Because yeah—Iamkeeping it a secret.
For Todd. For me. For both of us.
It’s not shame or fear. It’s just…ours. And until Todd tells me differently, I’m going to protect the hell out of it.
Even if Daniel is watching me like he already knows.
The puck flies toward our end of the rink, and I dart after it, attempting to squeak past Todd next to the boards to get out of the zone. I’ve got maybe half a second to react before his body slams into mine.
He pins me to the boards with just enough force to make it look real, but not enough to bruise. Not enough to hurt. Just enough to make my breath hitch.
I don’t move.
Neither does he.
The puck skitters past us, but I barely register it.
Because his shoulder presses into my chest, his weight balanced against mine, and his eyes—fuck, those ice-blue eyes—lock with mine like he’s trying to burn something into me and communicate something silently. The coach blows his whistle, yelling at both of us to break it up.
For a second, he doesn’t blink. His gaze drops, just slightly.
Down to my lips. Back up to my eyes. And there it is—that flare. Blue catching fire.
Want. Hunger. Possession. For me. It’s less than a heartbeat, but it lights me up from the inside out.
I manage a grin, when all I want to do is grab him and kiss him. “Boarding, Captain?”
His mouth twitches, almost a smirk. “You didn’t fall.”
“I could.”
His eyes hold mine for one more beat. And then he shoves off with a muttered, “I’ll try harder next time.”
He’s gone in the next second, skating away like he didn’t just leave me so turned inside out I forget to breathe. The rest of the team is focused on the puck, but I can still feel the echo of him all along my ribs. Still taste the air between us, charged like static.
Good tension.
The kind that sayslaterin all caps.
The kind that says: get through practice.
Then we’ll finish what we started.
By the timeI make it to the showers, the room’s already a zoo.
There’s steam everywhere, voices bouncing off tile, and the unmistakable sound of Blue howling with laughter.
“I’m just saying,” Peter insists, standing dead center like he’s Moses parting the Red Sea—with his junk. “Thepropellermove adds an inch. Maybe two.”
I blink.
Todd’s across the room, towel slung low on his hips, eyes narrowed in warning. But he’s grinning, too, or trying not to.
“Peter,” I say, “are you…hula-hooping your dick?”
He doesn’t even pause, just speeds up the weird hip swirl like he’s trying to generate enough wind to power a small town. “I call it the Takeoff.”
Blue wheezes. “Bro, you’re gonna sprain something.”
