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A smirk appeared on his lips. "You inviting me over, Coach Z?”
My grin matched his. "If I am, what’s your answer?”
“Lead the way."
Twenty minutes later, we stepped through the front door of my apartment. I took off my jacket and tossed it onto a chair, suddenly very aware of how Hoss looked at me. It wasn't just an “I’m happy you're staying” look. It was far more intimate than that.
"Nice place," he commented, glancing around.
I followed his gaze, appreciating how Hoss fit seamlessly into the eclectic blend of objects that made up my home. A mix of vintage charm and modern, sleek tech, I’d punctuated my place with a worn leather sofa, old wooden crates turned into accent tables, high-tech video equipment, and bookshelves full of classic novels, a few first editions among them.
Action photos and memorabilia from my career adorned the walls. The open kitchen area was high-end, with stainless steel appliances starkly contrasting the warm oak flooring that creaked underfoot.
"What's that?" Hoss pointed to a canvas hanging near the window. It was an abstract splash of colors, blacks, blues, and neon purple crashing together in a chaotic dance.
"Ah, I picked that up at an art fair last year," I said. "The mayhem I see in it spoke to me. Figured it'd be a good fit."
“Mayhem, huh? Sounds like the best hockey locker rooms.”
I chuckled. “I think you’re right.”
I went into the kitchen to grab a couple of drinks—another Coke for him and a water for me. When I returned, Hoss had unzipped his jacket and was examining my bookshelf.
"Didn't know you were a Steinbeck fan," he said, pulling out a well-worn copy ofEast of Eden.
"Ah, yeah. There's more to me than slapshots and power plays," I teased, handing him his Coke.
He laughed. "I'm starting to see that."
Our eyes met again, and the chemistry we'd felt all night ratcheted up another notch. I put down my glass of water, stepping closer.
"So, we're doing this, huh?" His voice was lower now, edged with a mixture of relief and disbelief. "Both of us here, in Cold Pines, together."
"Looks that way," I said, barely above a whisper. "And for the record, I couldn't be happier."
Then, it happened in a flash. We were back in each other's arms, lips meeting in a kiss that was a perfect blend of new and familiar. As I pulled Hoss closer, my hands finding the small of his back, I realized we'd crossed a line we couldn't uncross. And this time, I knew it was right.
We pulled apart just enough to look into each other’s eyes.
"Who would have thought?" Hoss said softly, his deep blue eyes full of something I could only describe as wonder. "You and me. Here. The press always thought we hated each other.”
“Didn’t we?”
“Hate’s a really strong word.” He lowered his eyes for a moment. “Damn, I always wanted you. I think I wanted tobeyou.”
“And I wanted to kiss my nemesis just to see how you would taste.”
Hoss chuckled. “I can’t believe it.”
"In my wildest dreams, I never came up with this, Hoss. In my wildest dreams."
And then we were kissing again, lost in a moment that felt as inevitable as it was surprising.
We stumbled backward, bumping into a wall and breaking apart briefly before reconnecting. The intensity between us turned raw, electric, primal. We were giving in to something that had been simmering for years, and it felt so damn good.
I ran my hands through his thick, dark brown hair, pulling him even closer. He reached out for the hem of my shirt and tugged it out of my jeans.
Without breaking the kiss, I reached for his worn Maine t-shirt and tugged it off over his head. I couldn’t wait to touch his bare flesh.
