“Feel better?” I ask.
“Much.”
I grab her wrist before she can pull away, pinning it to the wall beside her head. We’re breathing hard now, glaring at each other, and I can feel her pulse racing under my thumb. She squirms against my thigh, and whether she means to or not, the movement drags her clit right where she needs it. Her lips part on a gasp.
“Do that again,” I say quietly, “and I’ll bend you over right here in this hallway and fuck you until you’re screaming loud enough for the whole facility to hear.” I tighten my grip on her wrist. “See how Daddy likes that.”
Her hips roll against my thigh, seeking friction, and she hates herself for it. I can see the war playing out on her face—pride versus need, anger versus want. She’ll lose this game. Fuck, she already has.
“You wouldn’t,” she breathes.
“I fucking want to,” I whisper.
The tension stretches between us. Her chest rises and falls rapidly while her gaze keeps dropping to my mouth. If I kissed her right now, she’d melt and be a puddle on the damn floor. She’d let me do whatever I wanted because underneath her hostility, she’s dripping for me. I can practically smell how wet she is.
But I won’t give her the satisfaction.
I release her wrist and step back, letting the cold air rush between us. She nearly stumbles forward, chasing the contact, before she catches herself.
“You know where to find me when you’re ready to beg.” I straighten my shirt like this conversation bored me. “Until then, I’ve got better things to do.”
“Beg? That wasn’t part of the agreement.”
“Hmm. Guess I changed the rules.” I laugh, and it’s dismissive. Fury floods over her face. “Now run along, Ken Doll. I’ve gotta go. And you’ve got some frustrations to work out.” Ilet my eyes drop between her thighs. “Oh, wait. You can’t. That pussy belongs to me.”
I walk away while she stands there, furious and so turned on that she can barely respond. I hear her let out a noise of pure frustration behind me, something between a growl and a scream, and it takes everything I have not to turn around and finish what I started.
But I want her to stew on that. Let her spend another sleepless night thinking about what I said, what I almost did, how close she came to getting what she wanted before I ripped it away.
I gettwo goals and an assist while the crowd screams my name. I’ve almost mastered channeling all my frustrated energy into something useful. By the time the final horn sounds, I’m drenched in sweat and vibrating with a high only hockey gives me. We destroy Boston on home ice, and it feels great to have another win. If we keep this up, we will make the playoffs.
In the locker room after, the guys are loose and laughing while Smiley talks about the girl he took home last weekend. Wyatt has avoided me since practice, and I make a mental note to apologize once I’ve got my head on straight. Hunter is ranking all the women he’d go on dates with if they said yes, and I’m grateful Kendall isn’t in his top five.
After I’m showered and dressed, I check my phone—still nothing from her, but there’s a notification from Jameson.
My brother sent me a photo, a Facebook memory from years ago. He and Kendall at some party, her tucked under his armwith her head resting against his shoulder, both of them smiling at the camera like the future is something to look forward to. She’s wearing a soft expression I’ve only ever seen directed at other people, and he’s holding her like she’s his.
Jameson
My feed reminded me this existed. Crazy, so much time has passed.
I stare at the photo until my eyes burn. That should have been me. It should’ve always been me, but Jameson has never been afraid of taking what he wants.
Patterson
Yeah, that’s wild.
Jameson
I’ve decided I’m going to meet up with her when I’m in town for your game.
“Yeah, the difference is, Jamie loved me.”
That’s what Kendall said at Sunday dinner, like it was so obvious that it didn’t even need explaining.
Jameson loved her in a way I’ve never let myself love anyone.
I reread his text message, not knowing what the fuck I’m supposed to say.
