He nods once, like that settles it.
The next day, I sit in the arena stands wrapped in one of Jake’s hoodies.
The team spills onto the rink in a burst of motion and noise.
And then Jake steps out.
Helmet on. Jersey loose over his pads. Skates cutting clean lines across the ice.
I don’t think I’ve ever seen him play before.
He moves like the ice belongs to him.
Fast but controlled. Aggressive but precise. His voice carries across the rink as he calls instructions, shifts lines, corrects positioning.
He’s confident here.
Certain.
There’s no hesitation in him.
He skates backward effortlessly, pivots, snaps a pass that lands exactly where it should. He laughs at something one of the guys says, shoves Rhys lightly, then refocuses in an instant.
Heat pools low in my stomach watching him like this.
God, he’s sexy.
And he has no idea I’m watching him like this.
Or maybe he does.
At one point, he glances up toward the stands.
Our eyes meet, just for a second.
He lifts his chin slightly in acknowledgment before pushing off again.
My heart stutters.
He looks proud that I’m here.
Or maybe I’m imagining it.
Because this is all fake, isn’t it?
It’s just my stupid feelings. My wishful thinking, turning it into something more than it is.
And what we have right now?
It’s good.
A great friendship.
Sex that makes my knees weak.
But I’m the only one who wants more.
I’m the only one watching him on the ice and thinking,I want this to be my real life.
