“Morning,” he murmurs, voice rough with sleep.
“Hey,” I whisper back.
He blinks up at me, eyes still heavy-lidded, lips curving just slightly. Then his brow lifts. “Is that your stick in your pants, or are you just happy to see me?”
I groan quietly, half laugh, half mortified sound. “You’re really calling out my morning wood?”
He grins against my collarbone. “Just making sure you’re still human.”
“I’m trying very hard to be a gentleman right now,” I mutter, brushing my thumb along his jaw as I angle his face up. “Don’t make it harder.”
That earns me a quiet snort, and he shifts again, clearly enjoying this too much.
Instead of taking the bait, I press a series of soft, quick kisses along his cheek, his temple, the bridge of his nose—little butterfly touches that make him still and breathe out a slow, shaky laugh.
He tilts his face up toward me, eyes flicking between my mouth and my eyes. “You know,” he says, teasingly low, “I’ve heard of something called makeup sex. Supposed to be life-changing. A reward for fighting.”
I huff out a laugh that shakes through both of us. “You would say that.”
His grin widens, but before he can get another word out, I roll us, careful but fast enough to make him gasp. The couch groans under the shift of our weight, and now he’s beneath me, hair mussed, cheeks pink. Looking hot as fuck.
I hover there for a moment, drinking him in. The sight of him like this—warm, alive, smiling again—feels like sunlight breaking through clouds.
Then I lean down and kiss him.
It starts soft but deepens quickly, all the pent-up longing and fear and need bleeding into every brush of our mouths. His hands find my shirt, clutching it tight as he exhales a small, helpless sound that shoots straight to my cock.
When I finally pull back, his eyes are dilated, lips red, chest rising fast.
I grin, breathless. “Unfortunately,” I murmur, “I’m pretty sure Coach will have our asses if we both miss practice completely.”
He laughs, the sound quiet but real this time, his fingers still twisted in my shirt. “Guess we should make itquick, then.” He arches up into me, and I can feel his length against me.
My eyes drop shut as I breathe through the need coursing through me. We really shouldn’t miss practice. Not if we are going to convince the team that just because we are together doesn’t mean it will impact them.
“Tempting,” I say, leaning in for one more kiss—short, sweet, enough to leave us both smiling. “But I like my ice time, Captain.”
He groans, flopping back against the couch. “You’re no fun.”
“Maybe later,” I whisper, brushing a thumb across his bottom lip.
“Promise?”
I grin, standing and offering him my hand. “Yeah. Promise.”
THIRTY-SIX
TODD
By the timewe pull into the rink parking lot, it’s almost full. The sharp bite of winter air hits my face as soon as I step out of the Jeep, the kind that usually wakes me up before early practice. Today, it just reminds me how late we are.
Logan jogs ahead a few steps. He throws me a look, half amusement, half challenge. “You planning to move or just stand there looking guilty?”
I huff out a laugh and follow him inside. “Pretty sure I can multitask.”
Most of the guys are already on the ice when we walk in. The slap of pucks against boards, the low rumble of laughter—it all hums together into the kind of noise I didn’t realize I missed until now.
It’s not tense. Not awkward. Just… normal.
