“Why?”he asks, and I look back to find his head turned, resting on the pillow, eyes pinned on me.
“Because we said sex only, so this is the part where I go back to my room.”
His hand lands on my hip, warm, anchoring me before I can stand.“Or the part where you stay.”
I freeze, pulse kicking.“Atlas…”
“I’m not saying move in,” he says quickly, almost smiling, but there’s a gravity in his voice.“Just stay.One night.No rules, no labels.Just… stay.”
I turn to look at him.His hair is a mess from my fingers, his eyes dark and earnest.The picture is almost enough to break me.
Almost.
“I can’t.”My voice is firmer now, the steel I’ve practiced for years sliding into place.
“You really think lying next to me changes everything?”
“Yes,” I whisper, because I know it does.For me.For the walls I’ve built.
I pry his hand off my hip and set it gently on the mattress, not letting myself linger.“Good night, Atlas.”
He doesn’t argue again, just watches me gather my shorts and slip out the door and into the hallway, which immediately feels safer.
I walk quickly up the stairs to my room, heart pounding like I’ve sprinted a mile.The second the door shuts, I press my back against it and exhale.
My body is sated, my skin still humming, but inside?I’m raw.
Restless and still wanting.
I’ll always still be wanting with him.
CHAPTER 22
Atlas
Irelish thecold bite against my cheeks as I coast around the ice, my skate blades carving into the glass-slick surface.My muscles are warm, shoulders loose, focus keen.Everything else drops away.
Coach West blows the whistle.“Warm-up flow—go!”
The entire team moves with determination.Edgework at the blue line, tight turns, heel-to-toe pivots.The puck pops off my tape with a satisfyingthwap.
We pour everything we have into practice because this is the playoffs and losing isn’t an option.Coach West bellows feedback and direction with precise efficiency.
“Good.”
“Again.”
“Faster hands.”
“That’s how you beat it.”
“Perfect footwork on the hinge.Again.”
“Keep your shoulders square.”
My lungs work overtime and it’s the burn that says the engine’s tuned and ready.
We practice our penalty kill, which is all about patience with teeth.It’s block and clear, lanes and sticks, reading hands.
