Page 228 of On His Team

“I’ve been gone.”

“For two days.”

“Too long.”

By the time we reach my bedroom, I’m already tugging at the hem of his sweatshirt. Rowan helps me get it over his head, tosses it somewhere behind him, then comes right back to me like even the few seconds apart were irritating.

His hands stay on me as if he is making up for the time he didn’t have them there. My waist. My back. My face when he kisses me again.

I smile against his mouth. The look he gives me makes my chest tighten. Then he kisses me again. He takes his time with me. He keeps pulling me closer and putting me on the edge, teasing me as much as he can.

“I missed you, too,” I moan against his neck as he thrusts into me.

“So much,” I say into his mouth.

“Missed you, too, G,” he moans back. “You feel so fucking good, baby.”

My head falls back as he rubs circles on my clit, and I come hard.

He comes right after, and then we hold each other.

“That nickname helped, huh?” he teases.

I laugh and push him.

He grabs my hand and tucks it against his cheek. “I got you, baby,” he says, looking into my eyes.

Spring break starts Monday. For most people at Camden, this apparently means airports, beaches, parents, road trips, or lying unconscious somewhere that doesn’t have professors.

For hockey players still in postseason, spring break means practice at nine.

Rowan informs me of this at eight-fifteen Monday morning while I am in his bed at Hawthorne, watching him search for the other half of a pair of socks.

“You don’t get any break?”

“We don’t have class.”

“That is not a break. You’re still going to work.”

“It’s hockey.”

He finds the sock under the desk.

I have been at Hawthorne since last night with a duffel bag containing enough clothes for a week, although Rowan looked at the size of it when I arrived and asked whether I had moved out of my apartment.

I told him not to be dramatic.

He told me I brought three pairs of shoes.

Now he pulls his sweatshirt over his head and looks toward the bed. “You getting up?”

“No.”

He says, “You’ve been awake for twenty minutes.”

“I have nowhere to be.”

He looks at me like this concept is offensive.