I pull the bag closer, curious. I’m not sure what to expect, but when I reach inside and pull out a pair of brand new ice skates, my breath catches.
“Darius . . .” I stare at them for a moment, a lump in my throat. “These are . . . amazing.”
He watches me, his gaze soft but intense. “I figured you might want your own pair. They’re not the hockey kind—these are for recreational skating. The ones you used last time seemed a little big.” He pauses, then adds, “I checked your shoe size at the rink.”
Those old skates he brought me fit just fine, but I’m not saying that. I let out a shaky breath, honestly a little overwhelmed by how thoughtful it is. “You really didn’t have to, but . . . I love them.” I swallow, feeling the sincerity of it all. “Thank you.”
He smiles, the warmth in his eyes making my chest ache in the best way. “I’m glad you like them. We’ll have to go skating again soon, so you can break them in.”
I nod, and a wave of affection envelops me. “I’ll be looking forward to it.”
We fall into silence for a moment, but it’s comfortable—easy. When he removes his warm-up jacket, his white T-shirt sticks to his body, and I do my best not to stare at his chest. He steps closer, his hand brushing against mine, and I find myself smiling again. “Dinner?” I ask, motioning to the pizza and salad I had delivered.
He grins and pats his stomach. “I’ve worked up an appetite from practice. And you know I never say no to food.”
We eat at the small table in my kitchen, the pizza greasy and perfect, the salad barely touched except for the olives Darius picks out and pops into his mouth like a snack. I pilfer a few cherry tomatoes and do the same as he softly smiles at me from across the table. There’s aquiet between us, but it’s a comfortable kind—the kind that doesn’t need filling. It’s strange how easy it feels to be alone with him, but here we are. When we’re done, we leave the plates where they are and move to the couch. I settle against the cushions, Darius pulling me close, his warmth seeping into me. Even though he appears to have cooled off from practice, he smells like sweat—musky, sharp, delicious.
He runs his fingers through my hair, and I close my eyes, just listening to the sound of his breathing. Then he kisses my forehead, lingering for a moment, and pulls back, giving me a teasing smile. “You know, you really look amazing tonight. Not that you don’t usually. Just something’s different. I like it.”
I chuckle, a little embarrassed. “It’s because I’m not dressed for school. I’m not always so buttoned-up.”
He shakes his head, his expression sincere. “Maybe that’s it. But, I’m serious. You look . . . perfect.”
I feel my pulse quicken at the way he’s looking at me, like I’m dessert. I can’t help it. I slide my hand up his thigh, leaning closer. “You smell . . .” I murmur, not able to hide the grin pulling at my lips.
“I know. I told you I needed to shower.”
“I was going to say, amazing. You smell amazing.” I run my nose up his neck to the back of his head, taking him in.
He laughs softly, clearly enjoying the way we’re teasing each other, but then his tone shifts, soft and serious. “Harry, you’re getting me all worked up.”
I smile, feeling like my whole body’s been lit up, and then, in the quiet of my apartment, Darius leans in again,pressing his lips gently to mine. And I’m gone, completely. Everything else fades into the background—the apartment, the books, the open pizza box and dishes on the table—but him? Him, I want to keep close. I want this. I want us.
“Good.” I squeeze his thigh right above his knee. “If you’re all worked up, maybe I can work you over.”
He coughs, and fuck, I love messing with him.
“Did you want me to . . . clean up? I showered before practice, but I could definitely use another. Do you have a towel I can use?”
“Nope. I want you just like this.” I lift his arm, burying my face in his sweaty pit. His white T-shirt is damp under his arm, clinging to his skin. “Right here. You okay with that, Coach?”
He nods quickly, then swallows hard. “Yup. More than okay.”
I straddle him, lift both arms above his head, clasping him by the wrists.
“Perfect.”
12
HARRY
I’ve gotDarius exactly where I want him. His wrists are together, held tightly by my left hand. I’m not trying to hurt him, but a small part of me enjoys having him under my control this way. A tinge of skin peeks through his lifted shirt, and he smells like a locker room. Yum.
“Let’s get this dirty shirt off you,” I say, tugging at the hem with my free hand. He moves to pull his hat off, but I stop him. “Leave it on.”
The shirt ends up over his head. I release his wrists, and he tugs it off, tossing it by the edge of the couch. His hat comes off too, but he grabs it and puts it back on—backwards.
“You’re such a fucking dudebro,” I say.
