My nipples are tight against my sports bra, and there's a persistent ache between my legs that won't go away. Every time he shifts or moves or makes a sound, I imagine those sounds in a different context. In bed. In the shower. With my mouth wrapped around his cock while he groans my name.
By the time we finish, I'm so aroused I can barely think straight. My panties are damp and my skin is flushed and I need to get out of this room before I do something I'll regret.
“Good session,” I say, backing toward the door. “I'll see you tomorrow.”
I don't wait for his response. I turn and walk out as fast as my legs will carry me, my heart pounding and my body throbbing with need.
When I reach my office, I close the door and lean against it, pressing my palms to my burning cheeks.
I want him.
I want him so much it scares me. And based on what I just saw, he still wants me too.
What the hell am I supposed to do about it?
I spend the next hour trying to focus on work.
My computer screen is filled with browser tabs about the NHL season schedule, playoff structures, and rehabilitation timelines for ACL injuries. I've been researching obsessively since I arrived, trying to understand the world Ethan lives in.
The regular season starts in October, and training camp begins in September. That gives us roughly three months to get him skating again. It's an aggressive timeline, but it's not impossible.
I'm deep in an article about return-to-play protocols when my office door swings open.
“You look like you need a break,” Avery announces.
She's standing in the doorway with her purse over her shoulder and a gorgeous smile on her face. Now wonder Liam fell for her.
“I'm working.”
“You're staring at your computer with that little crease between your eyebrows that means you're overthinking something.” She walks over and closes my laptop. “You should eat. And talk to another human being who isn't a grumpy hockey player.” She pulls me out of my chair. “Let's go.”
Fifteen minutes later, we're seated at a little Italian place a few blocks from the arena. The lunch rush hasn't started yet, and we have a quiet corner booth to ourselves. Avery orders a glass of wine even though it's barely noon and raises an eyebrow when I do the same.
“Rough morning?”
“Not rough. Just intense.”
“Ethan giving you trouble?”
“No, actually. He was pleasant today.”
Avery's eyebrows shoot up. “Pleasant? Ethan Ward? Are we talking about the same person?”
I laugh. “I know.”
She takes a sip of her wine and studies me over the rim of the glass. “So what's with the overthinking face?”
I fidget with my napkin. “I don't have an overthinking face.”
“You absolutely do. Spill.”
I really need to speak to someone who will put sense into my head. Avery is my cousin and one of my closest friends. Plus, she's the only person in this city who knows the full disaster of my life.
“Something happened a few weeks ago with Ethan.”
Avery sets down her glass. “What kind of something?”
“The kind of something that should not have happened.” I take a long drink of wine and then tell her everything. The locker room kiss, making out, and then Apollo’s interruption.
