When it's over, he slumps back in his chair, his chest heaving, his face flushed with pleasure and exhaustion. I casually wipe my hand with a napkin under the table, my smirk smug and satisfied.
Zach shoots me a look that could've melted steel, his eyes dark with lust and promise. "You're gonna pay for that later," he growls, his voice thick with unspoken threats.
I just smile, eyes gleaming with mischief. "I'm counting on it."
And the table remained blissfully clueless.
The next morning, my eyes flutter open slowly to the smell of something warm, savory, mouthwatering — like someone ordered room service straight from heaven — followed by therich scent of fresh-brewed coffee. I stretch my arms above my head with a sleepy groan, my joints popping in the best way.
I blink to the side.
Zach's half of the bed is empty.
A second later, I hear the shower running through the cracked bathroom door, steam curling out in soft ribbons.
A sleepy smile pulls at my mouth.
When I sit up, the comforter slides down my bare chest, and I tug it back up before shuffling out of bed. The first thing I see is the tray of food on the coffee table — eggs, toast, bacon, a muffin, and a giant mug of coffee. The curtains are already drawn open, and the light filtering into the room is soft, muted... almost silver.
Curious, I slide out of bed, dragging the comforter with me like a makeshift robe. The carpet is warm under my feet as I pad toward the table and pick up the mug.
Coffee. Fresh. Rich. Perfect.
The first sip warms my whole chest. I close my eyes for a second just to savor it, to let it melt into me.
Then I take a few steps toward the window—and my breath catches.
It's snowing.
Not aggressively. Not a storm. Just a steady curtain of soft white flakes drifting down from a pale, pearly sky. The kind of snowfall that looks quiet even when the world isn't. Down below, the streets around the arena are dusted in white, cars creeping carefully, people bundled in coats as they cross parking lots. Farther out, the shimmer of Lake Superior fades into a foggy blur, like someone erased the horizon with a paintbrush.
I press my free hand to the glass, my face practically glowing with excitement.
God, it's beautiful.
Snow + coffee + a warm hotel room + a naked boyfriend singing in the shower = perfection.
My brain, naturally, goes rogue.
Imagine if we stayed...
Just one extra day.
One day where Zach isn't racing to morning skate and I'm not racing to rehearsal. One day to actually explore Duluth. We could walk along Canal Park, hit those cute little cafés everyone keeps recommending, take stupid pictures like tourists.
Or — oh God — we could go ice skating outside while it's snowing. Zach showing off, me pretending I don't want to throttle him for being good at everything. Maybe he'd catch me when I slip. Maybe he'd pretend he didn't do it on purpose. Maybe we'd kiss in the middle of the rink like one of those disgustingly cheesy romcom couples I secretly judge but also want to be.
The mental image kills me a little.
In the best way.
Ugh. It would be perfect.
A small, dramatic sigh escapes me.
Too bad life isn't a holiday montage.
Because Zach has team meetings, practice, warmups, game day routine — the whole hockey circus. And I have rehearsals waiting for me the minute we get back, a showcase in two weeks, Betsy breathing down my neck, Adam almost dropping me every other lift, and Keith shouting "engage your core" in my nightmares.
