6. Dax #2
"Can we stop pretending this doesn't matter?" I ask, my voice rougher than I intended. "Because it's killing me."
She turns to face me, and the expression in her hazel eyes makes my chest tight. "What are you asking?"
"I'm asking if we can talk. Really talk. About what happened in Vegas. About what's happening now."
For a long moment, she just stares at me. I can see the war happening behind her eyes—professional Tessa battling with the woman who married a stranger in Vegas.
Finally, she slides her key card through the reader and pushes her door open.
"Come in," she says quietly. "But just to talk."
I follow her into the room, which is identical to mine except for the feminine touches—her blazer draped carefully over the chair, her laptop open on the desk, the faint scent of her perfume in the air.
She sits on the edge of the bed, leaving space between us, and I take the chair by the window. The distance feels both necessary and torturous.
"I can't stop thinking about you," I say, because apparently I've decided honesty is the best policy. "About that night. About the way you felt in my arms."
"Dax—"
"I dream about you." The words tumble out before I can stop them. "Every night since you left. I wake up expecting to find you there, and when you're not, it feels like losing you all over again."
She's staring at her hands, twisting that ring finger in the nervous habit I've memorized. "This is exactly what we said we wouldn't do."
"I know. But I'm going crazy pretending I don't know what you look like when you come. Pretending I don't remember how you taste. Pretending it was just a hookup. When we both know it was never just that."
Her breath catches, and when she looks up at me, her eyes are gold. "We can't do this."
"Why not?"
"Because I can't lose another job. Because Harrison will fire us both. Because?—"
"Because you're scared," I interrupt gently.
"Of course I'm scared!" She stands up abruptly, pacing to the window. "I'm terrified. This job is everything to me. It's my chance to rebuild my career, and I can't—I won't—let attraction ruin that."
"This isn't just attraction, though, is it?"
She spins around to face me. "What is it then?"
"I don't know." I run both hands through my hair, frustrated. "That's what's driving me insane. I've never... Look, I don't do relationships, okay? I don't get attached. But with you..." I trail off, searching for words.
"With me what?"
"With you, I can't think straight. I've been a mess since Vegas. Jamie thinks I'm having some kind of breakdown because he walked in on me folding the same shirt for twenty minutes. My mom called him to ask if I'm seeing someone because apparently I sound different on the phone."
She stares at me. "You sound different?"
"Happier, she said. More like myself." I laugh, but there's no humor in it. "Which is fucked up because I don't even know who that is anymore."
"Dax—"
"You want to know what I think this is? I think Vegas wasn't a random accident. I think we both felt something very real , and I think we both recognized something in each other that night."
"Like what?"
"Like... like we're both really good at being alone. Really good at protecting ourselves. But maybe we don't want to be good at that anymore."
She's quiet for a long moment, her arms wrapped around herself. "That scares the hell out of me."
"Me too. You think I'm not terrified? I haven't introduced anyone to my family in three years.
I don't let people get close because everyone leaves eventually.
But you..." I shake my head. "I keep thinking about what you said that night.
About how you've been taking care of yourself since you were a kid. "
"Because I had to."
"I know. Just like I had to step up when my dad left. We're both so used to being the responsible one, the one who keeps it together." I take a step closer. "But what if we didn't have to do that alone anymore?"
"People don't just stop being who they are, Dax."
"No, but maybe they can be who they are with someone else. Maybe that's what makes it worth the risk."
She lets out a shaky breath. "You know what the worst part about Seattle was? It wasn't even the harassment or losing my job. It was how stupid I felt for thinking someone actually saw me as more than just... a conquest or a problem to be managed."
"That's not what this is."
"How do I know that? How do I know you won't wake up in a few weeks and realize I'm just another complication in your perfectly organized life?"
"Because my life isn't perfectly organized.
It's a fucking disaster held together by hockey and stubbornness.
" I laugh, and this time it's real. "You want to know what I did after you left Vegas?
I called every hotel on the strip trying to find you.
Then I sat in that room for six hours waiting to see if you'd come back. "
Her eyes widen. "You did?"
"Yeah. Then I went home and proceeded to drive Jamie insane by reorganizing everything we own while refusing to explain why I was acting like a lunatic."
"I threw up twice on the plane home," she admits quietly. "Not from drinking. From panic. Because I'd never felt anything like what I felt with you, and it terrified me."
"What did you feel?"
"Safe. For the first time in my life, I felt completely safe with someone." She wipes at her eyes. "And that felt more dangerous than anything Marcus Williams ever did to me."
"Why?"
"Because when someone hurts you, you can categorize that. File it away, learn from it, build better boundaries. But when someone makes you feel safe? When they make you want things you've convinced yourself you don't need?" She shakes her head. "There's no defense against that."
"Maybe you don't need a defense."
“Defenses are what keep you from shattering when someone doesn’t stay.”
"Okay, but what if... what if we're each other's safe place instead of each other's threat?"
"That's not how it works. People aren't safe places. People leave, or die, or decide you're too much work?—"
"Hey." I take another step closer. "Is that what you think? That you're too much work?"
"I am too much work. I have anxiety attacks over making decisions.
I overthink everything. I make lists and then ignore them.
I talk to myself when I'm stressed, which is constantly.
I haven't been in a relationship in three years because I'm too scared to let anyone close enough to see how much of a mess I actually am. "
"You think I'm not a mess? I read Nietzsche before games because it's the only thing that shuts up the voice in my head telling me I'm going to fuck up.
I send my mom money every month because I'm terrified that if I don't take care of everyone, they'll leave like my dad did.
I've never told anyone I love them because I'm convinced if I say it out loud, they'll disappear. "
We're standing close enough now that I can see the flecks of green in her eyes.
