Chapter Twenty-Two
Zayden
It’s eleven-thirty, and I’m lying in my hotel bed, staring at the ceiling like it has all the answers.
The FaceTime with Maisie was a nice distraction—she showed me a drawing she made of us at the park, filled with stick figures and purple crayon.
It stirred that familiar ache in my chest that comes from loving someone so much it physically hurts.
But now she’s asleep, and Hannah sent me a thumbs-up emoji. I’ve got nothing to do except think about the woman three doors down.
I shouldn’t go.
I know I shouldn’t go, but the team is out celebrating and likely won’t be back anytime soon. I get up and pull on my shoes.
The hallway is empty. Most of the team is still out, and the coaching staff is on a different floor. I count the doors like I don’t have her room number memorized—like I haven’t walked past it four times today, finding excuses.
I knock before I can talk myself out of it.
There’s shuffling inside, followed by the click of the lock. When the door opens, Tori stands there in leggings and a tank top that’s just thin enough to make my mouth go dry, her hair twisted up in a claw clip, face freshly washed.
Her eyes widen. “Zayden. What are you—”
“I know I should give you space.” I step closer, and she instinctively backs up, allowing me into her room. The door swings shut behind me. “I know the rules. I know what’s at stake. But I can’t do this anymore.”
I move closer. She doesn’t back away. “I can’t think straight. I can’t sleep. I played a whole hockey game tonight, and half my brain was on you in the stands.”
“You scored twice.”
“Imagine what I could do if I wasn’t distracted.”
She almost smiles. Almost.
“You’re driving me crazy.” My hands find her hips before I can stop them, fingers pressing into the soft fabric of her leggings, pulling her closer. She sucks in a breath.
“Zayden...” Her voice is barely a whisper, but she’s not pulling away.
“Tell me you don’t feel this.” My voice comes out rough. “Tell me it’s one-sided, that I’m imagining things, and I’ll leave right now. I’ll go back to my room and pretend this never happened.”
Her hands come up to rest on my chest, and I don’t know if she’s planning to push me away or pull me closer. “You know I can’t tell you that.”
“Then stop fighting this.” One hand slides around to the small of her back, pressing her against me so she can feel exactly what she does to me.
She looks at me for a long moment. I can see the war playing out on her face—fear versus want, rules versus need, everything she’s built to protect herself...
Then she rises on her toes and kisses me.
I lift her off the ground, and she wraps around me instantly—legs around my waist, arms around my neck, kissing me like she’s been starving for it. Like the last few days of careful distance have been as torturous for her as they were for me.
I walk her backward until her shoulders hit the wall, and she gasps against my mouth. I swallow the sound, chasing it with my tongue, and she makes this noise—half whimper, half moan—that rushes south.
“Off,” she breathes, tugging at my hoodie. “Take this off.”
I let her go just long enough to pull it over my head, and then her hands are on my chest, sliding under my T-shirt, palms flat against my stomach. Her touch is cool and electric, and I’m going to lose my mind.
“You too,” I manage, already reaching for the hem of her shirt. “Fair’s fair.”
She laughs and lifts her arms. The shirt comes off and—
Fuck.
She’s not wearing a bra.
My brain short-circuits. For a solid three seconds, I just stare, taking her in—all soft curves, warm skin, and more beautiful than I imagined. And I’ve imagined this a lot.
“You’re staring,” she whispers.
“Damn right I am.” I crowd her back against the wall, my mouth finding her neck, her collarbone, the curve of her shoulder. She arches into me, fingers sliding into my hair and gripping tight. “You’re gorgeous. Do you know that? Every time I look at you, I forget how to breathe.”
“Zayden—”
I kiss my way back to her mouth, slower this time, savoring. Her hips roll against mine, and I groan, one hand sliding down to grip her thigh, pulling her closer.
“Bed,” she pants. “Now.”
I don’t need to be told twice.
