’s start with ankle gliders,” she instructed, settling onto her right knee.
I mirrored her position, one knee down and one leg bent at a ninety-degree angle.
Slowly, we shifted forward, extending our knees over our toes before returning to the starting position.
After eight reps on one ankle, we switched to the other.
The entire time, I followed Grace’s slow breathing cadence, in through my nose and out through my mouth.
My eyes lingered along the muscles in her calves and quads, entranced by the way they pulled tight and flexed with each of her movements.
“Do you always come in before practice to work out?”
She shook her head. “I prefer to split things up by morning and evening, but I’ve been swamped with schoolwork lately. I need as much time as I can get after classes to catch up.”
“So very studious,” I teased.
“The same could be said for you, Evans,” she said, glancing at me from the corner of her eye. “I’ve seen you in the library more than most athletes.”
“I can assure you I’m not the studious type. I didn’t even plan to finish school originally. But I need to keep my grades up to stay on the team,” I admitted.
“You were drafted by Detroit, right?”
I nodded my head. “They wanted me to get some experience in the NCAA before signing a pro contract. I figured it would happen after sophomore year, but . . .” I trailed off, my throat tightening.
“But you tore your ACL,” she finished.
“And a few other things in the knee region, but my ACL was a mess.” I looked down at the long scar that stretched across my knee as if to remind myself that it was all in the past.
“What about you?”
“What about me?” She sounded exasperated, as if she’d been expecting the question all along and was unwilling to answer.
Okay. Maybe I needed to be more specific. “Have you ever considered going pro?”
Grace had more than enough talent to pursue a proffesional career in hockey.
Not only were her skating and stickhandling skills remarkable, but she made quick, intelligent decisions on the ice.
That’s what made a great player—the choices they made in high-impact moments.
Grace paused at the bottom of her Cossack squat as she considered my question.
I was impressed by the depth of her stretch.
Most hockey players had chronically tight hip flexors, but she was only a few inches from the floor.
The sight brought forth a myriad of dirty thoughts.
“I love hockey,” she stated, pushing up and then settling down to stretch out her opposite hip, “and at one point, I considered playing professionally. But I want to go to grad school. I just finished submitting my applications for my master’s degree.”
I’d never admit it, but a small part of me itched for the chance to do the same—to leave hockey behind and never look back.
I often wondered what my life would be like without it, but my love for the sport always won out.
It was entrenched into everything that made me who I was.
I couldn’t let go. I couldn’t let him down.
“What kind of programs did you apply for?”
“Social work. There’s an amazing program at the University of Chicago, but it’s nearly impossible to get into. I want to stay as close to home as possible.”
It came as no surprise to learn that Grace was interested in a career that involved helping other people. The girl was annoyingly selfless. After all, the terms of our bet provided no direct benefit to her. Any money donated to the women’s program would only impact future hockey players.
“But I could see myself coaching in the future. I like kids,” she added.
Nothing could stop the flood of naughty images—ones featuring Grace on the ice dressed in a sexy teacher outfit, with knee-high socks and a long pointer stick.
It was impossible not to think of all the ways I wanted to fuck her.
Maybe if we slept together, I wouldn’t feel so strung out over the girl.
Who was I kidding? Grace wasn’t the type of girl you fucked out of your system.
She was the girl who became even harder to forget once you finally got a taste.
This past week had been proof enough of that.
“What’s that look for?” she asked. “Your eyes glazed over for a second. Am I boring you?”
“You’re not boring me.” Trust me, I wanted to say, but I was confident that she’d laugh at the suggestion.
Grace switched to a new stretch, lying down on the mat with her back to the ground. She lifted her knee at a ninety-degree angle and folded it over the opposite side of her body. As she settled into the stretch, she focused on keeping her shoulders flush to the mat.
“You’re avoiding the question, Sebastian. Tell me what you were thinking.”
Unbelievable. After a week of avoiding my entire existence, Grace was calling me out for dodging a simple question. If anyone was being evasive, it was her, and I was more than happy to prove it.