12 - Haven
HAVEN
I should’ve gone earlier.
That was my first thought as I stepped into the hallway, towel on my shoulder, shower caddy braced against my hip. The house was louder than usual tonight. Voices. Laughter. Something crashing down in the kitchen, that no one seemed concerned about.
The bathrooms were probably a disaster. And let’s be honest, they were always a disaster. Between Zack detonating dirty bombs every few hours and a cleaning schedule that was more of a loose suggestion, I’d seen some pretty gnarly shit. Literally.
All except the third-floor bathroom, which Sebastian and I kept pretty much spotless.
That one was ours, unofficially. In stark contrast to the cold, our third floor shower had been reliably predictable. The water was so good in fact, that most times the room became a hot, steamy oasis.
And after the frozen tundra of my third floor bedroom, hot and steamy was good.
I approached the door and found it open, with steam bleeding into the hallway. And just inside—
Grayson.
He stood under the spray, head tipped back, one hand braced on the tile while the other dragged slowly through his hair. He was pushing it back as the water ran down, over his face. His neck. His chest…
The shower curtain was only half open, but I could see more than enough. And though I shouldn’t be looking at all, I also couldn’t stop myself.
I didn’t move. Either my feet were unwilling, or my mind hadn’t ordered them yet.
I didn’t think, either.
I just… watched.
He was broader than I realized; not just built, but actually defined.
Every line of his body was sharpened by the water, his muscles shifting and going tight as he moved.
His shoulders rolled forward and back as he rinsed out the shampoo, water tracking down over his chest, over a stomach that wasn’t just flat, but carved. Controlled.
Like everything else about him.
Grayson didn’t rush; he took his time. He moved with the same quiet confidence he carried on the ice, like he knew exactly what he was doing, and didn’t need to prove anything to anyone.
I hadn’t realized how tightly I was clutching the doorframe until my hand started hurting. My eyes stayed locked on his body though, watching as he dragged his hands downward, over his chest. My heart was beating double-time as they moved lower. Then lower still…
I blinked, but it was too late. I’d been gripping the shower caddy so tightly against my body it actually popped loose! It fell to the floor with a clatter, along with soap, shampoo, conditioner, and the peach-colored loofah I’d taken from my bedroom.
I scrambled quickly, shoving everything back into the caddy as I sensed a shift in the shower. Then I fled to my bedroom, practically running, not caring where I stepped. And of course, the hallway continued betraying my feet, as they somehow managed to find every creaky floorboard.
I slammed the door behind me and dropped my things on the bed. Then I sunk my face into my hands.
Did he see?
Maybe. Maybe not.
And did it really matter? It was only a shower. A guy — showering. Big deal. You’ve been in their locker room for Chrissak—
There wasn’t a knock. There wasn’t even the sound of the door being pushed open.
No, it was a presence that caused me to turn around.
Grayson stood in my doorway. Water still clung to him, droplets streaming down his arms and chest in warm rivulets. A towel hung low on his hips — dangerously low — and it looked to be just barely secured… like it could slip off at any moment, and fall to the ground.
His arms were raised, one hand braced against the top of the doorframe. He looked casual. Unbothered. Completely and utterly sure of himself.
FUCK.
He was gorgeous. Panty-droppingly hot, actually. The truth was bitter, but undeniable.
Somewhere, deep in my chest, I felt my heart kick things up another notch.
“Enjoy the show?” he asked.
He said it smooth. Too smooth.
I crossed my arms immediately and without thinking.
“If I wanted a show, I’d pick one worth watching.”
Grayson’s mouth twitched. Not into a smile, but something close enough.
“Funny,” he said off-handedly. “Could’ve asked.”
“For what?”
“To look.”
I tried to laugh, but it came out as a snort.
“Trust me,” I told him. “If I’d wanted something, I wouldn’t be subtle about it.”
That got a raised eyebrow from him.
“Oh, really?”
His gaze dipped — quickly, deliberately — then came back up. Taking me in just as openly as I had him.
“I thought that bathroom was taken,” I went on, changing the subject. “Sebastian and I have a system.”