I lift her again—she weighs nothing, or maybe adrenaline is turning me into a superhero—and carry her to the bed, laying her down on the duvet. She pulls me down with her, and for a moment we just look at each other.
Her hair is fanned out on the pillow. Her lips are swollen from my kisses. She looks at me like I’m something she wants to devour.
I know the feeling.
“Tell me to stop,” I murmur, lowering myself over her, “and I will.”
“Don’t you dare stop.”
I grin against her throat. “Yes, ma’am.”
My mouth traces a path down her neck, across her collarbone, lower. She’s making sounds that will be permanently etched into my memory—little gasps and sighs and my name.
Her fingers are in my hair, nails lightly scraping my scalp. My hands are everywhere—her waist, her hips, sliding up and over her perky breasts. She hooks a leg around my hip, pulling me closer, and the friction makes us both groan.
“Zayden,” she breathes. “Please—”
A loud knock on the door.
We freeze.
“Tori?” Banks’ voice, muffled through the wood. “You awake? Dana’s looking for you. Something about game reports?”
We stare at each other in horror.
“Shit,” she whispers.
I drop my forehead to her shoulder, breathing hard. “Of course.”
“One second!” she calls out, her voice impressively steady for someone who was just writhing underneath me. “Just—give me a minute!”
We untangle with frantic efficiency. She grabs her shirt from the floor, yanking it over her head. I’m searching for my sweatshirt.
“Window?” I ask.
“We’re on the third floor,” she hisses.
“Behind the curtains?”
“This isn’t a heist movie, Zayden.”
“Then I’m hiding in the bathroom.”
I’m already moving, scooping up my hoodie and ducking behind the bathroom door. Through the crack, I watch her finger-comb her hair, take a breath, and open the door.
“Hey.” Her voice is casual. Normal. Like she wasn’t half-naked thirty seconds ago. “What’s up?”
“Dana needs the reports from tonight’s game.” Banks’ voice is flat, but there’s something in it—suspicion, maybe, or just his usual grumpiness. “Said she texted you.”
“Oh, uh—” Tori glances toward the nightstand, where her phone is presumably turned to silent. “Yeah, sorry. I was already asleep. I’ll email them to her in five minutes.”
“You okay?” A pause. “You look flushed.”
“Hot shower. You know how hotels crank the heat.”
Another pause. Longer this time. My heart is pounding so loudly I’m sure he can hear it.
“Alright,” Banks finally says. “Get some sleep. Bus leaves at eight.”
“Got it. Thanks.”
The door closes. I wait, barely breathing, until I hear Banks’ footsteps fade down the hall.
Tori opens the bathroom door. She’s got a hand pressed to her chest, eyes wide, and she’s fighting a smile.
“That was close.”
“Too close.” I lean against the doorframe, still trying to catch my breath. “You were very smooth, by the way.”
“Years of practice lying to my mother about parties.” She shakes her head. “God, if he’d come five minutes later—”
“Let’s not think about that.”
“I can’t stop thinking about it.”
We look at each other. The heat is still there—of course it is, it never really goes away—but now there’s something else too. Reality is creeping back in.
“We can’t keep doing this,” she says quietly.
“I know.”
“Someone’s going to find out.”
“I know.”
“So what do we do?”
I cross to her, cup her face in my hands, the same way I did earlier, before everything went sideways.
“We figure it out. After the road trip. When we’re back home and I can think straight.” I brush my thumb across her cheekbone.
“Okay. After the road trip.”
“After the road trip,” I repeat.
I kiss her forehead, soft and sweet, letting my lips linger. Her eyes close.
“You should go,” she whispers.
“I know.”
“Before someone else shows up looking for game reports.”
“I know.” But I don’t move. I can’t seem to make myself.
She opens her eyes and smiles, just a little. “Go, Zayden.”
I steal one more kiss—quick, chaste, nothing like what we were doing ten minutes ago—and force myself to step away.
I slip into the hallway, check both directions, and walk back to my room on legs that don’t feel entirely steady.
The cold shower I take doesn’t help at all.