"Why are you in here?" I probe, watching his face.
"I like your company more than half the team out there."
I narrow my eyes and he tilts his head.
"I thought we were becoming friends?"
I blink, nodding.Friends.
"We are."
"And I want to hang out with my friend." He rolls his neck side to side, wincing slightly. "Rough game," he murmurs when he sees the concern on my face.
"Need a massage?" I ask before I can think better of it.
"You offering?" he says, his eyes lighting up.
It takes me a second to reply and then I'm nodding and Asher is moving back on my bed, reaching behind his back to pull his shirt over his head.
He balls it up and throws it at me and I catch it, holding the warm cotton in my hand.
"You coming?" He murmurs, unbuttoning and unzipping his jeans. Leaning back on my bed, with his jeans unbuttoned and fly unzipped, the peak of red boxers next to the denim, abs exposed and tense, his head tilted at me like he's waiting for me to act.
And he is.
I move for the door, flicking the lock before turning to him. "Turn over."
Asher smiles but does as I asked, flipping over on my bed until his back is to me.
My skips a beat in my chest as I move closer, sitting behind him on the bed.
My hands wander over the knots in his shoulders, feeling the tension under my fingers. Asher sighs contentedly, and I can't help but feel drawn into this quiet intimacy, worlds away from the chaos of the party outside my door.
My fingers sink into his skin, massaging the tense muscles while Asher groans at every skim of my fingers and weave of my palms.
"You're really good at this," Asher murmurs, his voice low and relaxed.
"Thanks," I reply, feeling a warmth spread through me at his praise. "Hockey players always need a good massage therapist on hand, right?"
He chuckles softly, then falls silent for a moment. "Yeah, especially after a game like today's. You can be my masseuse anytime, Ivy."
The conversation lulls as I focus on easing the stiffness from his muscles, moving my hands along his back with a care that feels both familiar and wrong and thrilling all at once. It's a quiet intimacy.
Eventually, Asher turns to look at me, his expression serious. "Ivy, I-"
He stops, eyes jumping between mine like he's searching for something.
"Yeah?" I whisper.
He rolls slowly onto his back, propping himself up on his elbows so he's looking at me.
His eyes aren't teasing now.
They're watching.
"Forget it."
My hands still rest against his shoulders; fingers splayed against warm skin. I realise I haven't moved them.
