Chapter 12
Jayden Allen
I want to fuck Willow Rogers.
The thought has been in the front of my mind blaring like a siren, since we were on the verge of kissing two days ago. Then, she slammed the door in my face and I retreated to my room.
I needed a cold fucking shower, yet that didn’t help. No guilt ran through me as I palmed my dick to the thought of Willow on her knees for me.
Afterwards, I sat in the middle of my double bed, staring at the wall ahead of me.
Did the argument need to be that serious?
No, but I couldn't help it. I hate when people make commitments and break them.
Actually, it's more along the lines of me hating that I can't make people prioritise hockey over everything else.
We haven’t spoken since, which doesn’t surprise me because I know enough about Willow to understand she hates vulnerability. However, I’m determined to catch her today.
We have our shared class, so we will be forced to have a conversation. The tension between us has lingered for years and upon reflection, I believe it’s best if we fuck it out of our systems.
Plus, there is no way we could ever feel anything other than hatred or physical attraction, so I’m not worried about anything else manifesting.
If only I could get Willow to talk to me.
I arrive at campus with plenty of time to spare, aligning perfectly with my plan to ambush her. Step one: Bribe her with caffeine so she will talk to me. Strong Beans is a short walk from the car park, with a footpath running to the entrance of the cafe.
I walk to the counter, smiling at my sister, who is working today.
“Hey Jay, what are you up to?”
“I have class in twenty minutes, so I thought I would grab a coffee beforehand.”
Jaz smiles. “What can I get for you?”
“An iced long black and iced vanilla matcha,”
Never one to miss anything, my sister looks up and meets my eyes. Jaz narrows her gaze. “Any reason why you are ordering Willow’s favourite drink?”
I sigh. Part of me was hoping she wouldn’t notice, but that was too optimistic of me. Jaz and Willow have been best friends for years, of course, they know each other’s coffee order.
“We have class together today, and this is my apology gift.”
Jazmine continues to eye me suspiciously. “What did you do?”
“Nothing.” I curse myself for responding immediately. That is guilty behaviour 101, but my sister does not need to know I nearly kissed her best friend, and now, want to fuck, said best friend.
“Sure,” Jaz drags out. “Those drinks won’t be too long,”
I scroll on my phone, waiting for my order to be finished. How to approach this conversation with Willow has been playing on my mind. I can’t blurt out that I think we should fuck away the tension between us because I’m confident she will break my nose.
The thing is, Willow is attracted to me–she can’t deny the heat that consumed her gaze when I inched my lips closer to hers. I’ve never wanted to kiss a woman more than in that moment. A shiver shoots up my spine, my pants tightening.
Fuck me.
Just thinking about devouring Willow’s lips and I’m hard. I want to see how close I can get to the fire that burns within Willow, even if I’m burned in the process.
Jazmine calls out my name, interrupting my inappropriate thoughts. I pocket my phone and pick my drinks up from the counter. The drinks freeze my palm, water from the side of the cup dripping as I enter the classroom.
Willow’s red hair attracts my attention even from the other side of the room. Her head is down, not noticing me, however, something gives me away, because her gaze flicks to mine.
Willow narrows her eyes. “What do you want?”
I hold her drink out for her to take. “A peace offering,”
She tilts her head, as if to question my motives. “I didn’t realise you knew what a peace offering was.”
I swallow, searching for my usual arrogant facade. “Well, I suppose you could call it a bribe. I just want to talk.”
“No thanks,” she says. “But I’ll take the drink.”
Willow snatches it from my hand, sipping on the straw. Sighing, I take a seat next to her. She doesn’t complain about my choice.
“Wait,” Willow says, pausing to look at the drink. “Did Jaz tell you my coffee order?”
“Yep.” I lied.
She doesn’t need to know that I memorised her coffee order in our junior year of high school or that I was the person who asked Maeve at Books and Brew to put matcha on the drink’s menu.
Willow doesn’t talk to me again. Class drags on and on, probably because I’m looking at the clock every minute but I need this class to end. I write down notes that the tutor says will be important, however, my attention isn’t with him.
“Harassment within the workplace, especially sports, tends to be extremely common.”
