Chapter 6 Oliver
Oliver
The locker room vibrates with post-practice energy as showers hiss in the background, skate blades clatter into stalls, and steam curls off the tile as it mixes with the tang of sweat and soap.
Zane plants himself in the center of it all with nothing more than a white towel slung around his hips. “I don’t want any of you to feel bad when I go for double what you clowns pull in at the auction,” he announces. “Everyone around here knows I’m the main attraction.”
Knox looks up just long enough to snort. “Buddy, the only thing you’re headlining is a cautionary tale.”
Laiken doesn’t bother glancing his way. “It must be exhausting to be that arrogant and that wrong.”
Steele towels off, water spraying the tile as he shakes out his hair. “You should really think about hydrating, Holloway. You’re losing a lot of electrolytes running your mouth so much.”
Zane grins, completely unfazed, while laughter and more jabs ripple through the room.
As tempting as it is to unload on him, I bite back the comment that’s poised on the tip of my tongue.
I don’t have the patience for him today.
My head’s still buzzing from what happened this morning with Rina.
I can’t stop thinking about the way her body melted under my hands or the sexy little sounds she made before they turned desperate. And then, like always, the second I gave her what she wanted, she slammed the door shut on me.
My body might be outwardly calm, but my head’s a war zone.
Two months.
That’s how long she’s been trying to convince herself this is nothing more than sex.
But I know better. Every damn time I touch her, the line she drew between us disappears.
That has to mean something.
“Yo, River.” Jax drops onto the bench, shirt halfway over his head. “Sloane’s gonna be at the auction, right? I’m like, asking for a friend.”
River doesn’t even blink. “Your friend should know she’d eat him alive.”
Jax grins as he yanks the shirt down. “Good thing he likes being devoured.”
Knox mutters, “How about restraining orders? Does he like those too?”
Laughter rings throughout the room as Jax flips him off with a grin. I have to admit the guy’s been good energy for the team.
Laiken leans back against his stall. “What about you, Van Doren? Are you bringing a date to this mandatory shindig?”
“Nope.” I pull my phone out of my bag and glance at the screen.
Zane smirks. “He’s bringing his prayers. Cuz he’ll need ’em to pull half of what I do.”
I ignore him and focus on the keyboard.
Me: Have I mentioned how much I like the taste of you on my lips?
No reply.
No bubbles.
There’s absolutely nothing.
Even though I should wait, I don’t.
Can’t.
My thumbs get twitchy.
Me: Next time, I’m not stopping until you scream my name. And I don’t give a damn who hears.
Send.
I lean back and wait as a smile tugs at the corners of my mouth. She’s probably in her office, shifting in her chair, trying not to think about me.
Seconds crawl by.
Steele drops onto the bench across from me. “What’s with the creepy grin, Van Doren?”
I school my expression. “Nothing.”
“Uh-huh.” Jax cranes his neck, trying to peek at my screen. “Who are you sexting? Please don’t tell me it’s Gabby. That girl’s probably already named her next yacht after you.”
“Fuck no,” I blurt.
Knox grabs his sweatshirt, casual as ever. “Then who is it?”
I let the silence stretch before saying, “None of your damn business. That’s who.”
Zane laughs. “Translation—dry spell.”
River fires back. “Translation—you’re projecting.”
“Please, we all know that’s not true.” Zane lifts his hands, palms out. “I can still pull all the pussy I want. What can I say? I’m just built different.”
Laiken mutters, “Gigi is one hell of a lucky lady.”
“That’s exactly what I keep telling her,” Zane shoots back, smug as hell.
Even though laughter bounces off the lockers, I tune it out and stare at the screen, willing a message to pop up.
But there’s nothing.
The irritation that hits isn’t just about the silence.
It’s about her.
That woman is in my head even when she’s not talking to me. Every part of my day tilts toward her, whether I want it to or not.
Unable to help myself, I scroll through our previous thread of messages. Her replies are always short and to the point. While mine are constantly pushing the boundaries of our relationship.
She thinks that keeping me at a distance gives her more control.
The woman couldn’t be more wrong.
Especially when she’s already in my blood. And no matter how many times she tries to walk away, I know I’m in hers.
Steele slides into his shoes before rising to his feet. “Remember, the auction’s for the kids. Let’s keep our focus on that.”
Zane shrugs. “Just saying, Cap—no one’s gonna bring in more money than me. Those kids need to be thanking me at the end of the day.”
Knox mutters, “Jesus, you really need to get over yourself.”
Jax grabs his bag. “Hey, let’s get a poker night on the books. I need some easy wins.”
When I flick him a look, he grins. The guy’s all sunshine and rainbows. It irritated me at first, but I’ll admit—he’s grown on me.
The showers cut off one by one, and the steam fades as the room starts to empty.
What I need is for Rina to text me back.
I can take a fight. What I can’t take is her silence.
My phone buzzes, and a brief surge of excitement rises in me, then falls flat.
Hayes: How’s auction prep? Mom says don’t do anything stupid.
Me: Define stupid.
Hayes: The kind that ends up on TMZ.
I huff a laugh and type back.
Me: I’m not the one you need to worry about.
He sends the eyeroll emoji.
The guy knows me too well.
Me: Have you heard from Kia? She’s not responding to my texts.
Hayes: I’ll give her a call and see what’s going on.
With my brotherly duty taken care of, I pocket the phone, yank on my hoodie, and head out. Zane’s still yapping behind me, loud as ever. The guy needs to stuff a sock in his mouth before someone does it for him.
“You boys can thank me later when I break the record. It’ll be great press for the show,” he says before tacking on, “and the team, obviously.”
“Here’s an idea—maybe you should consider quitting hockey and focusing all your attention on your little reality show,” I toss over my shoulder.
A chorus of oofs and laughter follows me down the hall.
The temperature outside the arena is cooler, tinged with that pre-winter bite of November. It cuts through the heat that simmers low inside me but doesn’t come close to touching what’s eating me alive.
Once I reach my car, I pull out my phone and fire off a few more messages before I can talk myself out of it. Then I shove the device back into my pocket. I want her to read them and remember the way my hands felt on her skin this morning.
How easily she came apart in my arms.
More than anything, I want her to think about me just as much as I think about her.
Is that even possible?