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I shrug. “It’s been my nickname pretty much since I stepped on the ice for the first time. Everyone calls me that.”
He nods, considering this. I realize, then, that I don’t want him to call me the same thing everyone else calls me. “But you can call me Nigel.”
I earn my second smile of the night, and this one lingers longer than the first. “Nigel.” He tries it out, and a thrum of longing surges through my bloodstream like heroin.
I stand, barstool scraping back along the floor. His eyes follow me, a slow crawl over my chest and back to my face. “Time to get out of here.”
“Oh.” He says, and I nearly laugh at the way his face falls.Okay, so that might have been too subtle for him.
“You should walk me out.”
“Oh, sure. I can do that.” He stands up immediately, reaching for his wallet and carefully counting out triple the amount he would owe for the soda he drank and leaving it on the table. Before we’ve even stepped away from the table, the server has swooped over and picked it up, empty glasses whisked away as she disappears back into the crowd.
It’s raining outside, and we stand under the awning for a moment, Corwin eyeing the sky thoughtfully. When our hands brush together he jolts, looking down at the space between us. He’s nervous, and a small voice in the back of my mind wonders if the way he’s been acting is because he’s inexperienced; it’s the same voice that tells me this is a bad idea, so I ignore it.
“I’m parked over here.” I tip my head to the right, directing his gaze. I step out into the rain without waiting for a reply and listen for the soft footsteps that let me know he’s following. He’s right behind me when I step into a small alley between the buildings, and turn to face him.
“I don’t think you’re supposed to park down here.” His gaze is narrowed, searching for my car in the dark. I bark out a laugh, shaking my head.Damnit, I wanted to hate you so fucking bad.
“No.” I concede, smiling. “This area is definitely not for parking.”
The building’s overhang shelters both sides of the alley, rain only coming through right in the center, with Corwin on one side, me on the other. His image is distorted slightly, as I look at him through the downpour. I step forward until I’m directly in front of him, water still splattering my back but otherwise sheltered with him. The top half of his shirt is soaked, clinging to his chest and outlining his collarbone.
Rain is carving delicate paths down his face, and when I reach out to brush a drop away with my thumb his eyes widen.
“I—” He stops, mouth parted slightly. I wait, but he doesn’t continue, only looks at me through large, unreadable eyes. It’s too dark for me to see the blue, and I make a mental note to keep the lights on when I finally get him home and in my bed.
I place my hand more firmly against his face, palm to cheek and fingers sliding into the hair around his ear. This time I swipe my thumb across his mouth, catching on his bottom lip and he inhales deeply. I feel a soft touch at my waist, barely there and only noticeable because my thin shirt is soaked and plastered to me. I step forward until my nose brushes his, and I can feel his breathe on my skin.
The first brush of my lips against his is a careful, soft caress. I pull back only far enough to see his eyes, but he’s closed them, damp eyelashes splayed out across his cheekbones. His hand is still on my waist. Tilting his face to the side with a thumb on his jaw, I lean in and deliver the kiss I’ve been longing for since the first time I laid eyes on him. He makes a soft moaning sound that makes my toes curl, and I run my tongue along his teeth. He tastes like the rain.
I step forward again, reaching up to place a palm flat on the wall behind his shoulder. I lean my weight against him, wanting to feel his wiry chest against my own, seeking the heat of his body through his clothes. This time it’s me who groans, and any control I might have had snaps when I feel his heart beating rapidly against mine.
I slide my hand deeper into the hair behind his head, tightening my fingers and holding him in place as I use my mouth to change the angle of the kiss. I feel the tentative brush of his tongue against my bottom lip and I pull my hand from the wall, sliding my palm between us and rucking up the hem of his shirt. He gasps, mouth breaking from mine, and I think he says something but the sound of the rain and the pounding of the blood in my ears drowns him out.
He has both hands flat on my chest, and my own hand is slid up under his shirt, palm flat against his abdomen. His lips are soft, and his skin is softer, and his body fits against mine perfectly. I drag my mouth away from his and down his neck, searching for the taste of his skin. I feel his throat move as he says something again, and it’s something that sounds an awful lot likestop. I’m lifting my head when I suddenly find myself shoved backward, hard. I stumble, slightly, the wall on the opposite side of the alley breaking my fall.It’s stopped raining, I notice, half a second before my brain catches up and my heart sinks into my stomach.
Corwin is across from me, hands held up in front of him where he had them against my chest only moments before. It’s the universal gesture forstay away, but just in case that wasn’t clear enough for me he utters these damning words: “Please stop.” His voice is shaking.
Oh my god. All the blood seems to drain from my body, leaving me woozy and grateful for the wall at my back. Corwin’s shirt is partially pulled up, stuck against his damp skin, and his chest is heaving. His eyes are wide and unmistakably frightened. Seeing that look directed at me is like receiving a blow to the stomach.
He’s lowered his hands, slightly, but is obviously still unsure of whether I’m going to make a move toward him. He’s pale, face practically glowing in the dim alleyway, and even I can’t delude myself that he’s shaking because the rain has made him cold.
“Corwin—” I start, and am interrupted by a loud chorus of voices as several people spill out into the street from the bar. He flinches at the sound, and rushes to right his clothes. His head is bowed, so I can no longer see his face.
The voices are loud and I recognize several of them—my teammates. Corwin’s head snaps up, eyes wide on the mouth of the alley and it’s obvious he recognizes them, too. He shoots a panicked look in my direction, apparently doing the same mental calculus as I am. There is only one reason the pair of us would be down a dark alley together, and it’s obviously a connection he doesn’t want them making.
“I have to go.” He says, voice wavering in a way that makes me feel sick. He sounds close to tears. I press my palms flat against the wall behind me, reminding myself to stay put and not move toward him. His shaking hands are carding through his hair, trying to set it to rights. “I have to go.” He says again, taking a step toward the street.
“Corwin, wait.”Please look at me. He takes another couple of steps, and now I’m staring at the back of him, where his wet shirt is pulled tight across his shoulders. “I’m sor—”
He’s gone. I lean my head back against the wall, eyes closed.Fuck.
I sleep like shit that night, stomach rolling with nausea and head pounding like I’ve got the worst hangover of my life. I have no idea what to do; I don’t have his number and I never asked what hotel he was staying at so I have no way of tracking him down. I’m just grabbing my phone, planning on texting Von to see if he has a way to get in touch with Corwin when a message comes through our team group chat.
Sanhover turned down the contract, Coach just told me.
Bile rises in my throat and I think, for a second, I might actually be sick. The rest of the guys are sounding off, my phone chiming as texts continue to come through. Von says they want Corwin bad, that they’re going to send a new offer to his agent for more money and a longer contract term. I lock my phone, switching it to silent and throwing it onto my bed.
