Chapter 17 Fish
FISH
Four games. Four cities. Four wins.
The road trip is exactly what we needed.
Away from New York, away from the noise, everything is stripped back to what matters.
Hockey. The boys. The ice. I’m playing some of the best hockey of my career, that locked-in feeling where your body knows what to do before your brain catches up.
Three goals, two assists, and Coach is giving me more ice time, which means he trusts what I’m doing out there.
The boys are killing it, too. Felix is back to his sharp, dangerous self.
Evan is a wall. Nelly is making saves that have no business being made.
Sully and Emmett are running the defense like a fortress, and Pierre is scoring goals left, right, and center.
We’re clicking, every line, every unit. This is what a team looks like when everything is working.
Collette is on the road with us. She and the content girls are everywhere, filming, interviewing, getting behind-the-scenes stuff.
We don’t talk about what happened. Not the corridor.
Not the almost-kiss. Not waking up in her bed with her body warm against mine.
I thought things would be awkward, but they’re not.
We just slid back into our normal banter as if we both hit the reset button.
She roasts me after a bad shift, I steal her coffee when she’s not looking, she interviews me with the mini mic, and I give her shit answers on purpose.
It works. Whatever we are, it works. I’m trying not to think too hard about why that scares me.
It’s our fourth game and last night on the road.
We demolish them five to one, and the energy in the locker room afterward is electric.
Music blasting, guys chirping, Bouch spraying water at anyone who walks past. Pierre is grinning, which for Pierre is basically cartwheels.
Nelly is doing some kind of Swedish victory dance that nobody understands, but everybody supports.
“We’re going out,” Sully announces. “Non-negotiable.”
Nobody argues, four wins on the road, flying home in the morning with two days off, we’ve earned this one night of fun.
We find a bar near our hotel, one of those places that’s dark enough that nobody recognizes us and loud enough that nobody cares.
The whole team is there, including Collette and the content girls.
It’s a celebration, and it feels like one.
That loose, giddy energy where everyone is happy and nobody is thinking about the next game because for once there isn’t one tomorrow.
Collette is at the bar with Zara and Marlowe.
She’s already a couple of drinks in, and I can tell by the way she’s laughing louder than usual, head tipping back, hand on Zara’s arm, she’s drunk.
Don’t be concerned, she is with the girls.
So, I have a beer with the boys, talk shit, and let Nelly try to convince me that his Swedish band is better than anything on the American charts.
Bouch is flirting with a woman at the bar.
Evan is nursing his drink in silence. Pierre and Felix are at a table with Sully and Emmett, chirping at each other.
The night passes quickly, the bar gets louder, and the drinks keep flowing.
At some point, Collette ends up near our group, and she’s drunk.
Not messy but loose, eyes bright, that grin that takes up her whole face.
She’s telling a story about something that happened.
Bouch is cracking up, and she’s animated, hands everywhere, and I’m watching her intently without meaning to.
Evan elbows me, which means I was making it obvious.
“I think I’m done,” she announces to nobody in particular. “I’m going back to the hotel.”
Felix looks over at me. “Fish, walk her to her room?” Pierre has already left.
I still. Is this some kind of setup?
“I think you should go look after her.” Evan pushes me forward.
“Sure,” I say, like it’s nothing.
“I can walk by myself.” Collette pouts at her brother.
“I know, but I don’t want to stress. At least this way I know you’ll get home safely,” Felix explains to her.
“But he’s not ready to go. Fish hasn’t picked a bunny to take home, yet,” she mumbles.
What the hell? Evan raises a brow at me.
“I’m not in the mood tonight,” I tell her.
“You’re always in the mood for bunnies,” she slurs.
Felix is watching our interaction with curiosity.
“Not always. Come on, you’re drunk. Let’s get you home,” I say, placing my arm around her shoulder to help her walk out.
We leave the bar and head back to the hotel.
She’s not stumbling, but she’s leaning into me, her shoulder against my arm, warm and close.
We enter the lobby, and thankfully, none of the team is there to see.
I head to the elevator and press the button.
The doors open instantly, and we step inside.
The doors close, and it’s just us in this small, bright box going up.
She snorts.
“What?” I ask.
Then she starts to giggle, pressing her hand over her mouth, like she has a secret. “This is exactly how my sex dream started,” she confesses.
I still. Did I just hear that right? “Excuse me?”
“My sex dream.” She says it like she’s telling me about the weather. “About you and me, in an elevator. It started just like this.” She continues to laugh.
My mind can’t get over the fact that she is confessing she’s had a sex dream about me. I’ve had loads about her, I just assumed I was alone. My brain short-circuits. “You had a sex dream about me?”
“Mm-hm.” She nods, leaning against the elevator wall, those hazel eyes glassy and completely shameless. “It was really good too.”
