Brynn doesn’t seem to notice.
Instead, she’s being distracted by Rhea holding up our post win award, the silly cowboy hat that’s about a third the size of a regular cowboy hat. It’s kitschy and stained and a bit raggedy as excited whispers settle into the electric atmosphere of our locker room.
Rhea is tall, with thick black hair and golden brown skin, a strong European nose and dark eyes framed with thick brows and luscious eyelashes. Her cheeks are dark cherry red after the game, and a few strands of her hair are loose and plastered to her forehead. Her eyes are crazed with the joy that’s twisted her face into the biggest smile I’ve seen from her; she’s usually so solemn. “Vortex! It’s time to crown our most tex-y of Vortexes! The one that spun the most heads and swept them off their feet!”
“Ooh,” we chant, low, as she turns 360 before pointing at Brynn.
“Oh, Captain, my Captain , will you take the hat of Texiest Vortex after two goals, one of which being a jailbreak?”
Slowly, Brynn kneels, head bowed slightly. Her grin is huge. “Hat me.”
As the hat is placed on her head, she’s pulled up by Rhea, who hugs her tightly. She whispers something that makes Brynn cackle, but it’s drowned out by the team, who cheer.
I want to enjoy it. I know I should be basking in the atmosphere and the way that we’re celebrating the first win as a team this year. But there’s something missing.
I know what’s missing, and I’m wondering if the team has noticed it too. Where even is she? Did she go home? Was it that bad? She must be out for at least a few weeks then. Why else wouldn’t she stay here to celebrate or commiserate after the game? Did she know that we hang out post game?
How could she? She’s never played with us before.
Did the Chill just go home after the end of the game? No cheering? No celebration of brilliance and fun?
Shit, she can’t think we’re like them.
I’m glued to my seat until the chatter starts to diedown, and I can get showered and changed quickly to rush out.
Her door is more familiar tonight, the cream hallway warm with the yellow potlights and the weird art on the walls opposite from the doors. Her door is dark grey, the elongated handle awkwardly brushed silver against the warm lighting. I can hear footsteps in her apartment as I almost slam my hands against her door, trying to contain my heavy breathing. I ran up the stairs after I got here, and now my lungs and my legs are killing me.
I shouldn’t be here; I should give her a day.
But I need her to know that we’re here. That I’m here. That this place is going to be her home.
Iwant to be her home.
Whoa, scary thought.
Her door swings open, and she looks exhausted, with dark bags under her eyes and wrapped up in her sweatpants and a blanket on her shoulders. Her brown eyes brighten when she sees me, and I push past the door and step inside, grabbing her shirt and pulling her close to me, kissing her soundly. She gasps in shock but opens her mouth so I can thrust my tongue inside her. Eloise wraps her hands around my back, one near the nape of my neck and the other trailing down my waist. My hands are keeping her body in place against me.
Sparks are flying behind my eyelids as her hands start to trail into my hair and playing with mywaistband. She pulls us back so that the door can close, and as it does, she pushes me against it, pinning me between her soft body and the hard wood. She groans against my lips as I pull her ponytail, wrapping it around my fist and pulling gently.
Her head falls back, and I take the opportunity to kiss her neck, nibbling at her skin and nuzzling the warmth. Her breath hitches as she lodges a thigh between my legs, and I’m now more aware of the throbbing clit between my legs and how constrictive these dress pants are.
Fuck, I think I’m dreaming.
I unwrap my hand from her hair, taking my fingers and tipping them under her chin. She’s forced to be still, to let me look at her, even her freckles that are hidden in the cherry red of her skin. Her breath is ragged against my chin, brown eyes flecked with gold in the evening light. Her ears are small and rounded, her nose straight and lips swollen from kissing.
A noise rips from my throat as she makes sure our bodies are aligned with each other. We’re breathing in tandem, lost in each other’s orbit before I say something.
“Hi.”
Twenty Five
Eloise
My knee is throbbing as I settle onto my couch, trying to think about how this was probably the first and shittiest game of my career with the Vortex and this doesn’t bode well for the rest of the year. My apartment is still filled with boxes. I was hoping to unpack a bit more, but I guess now with my knee all banged up and bruised, that’s not going to happen. There're no fractures that Olivia could see in the x-ray, but there was so much swelling that she told me to take it easy and stay off the ice for a day or two before coming back in. She also said to rest at home so that I wouldn’t get jostled around.
I’m almost thankful that she said that because I doubt I’d want to be around a sullen team, with everyone eyeing me and my injury. If I were on the Chill, I’d probably still be going out to play, and then I’d be in more pain than I am now.
I’d seen a few players get told that during the game when I was still playing for them. I just wish I knew what the game ended as. Taylor looked so pissedwhen she was in the sin bin. I’m not really sure what she was in the bin for; I was still flat out on the ice when the refs whistled at her.
