The door cracked open—and her eyes met mine. Relief, then anger flashed across her face as she moved out of the way to let me in.
“I’m sorry, I fell asleep.”
“You pushed yourself too hard today,” she said, leaning against the door. She wore soft gray shorts and a long-sleeved Rampage t-shirt. Her feet were bare with that damn toe ring, and god, I wanted to sink into her. “You look like shit, Oliver. Are you—” She stopped short, her voice breaking a little. “You scared the hell out of me. Are you okay?”
She reached up and cupped my face, dragging her fingers over my jaw as her eyes tightened with concern. She never touched me like this, with this desperation, with this care. I closed my eyes and leaned into her hand, grateful for this second.
I exhaled through my nose, my throat too dry to speak right away. Everything in me ached. My ribs, my head, my pride.
“Sloane,” I said, voice rough. “Can I hug you? Please. I really need a fucking hug.”
She closed the space between us, her arms looping tight around my waist. Her cheek pressed to my chest, right over my heart, and I swear her touch settled the rhythm in one beat. I wrapped my arms around her like I’d never let her go. One hand slid up her spine, the other cradled the back of her head, fingers tangling in her hair as she melted into me.
Her body was so warm. So soft. She fit against me like she belonged there.
My eyes closed.
I breathed her in—lavender and clean skin and something I couldn’t name but needed like oxygen. Her fingers curled into my shirt, gripping me hard like she was holding more than my weight.
The tension unwound from my chest. Not all of it. But enough.
“I’m sorry,” I murmured into her hair. “For making you worry. For... all of it.”
Her only answer was a tighter grip.
Her hug was pain and relief and heat and grounding all in one. My skin buzzed where she touched me. Her thighs brushed mine. Her breath warmed the side of my neck. And when I shifted slightly to pull her closer, her hand slid under the hem of my shirt, splaying wide over my lower back like she didn’t even realize she needed to touch skin.
I held her tighter. And when she let out a breath—shaky, uneven—it hit me straight in the chest. “There, that’s better, isn’t it?”
“Yes.” She nodded against me, still not letting go of me. “I know we need to talk but I don’t want to let go of you.”
I chuckled, pleased at her words. “I know what you mean, but I need to apologize to you, and I prefer to do that when looking you in the eyes.”
“How are you twenty-six? You are so much more mature than most.” She slowly lifted her head, and I placed my finger on her chin, tilting it up so she stared up at me. My mouth was inches from hers, and it took all my effort not to lower down and kiss her.
“Does my age bother you, Sloane?” I rubbed my thumb over her bottom lip, a bolt of lust hitting me when her tongue wet her tongue.
Her cheeks pinkened. “I don’t… perhaps it does. Did.”
“Past tense?” I continued tracing my fingers over her lip, then her jawline. She leaned into me. “Because I’ve always had a fantasy about being with an older woman.”
“Oh my god, enough of that.” She laughed and shoved my hand away as she backed up a step. I missed her heat and her touch, but distance was best for what I wanted to say. “I’m not that old.”
“Didn’t say old, honey, just older.” I winked, letting the moment linger before I sighed. “But hey, I want to apologize to you. I was selfish yesterday. My feelings were hurt, feeling so dismissed, and I only thought about myself, not you and how this could affect your career. I shouldn’t have spoken to you like that ever, let alone at work. I won’t do that again.”
She rubbed her lips together, her pretty brown eyes softening. “Thank you for saying that.”
“I mean it. I hated myself after it. I refuse to be the reason you’re upset, and my words? They hurt you. I’ll be more careful with you next time, I promise.”
“I believe you.” She swallowed hard and played with the ends of her hair that rested at her shoulders. “What…what happened during the game today?”
Her voice was soft, almost uncertain, but the edge of worry underneath it hit me harder than anything I’d taken on the field.
I exhaled slowly and rubbed the back of my neck. “I pushed it. Too hard. I felt off mid-second quarter, but I didn’t want to say anything. I didn’t want to get pulled. I wanted to prove I could be steady.”
Her face tightened. She crossed her arms over her chest again, not in defense—but like she was physically holding back from yelling at me. Or maybe from touching me again.
“Ivy said your vitals were spiking.”
