Devastating.
“Stop me….or don’t,” I whisper in her ear.
She doesn’t.
I kiss her again like I play, intensely focused, like losing is not an option.
I’m already hard and one breath away from losing every ounce of restraint I pretend I have. Her fingers hook into the front of my jersey and pull me closer, her body molding against mine like she’s been denying this as long as I have.
I pull back first, just enough to breathe, my forehead resting against hers.
"If I don’t stop now," I say quietly, "I am not going to. And neither are you."
She is breathing fast. No comeback. No snark. Just that wide eyed look that makes me want to ruin every rule she lives by.
"HEY, ROMEO! STOP LICKING PEOPLE IN THE HALLWAY!" Dex yells from farther down the corridor.
Annabelle jerks back like she has been caught stealing.
Color floods her cheeks. Her hair is messed up and her lips are swollen. She glares at Dex, then at me, like this is all my fault.
Then she turns and walks away. Fast. Shoulders straight. Like nothing happened.
But her hands tremble once at her sides.
I watch her walk away, pulse thrumming like I’m wired for a fight I haven’t won yet.
By the time I hit the locker room, the adrenaline hasn’t faded. It’s crawling beneath my skin like electricity with nowhere to go.
Steam fills the room from the showers. Jerseys hit the floor. Tape rips. Someone’s blasting music too loud, and Dex is yelling about chicken wings again.
Normal post-game chaos.
Except nothing about me feels normal.
Colby tosses a towel at my chest. “Two goals and a public love confession. Big night.”
“It wasn’t a love confession.” I peel off my gear.
“It was glass-tapping intimate,” Eli says, grinning like he’s been waiting to use that phrase.
Gabriel Shelly, usually quiet, smirks while untying his skates. “You know that move only works if the girl actually wants you back.”
I toss him a look. “She does.”
Eli laughs. “Oh, he’s confident tonight. Somebody bottle this energy.”
I shower fast, but even under the scalding water, I still feel her. The way she gasped into my mouth, the way her hands tightened in my jersey like she didn’t want to let go.
By the time I dress and head toward the exit, my pulse is still a mess.
The arena lobby is half-cleared out, lights dimmed for shutdown.
And that’s when I see her standing near one of the pillars. Arms crossed. Body stiff. Not alone.
A guy stands in front of her. Older than me by a couple years maybe. Designer jacket. Expensive watch. Perfectly styled hair.
Smug.
