My grin lingers. My pulse hammers.
And, for a split second, I think he’s going to kiss me. I want him to kiss me. But then, like someone flipped a switch, he pushes back.
He doesn’t say a word as he skates off toward center ice.
I let him go.
But I’m smiling the whole way back to the puck.
He doesn’t talk for the rest of the drill.
Not that we’re really doing drills anymore. It’s just movement now—gliding up and down the ice, checking each other harder than necessary, snapping passes too hard to catch. Every shift carries a bite. A dare.
I trail him on a turn, then take the puck and skate backward with a smirk. “C’mon, Shaw. That all you got?”
His eyes narrow.
Good.
I don’t know what I want exactly—maybe just to see himcrack. Maybe to watch that mask he always wears slip for good. Either way, I keep pushing.
I flick the puck between his skates and dart around him with a grin, breath puffing in the cold air. “You keep letting me score like this, and I’m gonna start thinking you like it.”
That does it.
He’s on me in half a heartbeat.
I barely register the slam of his body into mine, the hard shove that rattles through my chest as my back hits the boards with a solid crack.I let out a sharp breath, stick clattering to the ice, heart skidding into my throat?—
—and then hekissesme.
No warning. No lead-up. Just a brutal press of lips, all heat and fury andwant.His hands grip my hoodie, yanking me forward like he’s waited weeks for this exact moment. His mouth is demanding, consuming, like he’s starving, and I’m the only thing on the menu.
I make a noise—something low, involuntary—and grab the front of his sweatshirt, anchoring myself. The kiss deepens, tilting, and for a second, I swear the worldtilts,too.
My head spins.
Everything narrows to the press of his chest, the drag of his mouth, the scrape of his teeth. He kisses like he plays—controlled chaos, sharp angles, no space to breathe.
And I don’twantto breathe.
I want more.
But just as fast as it started, it’s over.
He pulls back, lips parted, eyes wild like he doesn’t recognize what he just did. His breath hitches, and then heskates awaywithout a word—just turns and glides down the ice, leaving me against the boards like a goddamn ghost.
I blink.
Once.
Twice.
My fingers are still clenched in the air where his hoodie used to be. My lips are swollen. My pulse iseverywhere.
Holy. Shit.
I’m speechless.
