“Yeah, yeah.” He waves me off, pretending not to wipe his eyes. “And tell that girl of yours… we’re already huge fans.”
I watch him walk down the hallway toward the exit, his shoulders relaxed in a way I haven’t seen in years. Something warm loosens in my chest, something I didn’t even realize I’d been carrying around.
For the first time in a long time, the noise inside me quiets.
Everything… settles.
I draw in a breath—slow, steady, full—letting the weight of the night sink into my bones. The win. The goals. My dad’s words. Laura’s voice. Laura’s I love you.
I turn toward the locker room, but my mind isn’t on the shower or the sweat or the bruise developing on my hip.
It’s on her.
On the girl who walked onto the ice terrified and still managed to take the whole arena’s breath away.
On the girl who looked at me like I was worth loving in return.
I need to rinse off.
I need a second to breathe.
And then I’m going to find Laura Conners and kiss her senseless—kiss her like she’s the reason every part of me works better when she’s around.
Because she is.
She always has been.
Chapter 31
I’m still buzzing from the anthem when I see him.
Scotty pushes through the locker room doors, his hair still damp from the shower, and his T-shirt clings to every inch of his stupidly gorgeous shoulders.
His eyes lock onto me instantly, hungry and focused, and his gear bag drops to the floor with a dull thud.
Then he’s moving.
“Scotty…” I start, but the rest dies on my lips because his hands are sliding over my waist, then up to my face. His fingers frame my jaw, and there are no words.
Words would only cheapen it. This feeling, this moment, the way everything tonight lined up exactly right. He’s the reason it all feels like magic.
His mouth crashes into mine, deep and hungry, and the shock of it sends a shiver straight down my spine.
I gasp into him, and he uses that tiny opening to drag me closer, pressing me flush against him like he needs my body against his to stay upright.
Heat surges through me so fast my knees almost give out. My fingers fist in the front of his shirt, pulling him in harder, feeling the thick muscles under thethin cotton and the way his whole body tightens when I touch him. His lips part against mine, his tongue sliding in with a slow, purposeful stroke that makes my stomach drop. It starts gentle, teasing, almost tender, then turns deeper and filthier, his mouth moving with a hunger that knocks the breath out of me.
A sound escapes my throat, soft and desperate and completely out of my control. His grip tightens as one hand slides down to my hip, anchoring me against the solid heat of him. He lets out a low groan that sends fire racing through my veins.
This isn’t just a kiss.
It’s a claim.
And my whole body answers it.
Somewhere in the haze of kissing him, I hear a loud cough to the side, which is probably from one of his teammates, but I don’t care.
They could be staging a full musical number with Alex tap-dancing on a water bottle crate and Erik doing interpretive fox ballet, and they’d still be background noise.
