Dmitri, helpful and cruel, “Need towel. Cold one.”
Tanner, grinning wide, “Cardio’s about to spike.”
Locker room code. Not for her to hear. Possession burns—hot, mean, urgent.Mineisn’t a word I get to use, but my body chooses it. And my teammates read me.
Joy sets the remote on the table, finally looks up. “Ready?”
She has no clue what she did to us. No clue what she did to me. She steps into the center of the lights and lifts her hands for frame marks. “Wesley?”
My name in her mouth is a problem.
I stand. My pulse punches at my throat. Every guy I’ve bled with is watching and pretending not to.
Nate’s smile is all teeth. “Showtime.”
Finn taps his wrist. “Shift clock’s running.”
Dmitri folds his arms, adding fuel. “Do not screw partner.”
Joy glances between us, amused by nothing she can translate. “Okay, Alaska.” Her heels click as she comes straight at me, hips in rhythm with the bassline of “Treasure.”
“Hold my hand.”
My pulse riots. “What?”
Too late. Her palm slides into mine, warm and certain. Her other lands on my shoulder, light as fire.
Fuck.
Someone has blowtorched my nerve endings. This close, I can see the freckle on her collarbone, the way her pulse jumps in her throat.
“Basic steps first. Slow, slow, quick-quick.” Her voice is calm. My brain is chaos. “Count with me.”
I try. I really do. But the first step I take crushes her foot.
She winces. “Ow.”
Everyone explodes.
“Penalty!” Tanner hollers.
“Disaster Kane!” Finn piles on.
“Strong legs, weak brain,” Dmitri declares.
I growl, face on fire. “Shut up.”
Joy squeezes my hand, eyes bright. “Reset. Don’t skate. Walk. With rhythm. One, two, three, four. Let’s practice a few steps.”
I focus—on her hips shifting, her laugh under her breath, the way her hair brushes her waist. Somehow my feet follow.
She spins under my arm, skirt flaring, sparkles catching light. She settles into me—smooth, inevitable.
And then it isn’t my teammates, or the camera, or the chorus. It’s her. Only her.
A whoop cuts across the floor.
“Dip her, Kane!”