“Yeah?” he said. “That’s cute.”
God, I wanted to pound him! To wipe the smug little grin off his—
“It’s also not my problem.”
I shifted on the bed, leaning back into my headboard. The idea was that if I looked casual enough, I might appear in control.
“Players take priority,” he said simply.
And there it was. That tone. That line.
Something in me snapped.
“Stop with that player priority shit,” I said, sitting up a little straighter. “Believe it or not, I’m on the team, too. Just because I don’t have a stick in my hand—”
I stopped, mid-sentence.
Damn.
Heat rushed to my face so quickly it felt like a wave.
Now Grayson did smirk. And his smirk was impressive.
“Do you want one?” he asked.
“Want what?”
“A stick in your hand?”
My face burned even hotter now. He shifted in the doorway, from one arm to the other. Knowing full well it would draw my attention back to his body.
“We’ve got options, as far as sticks go,” he went on. “Long ones. Wide ones. Curved—”
“Wow,” I cut in. “You really went all in on that one, didn’t you?”
He hesitated, if only for a moment.
But in that moment, I had him.
“Tell me something, I continued. “Do you rehearse something like that? Or does it just come naturally when you’re standing half-naked in someone’s doorway?”
He didn’t move. He didn’t retreat. He only shrugged.
“Just thought you might appreciate the offer.”
“I’m good,” I replied. “I prefer tools that actually get the job done.”
My eyes dropped intentionally to the loosely-knotted towel around his waist. And, more specifically, to a certain bulge in the front of it.
There was a beat of silence. Grayson’s eyes sharpened slightly.
“Careful.”
“Why?” I laughed, tilting my head. “Afraid I’ll hurt your feelings?”
Another beat. Then—
He laughed.
It was a short, low laugh. Not dismissive. Not entirely, anyway.
“Didn’t think you had that in you,” he said.
“I’ve got a lot in me you don’t know about,” I shot back.
Silence stretched out between us, like gunslingers on a lonely street. His gaze dropped again, briefly, then came back up to meet mine.
“Yeah,” he said quietly. “I’m starting to get that.”
I tried to swallow, but my throat was suddenly dry. My stupid heart wouldn’t shut down the jackhammer, either.
“Long sticks, curved sticks…” I repeated, absently. “You know, you really can’t talk to me like this.”
The smirk was back. Or maybe it never left.
“Seems like I just did.”
“Fine,” I sighed. “You shouldn’t talk to me like this.”
“Why, what are you gonna do?” Grayson challenged. “Get someone else fired?”
That again. Back to square one.
I opened my mouth to tell him how wrong he was; that I hadn’t had anything to do with the case of the mysteriously disappearing coach. I wanted to shout that I was on his fucking side. That he and the rest of the guys had been hazing me for all the wrong reasons.
But shit, not with that smirk on his face.
I wasn’t about to give him the satisfaction.
“You done?” I asked, impatiently. “Or are you planning on blocking the only working shower on this floor?”
He stiffened a little, and let go of the doorway.
“Careful, Maxwell,” he said. “You’re starting to sound like you expect things from us.”
I stood, snatching up my shower caddy.
“The only thing I expect,” I seethed, “is for you to get out of my way.”
Grayson stared back at me, without reaction. Of course he refused to move for the first few seconds, but such a dick move was to be expected. Eventually he angled his body to one side, and I brushed passed him.
His scent hit me right away. Fresh soap layered over warm skin, with a hint of something darker, just beneath. Leather, maybe. A faint trace of sweat. All good things, unfortunately.
Gritting my teeth, I double-timed it into the bathroom and closed the door.
The steam from his shower still filled the room. Warm and heavy, it also smelled like him.
Annoying.
Ridiculously annoying, actually.
I spun the spigot and let it run scalding hot, adding more steam before I began getting undressed. And just out in the hallway, Grayson lingered in a towel. Nothing but a few thin inches of door between us.
Was he thinking about me getting naked?
No, probably not.
Because I definitely wasn’t thinking about the way he looked a few minutes ago.
Not at all.