"And a good friend."
I freeze. "That better be all he is."
She smiles, and my irrational hostility fades. "I mean to you."
I sigh, brushing my thumb across her cheek. "I know he is."
"See, you have more people in your corner than you think, Twelve."
"Yeah, well..." I take her hand in mine and pull her toward the boards, first double-checking that we're in the rink alone. "As long as I have you, that's all I really need." I snap my wrist, yanking her toward me and put my mouth on the exposed skin below her neck.
"Well, you have me," she says softly, her chest rising and falling quickly. "But there's only a few more days until we get this for real, and I don't know if we should be risking that."
"What do you mean?"
She scans the arena. "I mean I know we're no strangers to public places, but this is so… open. And I swear there's like a million doors to get here from the facilities."
I smirk. "There's only two, Mystery Girl."
She looks at me like she's unconvinced. "Feels like more."
Tugging her to me, I slide my hand into her hair and drop my forehead to hers. Brooke lets her eyes fall closed, only popping them back open when I dip my hand into the waistband of her jeans. "You tell me what you need for this to happen, and I'll do it," I say. I groan as I slip a finger inside her, and her walls clench around it. "But fuck, I have to have you, Brooke."
It's true. I've needed her since she ran her fingers through my hair at the barbershop. Then, again, at the cemetery when she nearly fucking broke me talking to my mom and being so vulnerable. Seeing her with Brett was the final straw. I know he's not a threat—Brooke and I know where we stand and somehow so does Burns. But having to just sit back and watch her be so casual with someone else—how I want to be with her, not just behind closed doors—was all I could take before instinct took over.
"Can we just go somewhere—anywhere—less obvious in case someone comes walking through the tunnel?"
I search the rink, almost as desperate to find somewhere fitting as I am for her. I glance across the ice, and it clicks. Getting there may be riskier than the bench, but once we make it, the chances of being caught will be so much lower.
"Do you trust me?"
I don't mean for the words to come out so weighted, but Brooke's expression tells me she's searching for an answer to the general question, even outside of this moment. "I'm leaning in, remember?"
That's all she answers with, but inBrooke, that's good enough for me.
My smile says it all as I take her hand again and open the boards to the bench. She follows me blindly until I step one foot onto the freshly cut ice.
"What the hell are you doing?" she hisses, digging her heels in. "Drew, I'm up for a lot, but banging on freaking ice might be where I draw the line."
"The only way to get to the box is by crossing it," I state matter-of-factly. "Perfect for seclusion, but… we gotta get there first."
Her lips part, her eyes wide, the perfect expression of excitement—in more ways than one—washing over her. She nods, and I set my second foot onto the slippery surface. "Just go slow."
Brooke braces herself on the boards and places her feet one at a time onto the ice. We shuffle together, her hand entangled in mine like the two were made to fit inside of each other. I smile over at her, and she does the same, both of us letting a quiet laugh slip between us.
It's a silly moment—charged and arousing—but completely ridiculous. The funniest part though, is that this moment is the first I've had on the ice that's brought me joy in too damn long. Sure, winning is fun, and I love my team and hockey as a whole. But for me, individually, here with her is the happiest I've been coasting across ice for years.
When Brooke's toes hit the box, I reach past her, lifting up on the lever. The door unlatches, and she shuffles backward into me, allowing it to open. I still, wrapping my arm around her waist and pulling her flush against me. She whimpers when her ass hits my cock that's been ready for her since this morning and drops her head back onto my shoulder. I slip my hand underneath the hem of her shirt, her covered skin warm against my chilled palm.
Brooke's nipples are already peaked from the temperature, tempting me to play with them, when I slide underneath her bra. I do, rolling one between my fingers, and Brooke grinds into me, her back arching away from my chest. I repeat the motion on the other side, bending down to nip up her throat, but when she moans the sweetest of sounds, I can't wait any longer.
"Get in," I demand.
Brooke immediately steps into the penalty box, turning around to face me as I grab the door behind us. "Still very exposed," she says weakly.
I laugh and pull it shut, the sound from the latch echoing around us. "Did you hear that?"
"Hard to miss."