"So yeah," I continue, "we're both messes. But maybe we're compatible messes."
"That's not a basis for a relationship."
"Isn't it, though? Understanding each other's crazy? Actually liking each other's crazy?"
"This is insane."
"Completely."
"We could both lose everything."
"We could. Or we could figure out how to have something real without destroying our careers."
"How?"
"I don't know. We're both smart people, we figure it out as we go.
" I reach up tentatively, and when she doesn't pull away, I cup her face gently.
"Look, I don't have all the answers. I don't know how to do this any more than you do.
But I know I'd rather try and fail with you than succeed at anything without you. "
"That's terrifying."
"Good terrifying or bad terrifying?"
"Both." She leans into my touch slightly. "If we do this—if we try this—I need you to understand that I'm going to freak out. Probably multiple times. I'm going to overthink everything and assume the worst and probably try to sabotage it before you can hurt me."
"Okay."
"That's it? Just okay?"
"Tessa, I once punched a teammate because he borrowed my stick without asking. I have control issues that would make a therapist rich. I'm probably going to be possessive and overprotective and weird about sharing you with anyone, even professionally."
"So we're both going to be disasters."
"Epic disasters."
"And we're still going to try this?"
"I want to. Do you?"
She's quiet for so long I think she's going to say no. Then: "I want to. I'm terrified, but I want to."
"So what do we do?"
"We set rules. Clear boundaries about work. We figure out how to do this without compromising either of our careers."
"And if Harrison finds out?"
"Then we deal with it. Together. Not me cleaning up your mess or you protecting fragile little me. Together, as equals."
"I can do that."
"Can you? Because I need to know that if this goes south, you won't throw me under the bus to save your career."
"Tessa." I wait until she meets my eyes. "If it comes down to choosing between hockey and you, I choose you. Every time."
"Don't say that unless you mean it."
"I mean it."
"You don't know me well enough to mean it."
"Maybe not. But I know enough to want to know everything else."
She searches my face. "And the annulment?"
"We get it. Start fresh. Do this the right way."
"What's the right way?"
"However we want it to be. Secret for now, public when we're ready. Fast or slow, your choice."
"My choice?"
"Your choice. Your timeline. Your comfort level."
She reaches up and cups my face in her hands, her thumbs brushing over my cheekbones. "What I want and what I need are two very different things."
"What do you want right now?" I ask, leaning into her touch.
"I want you to kiss me like you did in Vegas. I want to remember what it feels like to be wanted instead of being a problem to be solved."
That's all the invitation I need.
But instead of crushing my mouth to hers like every instinct is screaming at me to do, I move slowly. Deliberately. My hands slide into her hair, and I can feel her pulse racing under my thumbs as I tilt her head back.
"I've been thinking about this," I murmur, my lips barely grazing her temple, "every damn second since Vegas."
She shivers, her hands fisting in my shirt. "Dax..."
"The way you taste," I continue, pressing a feather-light kiss to her cheekbone. "The sounds you make when I touch you here." My mouth finds that sensitive spot just below her ear, and she gasps.
"Oh God."
"The way you said my name when you came apart in my arms." I trail kisses down her throat, taking my time, savoring every inch of soft skin. When I reach her collarbone, I pause, my breath hot against her skin.
"Please," she whispers, and the desperate edge in her voice nearly breaks my control.
I press my lips to her collarbone, kissing along the delicate line of bone, and she arches against me with a soft moan that goes straight to my cock. Her skin is soft and warm and tastes faintly of that perfume that's been haunting my dreams.
"You're so beautiful," I breathe against her throat, my tongue tracing the hollow at the base of her neck. "So fucking perfect."
Her nails dig into my shoulders through my shirt, and when I suck gently at the spot where her neck meets her shoulder, her knees actually buckle. I catch her against me, steadying her with my hands on her waist.
"I can't... I can't think when you do that," she pants, her head falling back to give me better access.
"Good. Don't think. Just feel."
I work my way back up her throat with deliberate slowness, placing open-mouthed kisses along her jawline while she trembles against me. By the time I reach the corner of her mouth, we're both breathing hard, and I can feel the rapid flutter of her pulse against my lips.
"Dax," she says, and my name on her lips is like a prayer and a demand all at once.
I pull back just enough to look at her. Her eyes are gold and unfocused, her lips parted, her chest rising and falling rapidly. She looks like she's already been thoroughly kissed, and I haven't even touched her mouth yet.
"Tell me you want this," I say, my thumb tracing the line of her bottom lip.
"I want this. I want you."
Finally, finally, I cover her mouth with mine. The kiss is soft at first, almost reverent, but when she opens for me with a soft sigh, everything changes. Three days of wanting and pretending and trying to be professional explodes between us like a dam bursting.
She tastes like wine and want and everything I've been craving. Her tongue meets mine, and the heat of her mouth makes me groan against her lips. My hands slide down to her waist, pulling her flush against me, and when she feels how hard I am, she makes a sound that's half gasp, half moan.
"Fuck," I breathe against her mouth, backing her toward the wall. "I missed this. Missed you."
"Me too," she pants, her hands sliding under my shirt to map the muscles of my back. "God, me too."
I pin her against the wall with my body, one hand tangled in her hair, the other gripping her hip as I kiss her deeper. She responds immediately, her body molding against mine like we were made to fit together. When she nips at my bottom lip, I lose what's left of my control and grind against her.
"Tessa," I groan, my mouth moving to her throat again. "I want?—"
"Show me," she whispers, voice trembling with need.
My hand slides up her side, my thumb brushing the underside of her breast through her blouse, and she arches into the touch with a soft cry. I'm reaching for the buttons of her shirt when?—
"Dax! You in there, man?" Jamie's voice carries through the wall.
Fuck.
Tessa and I stare at each other in horror.