“Collette …”
“You were wearing your gray sweats,” she continues, completely unprompted. “And you pushed me against the wall, right here actually.” She pats the elevator wall. “And then you …”
Fuck, my dick is coming to life, and now is not the time. “Okay, I don’t need the details.” I absolutely need the details. Every single one for my spank bank. But I’m not going to ask for them because I am a good person, she is drunk, and her brothers are six floors below us.
“You were so good, Fish.” She sighs like she’s remembering a holiday. “Like, really, really good.”
“Oh, I know. Thank you?”
“But I woke up before the best part.” She pouts. “I was so frustrated.”
“The best part?”
“Before I could see Big Fish.” She gestures vaguely downward. “I’ve been thinking about it all week. It’s very annoying that it was just there and …”
I am going to die in this elevator. My face feels like it’s on fire and my dick is at war with my brain.
She’s telling me she’s been having sex dreams about me and is frustrated she didn’t get to see my dick in them, and I’m supposed to just stand here and be a gentleman about it.
The doors open, thank fuck, to her floor, and I gently take her arm and guide her out.
She leans into me as we walk down the corridor, and she’s still talking.
“I bet you’re incredible in bed. All those Reddit reviews can’t be wrong,” she mumbles.
“Please stop talking. For the love of hockey, please, no more,” I tell her.
“I mean, the outline of your dick is impressive, but sometimes guys with big dicks don’t know how to use them, and that is such a shame.”
“Collette.”
“What?” She looks up at me as if I’m the one with the problem.
We reach her door, thankfully without incident. “We’re here,” I tell her. She stops in front of the door and turns and looks up at me. The drunk haze shifts into something else. Her hand comes up and touches my face, her thumb running along my jaw, just like I did in the corridor.
Shit.
“You have the most beautiful eyes,” she says quietly.
The corridor is empty, and she’s looking at me like I’m the only thing in the world. Her hand is on my face, I can smell her perfume and the tequila on her breath, and every single wall I’ve built is cracking.
“You’re so fucking beautiful, Lettie.” It comes out before I can stop it. Low, honest, there’s nothing cocky about it.
Her eyes widen, then soften, and the next thing I know she grabs my shirt, pulls me down, and kisses me.
Fuck!
Not a peck, not a drunken accident. A real, full, deliberate kiss.
Her mouth is warm and tastes like tequila.
Her hand is still on my face, and I know I should stop this.
I should absolutely stop this. She’s drunk.
This isn’t real. She won’t remember. Except I don’t.
I kiss her back. I kiss her because I’m weak and she’s beautiful, and her lips are soft, and she’s making this sound against my mouth that is going to haunt me for the rest of my life.
My hand finds her waist, pulling her closer, and for five seconds nothing exists except her mouth on mine, her body against me, and the absolute certainty that I am fucked.
She pulls back just enough to whisper. “Come inside.”
Fuck. Um, no. She’s drunk. This isn’t how it happens for us.
“Lettie …”
Laughter erupts from the end of the corridor as a group of people spills out of the elevator, and the sound shatters everything. She blinks, startled, and the moment fractures.
“Shit,” she curses.
I take a step back, giving her space. “You’re home,” I say softly so as not to spook her. “Get some sleep.”
She stares at me for a second, confused, like she’s not sure what just happened, then she nods, fumbles with her key card, and disappears inside.
I stand in the hallway staring at her closed door, my lips still tingling.
My heart is slamming against my ribs. She kissed me.
She kissed me, and I kissed her back. She asked me to come inside, and I said no because it was the right thing to do, and I have never hated the right thing more than I do right now.
In the morning, I’m outside her door with two coffees, this is either brave or stupid, probably both. We need to talk about that kiss. She opens the door looking like death in an oversized hoodie, with a messy bun and sunglasses indoors. “Why are you here?” she says grumpily.
“Morning to you too. I brought you coffee.” I hold it out.
“You’re a saint.” She takes it and drinks like it’s medicine. “I’m so embarrassed,” she declares.
Oh. “About what?” Please don’t say the kiss.
“Getting that drunk. I have no idea how I got home,” she says. Is she for real or playing with me? “That’s scary. I didn’t do anything stupid last night, did I? Oh God. Did I embarrass myself?”
I shake my head, disappointment hitting me. She doesn’t remember. But I do, and now I am stuck in this torture chamber by myself.
“You were fine, just happy and chatty,” I tell her.
She looks relieved. “I just have the sense that I did something regrettable.”
Yeah, you kissed me. “You’re fine. I just wanted to check in and see if you were okay.”
“Thanks. Wait, did you walk me home?” she asks.
“Yeah, Felix asked me to.”
She seems surprised by this. “And you’re positive I didn’t do anything?”
Now is your moment to tell her about the kiss and how you want to do it again, and that you would like to take her out on a date.
But I don’t.
“Nothing. You were giggly the entire way home, and that was it.”
“Right. I guess I can handle that. Thanks again for the coffee, I’ll see you on the plane.”
I nod and make my way back to my hotel room, feeling defeated.