I spy out the corner of my eye, Willow squirming in her chair, making me think about her experiences with hockey. In the beginning, I was one of those assholes who thought she should quit.
Do people still tell her that?
An even better question would be in regard to her old team, did they harass her? After the shower fiasco, it wouldn’t surprise me if that was the case.
The thought has me clenching my fists and my blood boiling. I stretch my fingers and take a deep breath, trying to decrease my racing heart.
“Okay, that’s all for today. Keep working on the assessment and email me if you need assistance.”
Right. Assessments slip my mind from time to time, as my focus is on hockey. I believe this assessment is only an essay, so it should be straightforward. I slide my laptop away and pick up my empty coffee cup.
Willow filing out of the room when I swing a bag strap over my shoulder. I grit my teeth, running toward her. She seems to be best friends with avoidance, but that stops right now.
Once we enter the hallway, I grab her wrist. “Willow, I was serious about talking.”
She snatches her wrist back, a snarl forming on her lips. “And I was serious about not talking to you.”
“But–”
“But nothing. The only thing we talk about is hockey, nothing else.”
With that, she walks away, leaving me looking like an idiot in the university hallway. I shake my head, going down the stairs to my car. Willow might be the most stubborn person on earth.
I push her to the back of my brain. Although it hurts, Willow isn’t interested in talking, we have training tonight and two games this weekend.
I need to focus on those two things because I control the outcome of them. She is a distraction, one I don’t have time for, now or ever.
***
T he chill of the hockey rink settles over me, goosebumps beginning to form.
Today is our final training session before our home games on Saturday and Sunday. This will be the fourth and fifth game of the season, and Lakewood’s third win if we secure a victory.
Despite the tension between us off the ice, we complement each other on it. If Willow wants to limit our interactions to hockey, I will respect her wishes.
For now, at least.
Pucks smashing into the boards pierce my eardrums. The sound echoes, increasing as I approach the rink. I’m surprised anyone is here this early.
Training doesn’t start for another half an hour. As captain, I aim to arrive first so I can talk to the coaches and selfishly have some free time on the ice.
Coach West exits the equipment shed, his eyes find me immediately. He begins to walk toward me, but I meet him halfway.
“She’s been here for the past thirty minutes. Is everything okay?”
Worry seeps into his tone and I understand why. Coach has three daughters, so I know he has a soft spot for Willow.
I flex my fingers, clenching them into a fist. “I’ve apologised, but she doesn’t want to talk to me unless it concerns hockey.”
Coach West nods. “Give her time, Jayden. She will come around,”
I walk to the stands, place my bag next to me, and take a seat. Quickly, I change my sneakers for skates and head onto the ice. Once I’m gliding across the ice, the tension escapes my body. The ice has always been my home–a place that I can use to reduce my stress and be free.
Willow skates past me. No look. No smile. Not even a fucking nod. The awkwardness is killing me, so I break the silence.
“You’re here early,” I say.
“I didn’t want to be late again,”
I sigh, pushing that day out of my mind. “You’re working on slap shots, can I join?”
Willow raises her eyebrows. “Is this your nice side?”
Oh, Sweetheart. With the things I want to do to you, nice is not the word to describe me.
Fucking hell. What the hell is wrong with me?
“We are at the rink, you said anything hockey-related means we have a truce.”
Willow scoffs. “That’s not what I said. But it doesn’t surprise me that you have selective hearing.”
I spray my palm over my heart. “You can’t seem to stop insulting me. Maybe it’s your love language?”
She snorts, her hands gripping the hockey stick until her knuckles are white. “I don’t have a love language, not when I’ve sworn off relationships forever.”
She skates away, not allowing me to reply. Why has she sworn off relationships? I hate that I need to know the answer. Was he a piece of shit like her last boyfriend?
No. I push those thoughts down, following Willow to the end of the ice. We practice our slap shots in silence until the rest of our teammates arrive. I sigh as everyone else piles into the arena. I steal one last glance at her before shoving her to the back of my mind.
Hockey is your priority.
The words float around me continuously, as if repeating them will ingrain them there. I need hockey and my future to remain the number one thought, because focusing on Willow brings chaos I can’t control.
And I need control.