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I head for the shower when I hear the unmistakable sound of the shower running.
My heart immediately thumps against my chest. Did I make a mistake?
I quickly check the time on my phone, but it’s exactly the time I thought it would be. No one else should be in here.
There’s only one person who’s been lurking around the stadium, practically in the shadows, leaving dirty chai lattes and watching me skate while I’m too engrossed in my routine to notice.
Slade freaking Matthews!
I glance over to the lockers, and sure enough, only one duffel bag sits on the bench in front of a singular locker.
Matthews #67.
I knew it.
He just poked the bear for the last time and I’m about to give him the worst verbal beating I’ve ever given a single soul.
I can feel my blood boiling past the range it should be at. If I were a cartoon character, I’d have fire blowing out of my ears by now.
The second my eyes connect with the warm-skinned body of the traitor enjoying my hot water, I let out a guttural growl from deep in my chest.
“What the hell are you doing in here!” I yell over the shower water.
Slade’s eyes dart open and his head tilts down from where he was pushing back the water that was flowing through his dark tendrils of hair.
My eyes catch onto the scene of his arms dropping from his hair to his sides as he stares back at me.
He doesn’t seem nearly as surprised as I am to find him in here since I already warned him that six am to seven am is my time.
His hazel eyes with speckles of green, contrasted against his wet dark hair have him looking like one of those cologne ads taken in Greece. He looks gorgeous… like he’s photoshopped.
I can’t help but notice his barrel chest is thicker than it was in college, and his six-pack and muscular arms flexed at my attention. His arms are covered in tattoos when four years ago, he only had a peppering of randoms ink on them.
A large tattoo covers the top of his chest, though I can't make out the design without getting a little closer to study it.
And then something twinkles in the shower lighting… a piercing—a small silver bar through his right nipple.
He stands there, staring back at me and letting me take all of him in.
He’s no longer the young, barely over twenty-two-year-old college kid that I’d see only occasionally walking around the college campus.
I can’t help myself as my eyes drop down to the growing appendage between his thick thighs.
No, he’s not that kid anymore.
Slade Matthews is all man. He's inked up into full sleeves and chest tattoos that reach up to his neck. He’s hard as a rock… everywhere. He's dripping wet from his shower and looks like every fantasy I’ve ever had of being with a hockey player.
“Taking a shower in the player's locker room. What are you doing in here?” he asks, breaking me from my sex-brained haze.
I realize that I’m ogling the man’s impressive cock, and he’s witnessing my moment of weakness.
The kind of weakness that you can never show a man like Slade or he’ll use it against you.
I raise my eyes to meet his.
I hate that he makes me feel anything towards him at all—especially sexual desires.
“I… I…” the words catch on the clog of desire in my throat.
