“Oh, I’m sure I’ll sleep just fine, Leo. It’s you I’m worried about.”
“Good to know,” he replies, his tone dripping with double meaning. But beneath the bravado, there’s a spark that ignites—an acknowledgment of the thin line we walk. This is about so much more than hockey. Our collision course of egos has justmoved into close quarters, and I have a feeling we’re bound to trip over one another.
As we finish loading our gear, I can’t shake the sense that something about this journey will unravel hidden complexities between us—fueled by competition, chemistry, and the unmistakable allure of the storm gathering in the distance. We load the bus, and I find a seat near the back. Putting my earbuds in, I close my eyes and fall asleep.
***
The night settles over the city like a heavy blanket as we check into the hotel, the hallways dimly lit and filled with whispers of anticipation. Sharing a room with Leo is already proving to be an exercise in self-control.
As we step into the hotel room, the modest size reminds me how close we’ll be, four walls closing in on the chaos brewing between us. I glance around, noticing the two beds divided by a flimsy nightstand. There's an awkward energy threading between us as I toss my bag onto the bed farthest from the door.
“Nice place,” Leo comments with a sarcastic lilt, flopping onto the other bed as if he owns it, arms splayed and carefree. He grins, and it sets off a reaction in my chest that I can’t quite explain—he’s too relaxed, too confident, a playful challenge wrapped in cockiness.
“Very cozy,” I reply dryly, trying to keep the tension at bay. I unpack my gear slowly, a strategic move to create a buffer, but Ican feel his eyes on me. The weight of his gaze prickles against my skin, sending a thrill coursing through me that makes it hard to ignore.
“So, what are we doing tonight? You want to order room service?” Leo asks casually, propping himself up on one elbow, a look of mock innocence on his face that doesn’t quite fool me.
“Yeah, right. Like I’m sharing fries with you.” I attempt to keep it light, but inside, there’s a fire burning—a challenge thrown back at him.
“Come on, Nash. You might enjoy my company if you give it a chance.” His voice lowers, becoming more intimate, the hint of seduction woven through the bravado. It sends a jolt through me, and I hold back the sudden heat creeping up my neck.
There’s a tension simmering just beneath the surface—proximity igniting something dangerous and thrilling within me. I try to shake it off, focus on anything other than his devil-may-care demeanor, yet the more he pushes, the more the line between anger and attraction blurs.
“You really think so?” I counter, my heart racing despite my best efforts to maintain indifference.
“Yeah. I think you’d learn to love me,” he replies, that cocky grin widening. The proclamation strikes like lightning—unexpected, startling, and breathtaking all at once.
Caught off guard, I met his gaze, the playful bravado suddenly stripped away, revealing something raw and genuine. The way he says it, as if he knows a secret buried deep, sparks a flurry of emotions—wonder and fear swirling together. Am I ready to confront these feelings? Or should I push back, pretend this moment means nothing?
“Don’t flatter yourself, Leo,” I manage to stammer, but even as the words escape my lips, I feel the fluttering uncertainty that wraps around my heart like a vice, tightening with each teasing smile. He has a way of making it hard to breathe, of unraveling the carefully crafted walls I've built around my feelings.
“Oh, I’m not flattered.” He rolls over, propping himself on his elbows and grinning like he’s winning some secret game. The confidence radiating from him sends a thrill through my body, yet I’m torn between wanting to push him away and wanting to pull him closer.
Chapter 5
Leo
I stare at Nash’s back as he lies on the hotel bed.
It’s late, and all of the other guys are either asleep, out partying, or too drunk to answer my texts.
I feel electric and energy courses through me. It’s sparked by my desire for Nash, the all-star player who seems to hate everything about me. Annoying him makes me smile. He’s sexy in the boy-next-door way, and I find myself stealing glances at him. His blonde hair is slicked back, and his eyes are the color of honey. He’s delicious, but straight.
I can still flirt with him in private, just to mess with his head.
“You look tense,” I call out. My legs are crossed at the ankles, and my body leans against the headboard.
Nash rolls over and narrows his eyes at me. Why is that so fucking hot?
“I had a tough practice and got into a fight with an asshole teammate,” he quips.
“Sounds awful,” I deadpan.
Nash rolls his eyes, clearly not enjoying my antics.
“Maybe you need a massage? Work out those muscles. You need a release,” I say, dangerously flirting.
I know that what I’m doing is beyond risky. If Nash gets weirded out or offended, he could tell the coach, and this could mean trouble for me. Would he tell the other guys that I was hitting on him? Would they even believe him?
